


Returning to Sanity

by AchillesTheGeek



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 605,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AchillesTheGeek/pseuds/AchillesTheGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the insanity that was Voldemort is over. The clean-up is about to begin. How will the Wizarding World return to sanity? And will Harry manage to keep his? </p>
<p>EWE. Rated M for later chapters. M/M, adult themes, possible MPREG</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Returning a Wand

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters and their backstories. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
> 
> The action starts straight after the Battle of Hogwarts.

**1\. Returning a Wand.**

Harry Potter sat on a bench on the edge of the Great Hall, surveying the scene. It was chaos. The only clear space was in the middle of the Hall: a black patch, where he had fought Voldemort, and killed him. There was rubble scattered everywhere else. There were clusters of people dotted throughout. Some were in groups mourning their dead. Some were couples or trios comforting each other. Some were sobbing, some weeping softly, some hysterical. But he seemed to be the only one alone. The only one who didn't seem to be expressing anything. Why was that? Voldemort was dead; the madman was out of his head for the first time he could remember. He should feel elated. But he didn't really feel anything at all.

The Weasleys were sobbing, still gathered around Fred's dead body. Part of him wanted to go to them, to give and receive comfort from his surrogate family. He was sorrowful that Fred was dead. But it was a muted feeling. Perhaps he would go to them soon. Perhaps he could mourn soon. But not yet. Not just now. Right now, he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He was in a corner, away from anyone, and wrapped in his invisibility cloak, so there was no danger of him being felt or seen. For the first time since he defeated – no, let's be brutal, for the first time since he _killed_ Voldemort - he'd managed to get away with no-one watching him, no-one trying to congratulate him, which only made him feel awkward, or comfort him, which only made them feel awkward.

No, right now, being alone, watching, that was what he needed. Because he felt, as he had all his life, that he didn't quite belong. He'd never belonged at the Dursleys', there was no question of that. He'd sort of belonged at Hogwarts – he should have belonged as much as anyone else, he was a wizard, that's kind of all it took – but somehow, the expectations that everyone had of The Boy Who Lived made it hard to be himself. He'd sort of belonged in Gryffindor, but even there the Boy Who Lived tag had made a barrier at times between him and his housemates. He sort of belonged with the Weasleys – but a bit less now, what with Ron and Hermione so obviously a couple now; and now he felt they needed space without him to grieve for Fred.

Harry shook himself. He was getting into a blue funk. His sense of humour reared its head and he looked around to see, as he wryly told himself, if there were any more friends there that he didn't quite belong with.

But it wasn't a friend that drew his eye. No, all by themselves, huddled together, meekly sitting at a table at the side of the Great Hall, were three familiar silver heads: the Malfoys. They looked so down – dejected, defeated, dispirited. Part of Harry reacted angrily: why were they so glum? They hadn't lost anyone, they weren't even hurt…

Except of course, they had lost someone. Bellatrix was dead. However much Harry had hated her, she was Narcissa's sister, and the loss must have meant something to Narcissa, if no-one else. And they were hurt. They had been on the wrong side, and it had cost them the thing they probably valued most – their position in society. They were never going to have the same standing in the wizard world. Surely the war had proved to everyone who thought about it that this blood code that they lived by, this obsession with "pure-bloods" and "half-bloods" and "mud-bloods" and "blood traitors" was just blind, hideous prejudice, with no nobility behind it at all.

And the Malfoys hadn't been able to fight in the battle, it suddenly struck Harry, because they had no wands. Voldemort had borrowed Lucius's on the night Harry had left the Dursleys' house, and it had snapped against Harry's magic. Narcissa had lent Draco hers, and he had had it in the Room of Requirement when the Fiendfyre had swept through, claiming the wand and damn nearly his and Draco's lives. And Draco's wand? Well, Draco had lost that. To Harry. It was in his pocket.

No wonder they were down-hearted, then. For what was a wizard or witch without a wand? The thought galvanized Harry into action. He couldn't do anything for Lucius and Narcissa; in truth, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. But he could give Draco his wand back. And since he could, he would. He may not particularly like the Slytherin, but the two had saved each other's lives, and that kind of connected them. He remembered how bereft he had felt when his holly wand had broken; he didn't want Draco to feel that at all.

Quietly, quickly, he rose and made his way across the Great Hall. Somehow he managed to avoid tripping on anything, or being touched by any one; given how clumsy he could be, he was quite impressed with himself. He managed to sit on a bench near the three, next to a large stone column that had once supported a gallery of some sort. The gallery had been destroyed in the battle, but the column still stood, tall and proud. And useless.

Now, to get Malfoy's attention. He was about to hiss the name – it would be so familiar, he could hear the sound in his head: " _Malfoy_ " - and then realized that of course there were three Malfoys there. He was going to have to do something he couldn't remember doing before. He was going to have to start a conversation with Draco Malfoy using his first name.

Well, he could do that. It wasn't the strangest thing to happen that day.

" _Psst! Draco!"_ he whispered.

The blond head whipped round, and of course didn't see anything. Harry was shocked at the expression on it. Malfoy, who had always seemed so self-assured, so certain of his own superiority, so clear about what was expected of him, looked lost. The soon-to-be-eighteen year old youth looked more like a frightened little boy of eleven.

"Potter?" he asked, with some heat in his voice. And then, since the other had used his first name, and why not respond in kind, he started again, softer and gentler: "Harry?"

"Yes, it's me." Harry responded, quietly, but glad that Draco – he couldn't think of him as Malfoy again, not just yet – had calmed a little. "Could we have a word? In private?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, then obviously decided that he had nothing left to lose, and replied, "Yes, all right, I'd like that. Actually, I have something to say to you, too.". He was surprised to hear himself say that; even more surprised that it was true.

"Come round behind the column. I don't fancy being seen by everyone just yet, and it'll give us a little cover."

Draco raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything, and slowly got up and edged his way around. Behind the column was a small alcove created by the rubble from the destroyed gallery, and Harry – he should call him Potter again, but he just couldn't, not just yet – was standing there, having removed his cloak and draped it over his shoulder. Draco took a good look. The boy was near exhaustion. Fighting dark wizards, and defeating them, and rushing off to sort things out all over the place had obviously taken a huge toll, and Draco was willing to bet that no-one else would notice until he actually fell over. That funny feeling Draco had had about Potter – about Harry – for years flared into life again. He still couldn't decide exactly what it was. Compassion? Not quite; something like that, something he couldn't put his finger on, something completely unlike what he would ever have expected to feel for the boy who had been the bane of his school life. As always, it unnerved him. He didn't like things he couldn't understand, couldn't explain.

While Draco was thinking, Harry asked first. "OK, so what would you like to say?"

Draco took a deep breath. He had to do this. He'd known for an hour or more. Ever since he'd seen the Dark Lord die at this boy's hand, he'd needed to do it. Before, he hadn't been sure that he wanted to; but now this feeling had gripped him and he found, surprisingly, that he did want to, very much.

"Well, you saved us."

"Um, yeah, I'd noticed." Harry interrupted, a wry smirk on his face.

"Please, don't interrupt. I've got to say this."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but stayed silent.

"Harry, when you saved me from Fiendfyre, I've never been so grateful to see anyone. When you held me on the broom.. it made me feel like .. like he could be defeated. That you could do it. And then you did. And since then you've been rushed off your feet and sorted things out, and I bet no-one's actually said something everyone should be saying…"

Draco dried up for a second, but Harry remained silent. He wasn't sure where this was going, but the other boy was being more emotional, more open, hell, more honest than Harry had ever known him to be, and he didn't want it to stop just yet. Especially since Draco had called him Harry. That touched him in a way he found comforting; and just a little unsettling.

"And that's .. well .. thank you."

Draco could hardly get the last words out. This was no perfunctory, polite conversation; this was something he clearly really meant. There was water in both their eyes. For a moment, Harry wondered if Draco would cry. He almost hoped so; it might help them both to cry. But the famous Malfoy mask was never far away, and the boy managed to compose himself.

"Now, Potter, what did you want to say to me?"

Back to "Potter" then. Somehow, it hurt. But Harry was a Gryffindor, he had given himself a job to do, and he was going to do it.

"Well, um, yes, you see, I thought, er, you might want, um, this."

He might be a Gryffindor, but he was never going to be a smooth talker. But as he stuttered through his words, Harry offered the hawthorn wand, and Malfoy – damn, why were they back to surnames – opened his eyes wide and completely missed the chance to rib him about it.

"Really? You're – you're offering it back to me?"

"No, I thought I'd taunt you with it and then snatch it back," Harry said, heavily ironic. "Yes, of course I'm giving it back to you. It's yours, isn't it?"

Draco reached out slowly, and then at the last second grabbed the wand lightning-fast, exactly as if he expected Harry to snatch it away just as he had said. But Harry didn't move at all. He just watched, with a hopeful expression on his face.

Draco swished the wand to try it out. Nothing happened. He whispered "lumos", but there was no light. His face fell, and his chest constricted.

"Won't it work for you?" asked Harry, a note of concern in his voice.

Had it been anything else, if Draco had heard any reproach or taunt from Harry, he would have charged him, or run away. But the obvious compassion from his classmate was too much. He started sobbing.

"He forced me to take the mark," he said, through his sobs. "When he learned it was you at the manor, the Dark Lord forced me. And then just before the Battle of Hogwarts, he put a spell on us through the mark, to bind our magic so we couldn't betray him. And now that he's dead … it's like my magic is locked away, I can't use it any more."

Harry was no longer concerned, or compassionate. No, this outrage on another wizard made him see red. It was anger that coursed through him. He couldn't stand this. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to have this obscene victory. A wizard without magic was practically dead, broken, disconnected from himself and all of the magical realm. A wizard who didn't belong.

He had no idea how to stop it. No idea what spells would be required to break this curse. But then, having no idea had never stopped him before, and he did have the elder wand, the most powerful wand ever made. He whipped it out of its hiding place up his sleeve, and laid it on Draco's wand. He tried to think of a spell, but all that would come were words opposing the thoughts he had just been thinking.

"Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …"

The wand in his right hand started to glow with hot magic. Clearly it knew what was needed, even if he didn't. He felt something hard Apparate into his left hand, and then the two wizards were suddenly engulfed in a huge cloud of white light. It hit the column, which crumbled to dust at its touch, and then spread out throughout the Hall.

Seconds, or minutes, or hours later, Draco couldn't tell, he became aware of two things. One was a huge noise erupting from the hall behind him. It sounded … joyous? How could that be? But he had no time to think about it, because he was also aware of Potter falling towards him. He reached out his arms and broke the boy's fall; at the same time, without even thinking about it, without saying a word, he Summoned the bench Potter had been sitting on, so it would break their fall as he fell onto it; and as an afterthought, Transfigured it into a chaise longue.

Then it hit him. With an impact that he imagined a freight train at full speed would have. _He had used his magic!_ It was back! And stronger than ever – he had never been particularly good at wordless magic, but he had just used it twice, and it had worked perfectly. He turned round to look at the chaise longue and realized that it was a beautiful green – exactly the colour of Potter's eyes – and it made him smile.

All of this happened as he fell backwards onto the chaise, supporting the other boy, and he magically moved Harry's legs onto the chaise so he could lie comfortably with his head in Draco's lap.

Harry was completely unaware of all of this. As the whiteness spread out, he finally surrendered to the exhaustion he felt, and fell unconscious and unknowing into Draco's arms.


	2. Returning to the Bosom of the Family

**2\. Returning to the Bosom of the Family**

Lucius Malfoy was staring at his fingernails with a slightly bored expression on his face, seemingly indifferent to the chaos around him and looking every inch the calm, elegant patriarch. But the look was pure deception. Lucius was a past master at masking his feelings, and observing everything going on around him without seeming to. The icy exterior he presented hid a seething war inside: inside, his intellect was fighting with a mass of emotions: predominantly anger and hatred.

He was angry with Potter for defeating the Dark Lord, his Lord. He hated it that a seventeen year old boy – though Potter was legally an adult in the wizarding world, he was still a boy to Lucius – had managed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of the age with little more than a charm every wizard knew from nursery days. His rational mind knew that the anger and hatred were stupid: in the end, Voldemort had proved to be a disaster, and his defeat was the only way out for any of them. He was showing advanced signs of insanity and had he won life would have rapidly become impossible for everyone. Lucius could see that. He also knew that it had taken more than a spell: Potter had the guts to stand up to Voldemort, something Lucius never managed to do. But the logic, though inescapable, could not touch his anger at all. His mind applauded Potter’s bravery at the same time as it inflamed his anger.

And then of course he was angry with the Dark Lord. And he hated him too. This anger and hatred were perhaps more logical: the Dark Lord had failed, and that failure was going to affect the Malfoy name. Failure was simply unacceptable, and disgrace unthinkable, but he was facing both of them. On the other hand, the man was dead, there was nothing that could be done about it, so holding on to the rage was futile. Not that that helped at all.

And that in turn led naturally to his anger with himself. This was the most logical of all. How could he have been so blind, so arrogant as not to see that they would end up in this state? Where this, the least evil outcome of all, involved shame and failure? Not just for the pure-blood cause, but for the Malfoys as a family?

And it wasn't just prestige that they had lost. He had been using his spare wand until the battle, but it was next to useless; wandless magic had been easier and more effective. But now his magic was locked away. He was a wizard without magic, no better than a squib. He'd rather be dead. He hated Voldemort for that. He hated himself for not stopping it from happening. He should have stood up to the Dark Lord. He should have demanded his trust. But he didn’t and so now he couldn’t even use a simple _expelliarmus_. The irony of the thought did not escape him: the simple charm the schoolboy Potter killed the greatest dark wizard ever with was beyond him, a mature and seasoned wizard.

He had to find some way to fix this. He had to get his emotions under control, and working in harness with his mind. He had to return to the equilibrium that had sustained him so well before in life, for the sake of the family name. For Narcissa. Above all, for the future: for Draco.

Thinking of his son naturally made him turn round to look at him. Which is how he came to be looking straight at the pillar as it disintegrated to dust, and the bright white light hit him full on and slammed him into the table.

THE PAIN! Oh the pain! He didn’t think he would survive it. It coursed through him, like a million needles attacking his whole body all at once, as though some malicious angel had decided to use him as a pincushion. It seemed to last forever, but it couldn’t actually have been even a minute before it started to pass away. Except for his arm, where it became hot … so hot … burning … agonizing ... Only his iron self-control stopped him from screaming out as it felt like his skin was being ripped off. And then there was nothing … and then all of his nerves started to tingle. It was wonderfully refreshing, and he felt alive again, for the first time since his wand had been destroyed.

He was buoyed by a sudden hope. _Could it be?_ He pulled out the previously useless wand and cast a Levitatum spell on the table he had been leaning against. It rose six inches in the air, remaining there steadily until he lowered his wand and it settled back smoothly to the ground.

 _It was!_ His magic was back.

Next to him, he heard Narcissa gasp, and turned to see what the matter was. He was greeted with a truly bizarre sight. In this castle filled with rubble, with gaping holes in the walls, making it look exactly like it was: a war-zone, there in front of him was a chaise longue that would not be out of place in the most elegant salon in Paris. On it, lounging as though he had not a care in the world, was his son. And in his arms, head resting on his shoulder, was Harry Potter.

* * *

 

Draco wondered what all the noise was about, but he didn’t look up yet. No, he still had Harry’s head in his lap – he batted away the thought that he should call him Potter, not when you’re cuddling him and, frankly, scarily, enjoying it – and it was getting a bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t embarrassed about the physical touch, which would have shocked him at any other time; in fact, he decided, he was going to hold on to Harry as long as he could. Probably due to that feeling he didn’t understand, which had been increased a hundredfold by the bright light (which he didn’t understand either; one problem at a time, though). But there was a tightness in his trousers that he didn’t want to think about and certainly didn’t want Harry to find out about. Yet.

So he carefully manoeuvered the raven-haired boy until he was holding him in his arms, away from the … swelling. Potter awake, he mused, was basically an obnoxious git, but Potter asleep was simply adorable, and he reached out to stroke the dark hair that stuck out like it always did. Potter’s hair always looked like he’d just got out of bed and Draco secretly had always wanted to tame it, to make it behave. He’d always wondered what it felt like, and now that he had the opportunity to find out, he couldn’t believe how smooth it was under his fingers.

His attention was caught by a not particularly discreet cough, and he looked up to see both of his parents looking at him. He smiled, and conjured two leather armchairs for them. And, as an afterthought, some silk screens behind them, to give a little privacy. Lucius raised his eyebrow; even he couldn’t quite have explained quite why: whether because the two boys were together, or the fact that Draco had his magic back and was already accustomed to it, or the lazy precision of Draco’s conjuring that had, without obvious effort, created the chairs to tone perfectly with the chaise-longue. If his son kept that up, they’d have a whole new matching set of furniture for the Paris apartment. Actually, it was a whole set of shocking thoughts and he’d rather not have any of them.

Lucius and Narcissa sat down; Lucius was secretly proud of the incredible poise that Narcissa showed as she did so, as if this really were a salon and not a battlefield that they were sitting in, and she were the chatelaine rather than an uninvited guest. But he couldn’t let that pride affect him now. He had a situation to deal with. He laced his fingers together in front of him and turned to his son.

His son who, he realized with yet another slight shock, seemed to have grown up a lot in the last few hours. Draco was holding Potter, yes; it was disturbing, yes; but the look in Draco’s eyes said that he knew quite well he would be disapproved of, and he didn’t care. Interesting. This wasn’t the same boy who had refused to look him in the eye when they’d found him that morning. Something had changed.

“So, Draco,” Lucius said, deciding on the direct approach, “why exactly are you hugging Mr. Potter?”

Draco looked at him. If looks could maim, this one would be as bad as the Crucio curse. Lucius glowered back, but inside he was gleeful. _At last, my little boy is growing up! Shame it took Potter for him to do it._

“Because he fell on me, father.” Draco answered, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “He was absolutely exhausted, and even so he still wanted to give me my wand back, and then when he learnt our magic didn’t work, he went mental and fixed that too. He may have a hero complex a mile high, but I think he deserves some rest, and at the moment he seems comfortable here, so we’re staying here till he wakes up.”

Narcissa looked from one of her men to the other with concern in her eyes. Draco had never so openly challenged his father’s authority. Not that it would have sounded like a challenge to someone outside the family, but they all knew how things worked between them, and that this answer was insolent to the point of open rebellion. This, coming on top of Voldemort, could split the family irrevocably. Surely Lucius could not stand for this sort of attitude? Narcissa trembled inwardly waiting for his response.

And then it came.

Lucius inclined his head. Just a tiny movement. No words, no change of expression; anyone else might have missed it completely. But they knew what it meant. Lucius had accepted his son’s right to decide what to do for himself. He was giving Draco his blessing. In any other family, there might have been hugs and kisses and back-slapping. But for the Malfoys, that slight nod was enough. Their family was knit together again, tighter than ever it had been since Voldemort had come into their lives.

Narcissa let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Draco’s expression changed radically – he smiled, and it was the beautiful, simple, innocent, happy smile of a child who has been praised by his father. Narcissa wondered idly how he would react if Lucius ever did praise him.

“That was very good of him, and I agree that he looks comfortable. And I must congratulate you on your excellent taste in furnishings.”

Narcissa had her answer: her son’s face lit up, almost as if that bright light had come back. She thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

* * *

 

The Malfoys would have liked that moment to last forever, but of course that was never going to happen. The noise behind them, which they had ignored till now, dropped a little. And then it happened.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HARRY, FERRET?”

With these words, Ron Weasley ran towards them, with wand outstretched and Hermione Granger rushing behind him.

Draco looked at him with his haughtiest Malfoy expression.

“I’m holding him, Weasley,” he drawled, and then continued in his most arrogant tones, “I should have thought that was obvious, even to you. He’s exhausted, he fell asleep on me, and I’m holding him till he wakes up. I’m sure you wouldn’t want him to fall on the floor and hurt himself?”

In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest thing to say to Ron. He wasn’t that good at controlling his temper, he was more the “curse first and ask questions later” type, and Malfoy’s tone made him see red.

“STUPEFY!” He yelled, pointing straight at the astonished Draco Malfoy.

But the spell never reached him. About a foot from its target, it hit a wall of glowing colours swirled together. There was emerald green, and silver, and red. As they glowed, the orange Stupefy spell was absorbed into them, and then the colours disappeared as though they had never been.

Everyone stood silent, transfixed by this beauty. Everyone was still. Except one: Harry Potter began to stir.

* * *

Harry shifted back into consciousness. He was still dog-tired, but something was vibrating against his magic, and his sense of self-preservation woke him. The first thing he was aware of was that he was being held in someone’s arms. And it was warm, and comfortable. He felt like whoever held him actually wanted him to be there. More, that he fitted there. That he belonged.

He wondered how he got there, and went back over the events in his mind. There had been the chat with Malfoy, handing back the wand, and learning about Voldemort’s curse. He’d thought about all the destruction that the war had caused – all those wizards who had lost their lives, leaving behind broken connections, people who weren’t finished with them yet. He’d remembered Snape, who was still needed by the school and was never going to be honoured properly for his actions in the war. He’d remembered Fred, whose death was going to be a body-blow to George; he’d remembered Tonk and Remus, and how their death meant that Teddy would grow up without his parents, just like Harry had.

And something in him had snapped. He couldn’t accept this. He hadn’t gone through death just to leave people in suffering So he’d used the Elder wand. Then what? Ah, yes, something had materialised in his other hand. What was it, he wondered, and ran his fingers over it. A stone. A rather familiar stone.

The stone that he had dropped in the forest just before Voldemort had cast Avada Kedavra on him.

For some reason, the Elder wand had called the Resurrection Stone to him. And then there had been that bright light, and he’d fallen towards the person he was chatting to.

Which must mean that the person holding him now, the person he felt wanted by and a sense of belonging with, was Draco Malfoy. And that was nearly the strangest thing of the day. But only nearly; because the strangest thing had to be that he didn’t feel that he minded one bit.

Having sorted what had happened before out in his mind, he felt ready to find out what was going on now. He opened his eyes, and looked up into grey eyes looking down at him with concern. Concern that was echoed in the boy’s words to him, spoken very quietly so only he would hear:

“You need some more sleep, Harry.”

Harry gave him a small smile. Draco was right, and they both knew it, but there wasn’t time.

“And hello to you, too.” he said, as he straightened up and sat next to him, looking around at the Malfoys and Weasleys ranged in a semicircle in front of him. Something was missing. Where was the column they’d hid behind? Come to think of it, what was the column doing there in the first place? It must have supported something, but he didn’t remember any sort of structure above the Great Hall. Well, a worry for later, perhaps.

“What’s been going on while I had my little nap?”

Ron’s face was as red as a beetroot, and he exploded into words.

“What’s going on? WHAT’S GOING ON? We’re wondering the same thing, Harry! Why are you here with the ferret? Why didn’t you come over to us? Have they hurt you?” He turned to the Malfoys; “if you’ve harmed one hair on his head –“

“Yes thank you, _Ronald_ , we get the idea,” said Draco, stressing Ron’s first name like you would to an unruly child. “How about we all take a seat and discuss this like civilized people?”

With that, Draco conjured some more seats: stools and benches for his peers, and a lovely chintz two-seater settee for Arthur and Molly Weasley. Lucius repressed a smirk, but looked at his son admiringly, impressed with the composure he’d shown in defusing Ron Weasley’s baiting, and the creative choices and fine control shown in the seating.

Molly took up the conversation immediately, obviously not impressed by Ron’s outburst and anxious to stop a repeat. “Ronald Weasley, you will apologize to Draco Malfoy for trying to hex him.”

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Ron mumbled, not particularly convincingly.

“Apology accepted,” said Draco, in a firm, friendly voice, much to everyone’s surprise.

Molly continued, “But Ron is right, Harry, we were concerned that you didn’t come over to us.”

“I’m sorry, Molly, but I thought you guys needed some space of your own, I didn’t want to impose …”

The words were scarcely out of Harry’s mouth before Molly was out of the chair, moving with that bustling energy her children knew so well, wrapping Harry in a huge hug.

“Harry Potter, you know I think of you as one of my sons. You could never be an imposition! Of course we wanted you there, to be part of us, to hug you like this.” Harry started murmuring about not being necessary, and Molly cut him off straight away with, “of course you needed it. Look at you now, having been supported by Draco Malfoy. And thank you for that, too, Draco.”

“That’s my pleasure, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco replied, in a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth tone of voice. In truth, he was touched. He couldn’t remember a Weasley talking to him with such obvious appreciation before.

Arthur, sensing that things were getting a bit awkward, piped up.

“Well that’s all good, but we still need to know what happened, Harry. Just what was that bright light all about? And when Ron tried to hex Draco” – here Arthur looked daggers at his youngest son – “ there was some sort of barrier, with strange colours.”

Harry explained about Draco’s hawthorn wand and how the Elder wand brought its power back. He was careful not to mention the curse, because he thought that was for the Malfoys to mention if they wanted to; and he didn’t mention the Resurrection Stone either, and even managed to put it into his pocket without anyone seeing. At least, he thought no-one saw.

Arthur quizzed him about the exact spell he’d used to make the wand work again; he explained that there hadn’t really been a spell, just the words that were going through his head. He was a little surprised that Arthur then insisted on knowing exactly what the words were; what was so important, he wondered?

The colours he couldn’t explain at all.

“I have a theory,” said Lucius. “I think this may be the phenomenon called a Haussmann shield.”

Arthur gave a sharp breath out. “Really? But that requires –-“

“—further investigation,” said Lucius, cutting him off swiftly and efficiently. “I think there may be some reference works in the Manor that will shed some light.”

“Yes, well, if you would look into that, that would be fine,” said Arthur, taking the hint to shut up about it for now.

“It would be my pleasure. And I would be delighted if perhaps Miss Granger would assist me?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. The Weasleys couldn’t believe Lucius would suggest Hermione go back to the manor after what happened last time; Hermione couldn’t believe she was being invited into the famous Malfoy library, which she’d longed to visit since Draco had bragged about it in first year.

“Yes, well, perhaps we could discuss that later,” said Mrs Weasley, brightly defusing the issue. She turned her gaze back on her adopted son. “Well, Harry, I hope we’ve convinced you that you belong in our family and you’re always welcome around us?”

All the Weasleys smiled brilliantly at Harry at this point, and he found himself full of a happy feeling of being accepted by them. He looked at each of them in turn. When he saw George, he had a bit of a shock.

“George, your ear is healed!” he exclaimed.

“That’s not the half of it,” said a familiar voice from behind the screen, and another Weasley son appeared.

Harry did a double-take. Hang on, no, it couldn’t be … It was! … And then he realized this must be what all the noise was about and why they were so interested in the bright light and his words, as his face threatened to split in half with the force of the grin on it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually going to be a little filler because I forgot a small detail, but it’s ended up being longer than the first! Many thanks for kudos and to those who have subscribed. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think.


	3. Returing to Life

**3\. Returning to Life**

Fred Weasley had been rather enjoying the Battle of Hogwarts. It was utterly mental and chaotic, which suited his style to a tee. Then Percy had come and fought alongside him. He couldn’t have guessed how much that would mean to him. Percy had even made a joke about resigning from the ministry! Percy! A joke!

He’d always said that when Percy made a joke, the world would end. And then, of course, for him, it had. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of irony. One little explosion, he mused, could ruin your whole day. Here he was then, dead, and suddenly he wasn’t enjoying things half so much. He could just see his family beneath him, gathered around what must be his dead body. There were his parents, wailing; of course they would, he couldn’t fault them for that, even if it was embarrassing. There was his twin, Holey-Head George, beside himself with grief, and Fred shuddered as he realized that the two who had never been apart before could never be together again. There were a few other people gathered around, Hermione Granger of course, comforting his little brother, “poor ickle Ronnikins”; and Neville Longbottom, and …. Hang on a minute, what was that look on Neville’s face? Fred knew that look -- he’d practised it enough; like a love-sick cow, he thought. Neville had fallen for someone, hard. He followed his line of sight and saw who Neville was fixated on. Hmm, he thought, his mischievous matchmaking coming to the fore. Yep, that’ll work. He longed to be there to give a helping hand.

But he couldn’t be there. So, he might as well be here, then. He had a bit of a look round. As he did so, the place seemed to shimmer and change; and then he recognised it. It was quite a shock to see that he was in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, his shop – well, his and George’s -- though it was cleaner and brighter than he had ever known it. Or was it the shop? No, it couldn’t be. His shop would be filled with noise and people. This place was so very like it, but empty and quiet.

He looked round, but only confirmed that there was no-one about and nothing much of interest to see. The door at the back of the shop began to glow, and suddenly he knew he was supposed to go through it. And he knew for certain that once he did, he was never coming back. The grief that was still with him for the loss of his brother overwhelmed him, and he fell to the floor, sobbing. He knew he had to go on. But not yet.

Later – he had no idea how much later, there was no clock, and nothing much seemed to happen, so there was no way to get a sense of time – he cocked his head. Something **was** about to happen. He could feel it. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen. But things that weren’t supposed to happen were his forte, his reason for being, so a delicious sense of anticipation rose up in him. He stood up, just as the shop was suddenly filled with light. He’d thought it bright before, but that was nothing compared to this, and reflexively he shut his eyes as a feeling of warmth flooded into him.

And suddenly he was on his back. On a hard floor. A cold, hard, very uncomfortable floor. The shop’s floor was wood, but this was much harder – stone, perhaps? Yes, it had to be stone. He could feel the edges of the individual flagstones that made up the floor poking into him.

He could feel. That was different. He pulled himself up. “Who had the bright idea to put me here on this cold, hard floor?” he whinged.

There was absolute silence for a couple of seconds. Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

 

If Fred had ever wondered what it would be like to be drowned in quicksand, he thought, he now knew. The family had hugged him so tight he was afraid he might die all over again. Molly was in tears, of course, shouting and hooting incoherently. His normally calm and quiet father was just about jumping out of his skin with excitement, and his siblings were no better. But the most important, by a long way, was George, who had wrapped his arm around his twin with an unspoken promise never to let him go again. It touched Fred more than he would ever be able to say.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was there too, drawn by the commotion no doubt, and saw that Fred was being swamped, so helped George get him on his feet. Kingsley seemed to have taken in what had happened without needing to ask lots of questions, and Fred was really glad for that as he was swaying a bit and probably couldn’t have managed a conversation. He was grateful for the two men holding him up and not asking questions as his circulation sorted itself out and the pins and needles he’d felt while getting up started to fade.

Then things started to quiet down a bit. After all, even the Weasleys could only be euphoric for so long. Sooner or later, they’d have to take stock of the things going on around them. The bubble was well and truly burst when Ron happened to look round and spy something on the other side of the hall. He bellowed.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HARRY, FERRET?”

With that, the family, including Kingsley, seemed to charge over. Fred took the opportunity to stand up tall and stretch himself a bit, and grabbed Neville before he could rush off too.

“Just a little word, mate,” he said. Then, as his twin was still clinging to him for dear life, “George, you go on, I just want a quick word with Neville here, OK?”

George didn’t look too sure, but left anyway. When he got over to the others, he looked back to see Fred and Neville coming along too. Fred had a huge grin on his face, and Neville looked as red as a beetroot. George thought he looked adorable, and wondered how Fred had got him like that. Probably talking about sex, that’d do it. A story for later. He looked at his brother, then arched his eyebrow at the screen as they both had the same thought.

“Quick, Neville, Kingsley, hide behind here. Don’t want to give the game away too soon,” Fred hissed, and so the three of them crounched behind the silk screen Draco had conjured and listened to Harry telling about the words he’d used to fix things.

“Life… “ Harry said. Fred chuckled to himself very quietly. _You have no idea what that’s done, mate!_ He looked over at his brother, who had an identical grin to his. As always.

“Wholeness…” And suddenly, Fred realized that George wasn’t a Holey-Head any more. The ear that had been cut off by a Death-Eater on Harry’s birthday was now as good as new. Fred was gobsmacked. The ear had been removed by a very powerful curse, and no-one had had the magic to restore it. But by the sound of it, Harry had managed to. It figured.

He’d missed a bit while he’d been noticing this. Lucius was saying something about a “House something” shield. He couldn’t quite follow it, but his father looked all ears. He’d quiz him later.

Then it got around to hugs and stuff, and Harry noticed that George’s ear was healed. Fred couldn’t hide any longer. “That’s not the half of it,” he said, and went in front of the screen.

He’d hoped to surprise Harry. Shock would be nearer the mark. If the boy smiled any wider, his head would split in two. Actually, that wasn’t such a nice image. Best just to concentrate on his ‘little brother’ then. He grabbed him into a huge hug. George joined in; it was wonderful.

* * *

 

“While it is amazing that Fred has somehow been restored to us, …” Kingsley started. Fred and George both groaned inwardly; he was going to be all politician-speak, they just knew it. They let go of Harry, and sat down. They both managed to sit on the same bench, rather than ask Draco Malfoy to conjure another seat.

Harry went back to the chaise longue.

“Do you mind if –“ he started.

“Oh,” said Draco, expecting Harry to be embarrassed to sit with him, and finding himself annoyed by it, “You want me to conjure you a chair, I take it?”

“Um, no, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I sat with you.”

Draco was stunned. He didn’t trust his voice at all, and merely signalled his agreement. Harry sat down next to him. The two former enemies should have found it very awkward; but in truth they both felt it had been uncomfortable to be apart, and better when seated together; though they would both have died rather than admit it to the other.

None of the Weasleys seemed to notice this little exchange, but it did not go unremarked entirely. Lucius Malfoy was watching them carefully and, though his face had its mask, with interest that was obvious to Hermione Granger. More than ever, she wanted to get him alone in the Manor and discuss just exactly what was going on between the two boys. Lucius knew a lot more than he was letting on. And just what was this Haussmann shield all about?

Oblivious, Kingsley continued: “As Acting Minister of Magic, I do have to make some plans to go on with.”

He was looking particularly at Lucius Malfoy as he went on, “Obviously there will be inquiries and trials and formal process; for the moment though, we do have to consider safety – both yours and the wider Wizarding world’s. We can’t allow people bearing the dark mark to wander about freely, it would send entirely the wrong message.”

‘You don’t have to,” Lucius said, softly. He rolled up his sleeve to expose his marked arm. Except it wasn’t. The mark had entirely gone. Harry gasped, and looked at Draco, whose eyes went wide as he too rolled up his sleeve.

There was no mark on his arm.

Kingsley let out a low whistle, and turned to Harry. “Looks like you’ve done it again, Harry.”

Harry was stunned. After Kingsley’s comment, everyone was looking at him, and he felt like a museum exhibit in glass jar. All of his life, attention had been a bad thing. The Dursleys would beat him if he got their attention. The press (Rita Skeeter came to mind) would berate him. His teachers (and in his mind he saw Umbridge’s toad-like face) would belittle him. No, he didn’t want the attention.

What had he done now? And what could he do about it? All he had wanted was to give the Malfoys back their magic. It had seemed just the obvious and right thing to do. But somehow it had gone beyond that. He hadn’t thought much about the future, not expecting to survive, but if he did, he’d hoped to go back to The Burrow with the Weasleys and have a quiet life. He’d sort of assumed he and Ginny would get back together and get married, the Malfoys would go off and do their thing, and they’d maybe nod heads on the railway platform when they sent their children to Hogwarts.

But like everything with him, it had all escalated way out of control. He couldn’t work out what to do. He didn’t know what to say, how to answer, and all of the stress of the last few days with little food and no sleep while being chased by Death-Eaters and trying to keep everyone safe was catching up with him. He started to say something – anything – but all that came out were sobs. He dissolved into incoherence as tears ran down his face, and then strong arms wrapped him up and someone was making soothing noises and mercifully he slipped out of consciousness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments would be treasured!


	4. Returning to Wakefulness

**4\. Returning to Wakefulness.**

_Someone was trying to cut him in half. He screamed, but no words seemed to come. There were no sounds that could express this pain. A guilty thought flashed through his mind: was this how Draco had felt when he had cast Sectumsempra on him? But it was driven out as the pain increased, feeling like hot needles being dragged across his skin. It felt like he was on fire._

_Abruptly, the pain stopped and the hot feeling left. Now he felt cold and bereft. It was as if half of him had been ripped away, and the half that was gone held all the warmth. He could still feel it, somehow, thrashing; a feeling of anger that was not his own. He started to howl, and then someone forced something down his throat and he was drowning, drowning and he couldn’t yell any more and then he lost his footing and fell into darkness…_

Harrywoke sobbing in a cold sweat. A dream, then, but frighteningly real. He looked up at the ceiling and recognised it at once. After all, he had looked up at the canopy above his four-poster bed inGryffindor Tower pretty much every school morning since he was eleven. Someone who knew him well must have put him in his old bed.

“What time is it, I wonder?” he said, half to himself.

"Just after four o'clock in the afternoon," said an elegant, refined, and very melodious voice. He looked round to see Narcissa Malfoy eyeing him with a look that was half the calm, arrogant expression he had expected, and half he wasn’t sure what. Distrusting, perhaps. Uncertain, certainly. Which was quite surprising.

What on Earth was he going to say to her? He nervously cleared his throat.

“Mrs Malfoy, it’s kind of you to watch over me,” he said.

She nodded, regally. “It was generally agreed that you should not be left alone once you and Draco were brought up here, Mr Potter.”

“Harry,” he interjected.

“Mr Potter,” she replied. So, this was going to stay formal. Evidently, he was still a mere half-blood to her. Damn, Harry thought. He’d hoped that winning the war would get rid of that. Obviously, it wasn’t that simple.

“The Weasleys wanted to go back to the Burrow at two o’clock, and acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall wanted someone familiar to you to be present when you awoke, so I agreed to sit with you. You might be interested to know that the Aurors were not at all in favour of this arrangement. They were most concerned that I was with you. Two of them are stationed at the door, just in case I try anything, but Minerva insisted that I could be trusted and was not to be hovered over.”

This did not surprise Harry at all; of course the Aurors would think that the wife and mother of Death Eaters couldn’t be trusted and insist on keeping a watch on her; and of course the Headmistress, knowing better, was not going to let them. If it hadn’t been for his nightmare on waking, he might even have found it all amusing. 

There was definitely something she was not telling him. Where was Draco now? Harry could tell, without looking, that he wasn’t in the room; he couldn’t have said how he knew, he just did. And surely, without something having happened between mother and son, Narcissa Malfoy would never choose to be with him rather than Draco.

“Thank you,” he said, to cover her statement generally. He wanted information, it would not be a good idea to get on the wrong side of her. “Um, where is Draco now?”

Narcissa sighed. She did not miss his use of “Draco” rather than “Malfoy”, and she knew perfectly well how unusual that was.

“My son had fallen asleep with you; the night had obviously taken a heavier toll than we thought.”

Harry inwardly snorted at the implication that merely being in a fight to the death and having no sleep for at least a couple of nights was not in itself sufficient reason for a Malfoy to need a nap. But he didn’t make any sound or interrupt.

“When he woke up, he was a bit disoriented and not particularly agreeable, so he went down to talk to his friends in Slytherin house.”

Harry sat up, swinging himself out of the bedclothes, and looked her in the eye. No, he decided, she wasn’t going to fob him off.

“What  **exactly**  did he say?” he said, putting so much stress on the word ‘exactly’ that Narcissa could not miss the implication that he didn’t believe her summary to be the whole truth. He could see the battle going on inside her head. He had a pretty good idea what it was about: she didn’t trust Draco and him to be together for some reason, so he put on his most trustworthy face, looked her straight in the eye, and continued.

“Mrs Malfoy I assure you, I only want your son to be free to exercise his magic and get on with his life. I don’t know what that bright light was all about, really, but I want to fix whatever it is and move on. I don’t want to force him into anything, but please, I need to know what he thinks and wants if we’re going to have any chance with that.”

She still looked unmoved for a couple of seconds, during which Harry carefully held her gaze without blinking, willing her to come round; and then she visibly relaxed, gave a small sigh, and waved her wand in an intricate pattern.

“Please excuse my son’s rather colourful language, Mr Potter. And I assure you that what I said before was true, though my son gave another reason for me to stay with you.  _Repetitatas!_ ”

With that spell, Draco’s voice filled the space between them.

“What the  **fuck**  do you think you’re doing separating us? We were doing just fine, and I don’t give a  **shit**  what you think about it, we both needed whatever was going on then. Look at him! Shivering with cold! Oh yes, push a bloody Sleeping Potion down his throat! That’s just what he needs! Right, you’d better look after him then, I’m out of here now, I’m going to go and talk to Blaise, Pansy and Greg. Don’t you dare leave his side, and make sure you send someone to come and get me the moment he wakes up.”

There were no pictures, but Harry had no problem visualizing the blond with his face distorted by the angry, sneering sarcasm, and then stomping out of the room. It stirred him up a lot, and it was an effort to keep the rising anger out of his voice. He thought back to the nightmare, and realized that perhaps it wasn’t a nightmare at all – it had really happened, just not quite how his out-of-it brain had interpreted it.

“I see,” he said mildly. “I suppose we’d better tell him I’m awake then?”

“There’s time for that, Mr Potter,” Narcissa replied. She was stalling, Harry knew; probably hoping he’d just go away before Draco knew anything about it. Fat chance. If the nightmare was real, they needed to get together and sort things out. Now.

“Oh I think we should do what he wants straight away,” he said. A piece of parchment flew out of his trunk and a quill followed. Narcissa watched astonished as the quill wrote a message hurriedly on the parchment:

_Draco,_

_I am now awake. Please come to the Gryffindor Tower._

_Harry._

The parchment then folded up into a paper plane and flew out of the tower window.

She looked at Harry with a new respect. A wizard who could do that much wandless magic, especially having just woken up from a Sleeping Draught, was a lot more powerful and dangerous than she had ever given Harry Potter credit for. True, he had survived the Avada Kedavra twice, but she had always assumed that that was all to do with his mother’s sacrifice. Perhaps, she realized, the boy had depths they had all overlooked. She made no comment, but a faint smile ghosted her face. Against her better judgement, she was growing fond of Harry Potter.

They sat without speaking for a few minutes, and Harry was growing uncomfortable in the silence, so blurted out, “Um, I guess I should thank you for not telling Voldemort I was alive.”

Narcissa stiffened at the mention of the name, but did not immediately react.  _Still a Gryffindor_ , she thought, but she was surprised to find it was with affection. All she actually said was, “I suppose you should.”

Alright, Harry thought, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Right, well, then, um… “  _Smooth_ _as ever, Harry._ “Thank you for not telling Voldemort I was alive. And thank you for not letting me wake up alone.”

The smile was quite real now. “That’s quite all right, Mr Potter.”

“Harry,” he interjected.

“Harry.” She agreed. A small but definite step forward, he thought. “I’m sure you realize that I acted  mostly for Draco’s sake, especially when you told me he was alive. But you were after all probably the only one with any realistic chance of getting rid of that horrid man, and I’m glad to have been part of giving you the opportunity to do so.”

“Mrs Malfoy, …” he began, but she stopped him immediately.

“Harry, I think perhaps you’d better call us Narcissa and Lucius. I confess – before you awoke, I had thought you were trying to control my son somehow, to get hold of his magic while he couldn’t use it. But I cannot doubt your sincerity, and I accept that you were motivated by a desire to help and free him, not to trap him. If my husband is correct, that may not be the outcome, but I accept that you did not intend otherwise. I cannot fault your motives.”

What the hell was she on about? But before he could ask, or go back to what he was saying before, the door burst open, and Draco Malfoy rushed in, breathless and spoiling for a fight. Harry wasn’t quite sure with whom, but found himself rather hoping it wasn’t him. Draco looked rather too fierce to fight when you’d only recently woken up from a Sleeping Draught and were still feeling a bit groggy.

But it was his mother he turned to and glowered at. She seemed to take it in her stride.

“My dragon, good of you to join us,” Narcissa said, in perfectly equable tones. “I suspect you and Harry would like a word in private?”

The blond looked stunned, but years of training held good. “Yes, thank you mother. Let me introduce Auror Godwin,” with which he moved aside to show a tall, sandy-haired and freckly man in auror’s robes behind him. “He will take you back to the Manor. Apparently we are to stay there under – ahem - auror protection until a decision is made in the future. Harry, his partner, Auror Banks, will be taking you back to the Burrow when we are finished here.”

Draco didn’t say what the decision was about, and Narcissa didn’t ask. But his hesitation about the “protection” was a strong hint that it was about their future freedom. So the “protection” was more likely some form of house arrest, then.

Narcissa coolly stood up to shake hands with the auror, and Harry stood as well, out of politeness. She nodded at Draco, then turned to Harry.

“It seems I must leave you, Harry. I hope you will be kind to my son, and that in time you will be able to forgive us the unkindnesses of the past.”

It was Harry’s turn to be stunned. He didn’t have years of training, but he did have Draco’s example to follow, so he swallowed deeply and gathered his Gryffindor pride.

“Thank you Mrs – Narcissa; I too hope we will all be able to move on from the past.”

“Lucius has mentioned that we will be changing the wards at the manor to allow you unrestricted access, Harry. I do hope you will feel free to visit whenever you wish.”

With that, the aristocrat gave him her hand to kiss and left the room in the company of the auror. “Under auror protection” might mean being under arrest; but she looked much more like the lady being followed by her lackey than a prisoner with her escort.

Draco watched them leave, then turned to him, still looking stunned.

“Um, ‘Harry’? ‘Narcissa’? She gave you her hand? Changing the wards? Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“I don’t really know myself. I asked her to call me Harry, and she wouldn’t; but eventually she came round and asked me to to call her Narcissa.” Harry then repeated the chat they’d had together. Draco looked stunned. Again.

“There are people mum’s known for twenty years who still call her ‘Mrs Malfoy’! I think you’ve won a heart there.”

Embarrassed, Harry changed the topic: “So, do you have any idea what she meant about your father being correct?”

“Yes, but I think we should sit down to discuss it.”

They both sat on the bed, about a foot apart. Harry found himself wishing they were closer, but clamped down hard on the desire. He didn’t think it was very appropriate seeing as how they’d been best enemies until fairly recently.

“My father told me a little bit more about this Haussmann Shield he mentioned when we were sitting in the Great Hall. Apparently it’s something that happens when two or more people’s magic gets intertwined. Usually, it only happens with partners.”

Harry looked confused. “You mean like, aurors who are partners?”

Draco smiled at the naivete of the raven-haired boy. "No, Harry. I mean like husband and wife. Though it's quite acceptable to have same-sex partnerships in the Wizarding world, and even partnerships with more than two people." Harry looked a bit upset by this so he pressed on, "sometimes a special word is used – bonded, rather than married – because marriage still means a man and a woman in the muggle world; but no-one sees any real difference between a bonding and a marriage."

Harry looked a bit green. “But we’re not … I mean, you hate me …”

Draco looked at him sternly. “No, we’re not. And where do you get off, telling me what I feel about you? I’ve watched you for years, you hate it when other people tell you what you think, so don’t go telling me what I think! For your information, I don’t hate you. How could I? You saved my life from the Fiendfyre. You saved us all from that fiend in human form. Hell, if I hated you, I’d have ratted on you in the Manor. But I don’t, I really don’t; I admire you. When I said ‘Thank you’ before, I meant it. Not because I was supposed to, or obligated to you, but because I really do appreciate what you did for us. And then you went and broke through the Dark Lord’s curse, and our magic got joined together. Though I’m not sure what that actually means.”

“I have a bit of an idea,” Harry replied, telling him about the nightmare. Draco agreed with him about the interpretation: it hadn’t been a nightmare as such, it was Harry’s response to being separated. Clearly the joining together had a physical aspect as well as a magical one. Draco confirmed that the anger was exactly right, as Harry knew already from the outburst Narcissa had replayed. The feeling of being drowned was when Madam Pomfrey had given him the Sleeping Draught he had just woken up from.

Harry kept silent about the Sectumsempra until the very last. He could hardly talk about it:

“I’m -- I’m so sorry. I’ve never regretted anything I’ve ever done as much as that.”

“Yeah – I can’t hold it against you; I was trying to  _Crucio_  you at the time, so I guess I forgive you, and I owe you an apology too.”

“Accepted,” said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. He realized he’d been carrying the guilt of that curse for over a year, and now it had fallen off him. He felt a lot lighter.

“So, did your father say anthing else about this joining-magic-thing, then?”

“Father says that it can only happen when the two people involved are actually compatible in some fundamental way.” Harry thought back to the “partnering” thing, and felt a bit ill. Draco must have noticed, because he quickly added, “but that doesn’t have to mean anything more.”

“OK, so you’re not actually coming on to me?” Harry asked, rather tentatively.

“Were you hoping I was? I’ve been watching you for the last two years, wondering if that’s what you wanted.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess we’re just going to have to see what the future brings. But in the meantime, I guess after the events of today … I mean, I hope … um, can we be … friends?”

With that, Harry reached out his hand. Immediately they both remembered the day, years before, when Harry had refused Draco’s offer of friendship.

“I’m really sorry about seven years ago,” Harry said, sheepishly. “You just reminded me of my rather thick, insensitive, bullying cousin, Dudley.”

“Thanks for that,” said the blond, sounding both sarcastic and slightly hurt.

“Yeah, sorry, that came out wrong. I thought you were like him, but you’re not. I know now you’re not thick, you’re actually one of the smartest wizards I know.”

“One of?” the blond asked, archly.

“Hermione would give you a run for your money, but I guess she’s a witch, not a wizard … And also, it’s obvious that you are quite sensitive, you’ve just had to hide it. It’s not your fault you were so good at hiding it and I was so bad at spotting it that I didn’t see through your mask. And you’re not a bully – well, not any more.” Draco gave him a wry smile for that. “I’m sorry I thought so, OK?”

Draco stared at him for a moment, and Harry’s heart sank. Was it all going to fall apart at the last hurdle?

Then the blond’s face split into a grin. “Apology accepted,” he said, and reached out and shook Harry’s hand firmly.

There was a knock on the door, and Auror Godwin announced that he had come back to take Draco to the Manor.

“I guess this is goodbye for the moment, then.” Draco said. “And, Harry? Thank you.”

With that, the blond kissed him on the cheek, and left the room.

Harry was shocked speechless for a second, and only just managed to call out “thank you … Draco” as his new friend went through the door.

The kiss on his cheek tingled.

He thought over the conversation they had just had, and three things came back with stark clarity.

_Harry? Thank you._ It was the first time Draco had used his name in the whole conversation, and it was his first name. It felt ridiculously good to hear it from those lips. And he’d kissed him. That just felt amazing.

_See what the future brings._  Suddenly Harry knew that, whatever it was, he definitely wanted the future to involve a certain tall, blond, sarcastic Slytherin as his friend.

_Watching you for the last two years._  Merlin! Harry must have been asleep to miss that. Although he had to admit to himself he’d been rather preoccupied, what with horcruxes and hallows and trying not to get killed.

He must have been half asleep for the last few months. But he was awake now.

It was time to find Auror Banks and see what future there was for him at The Burrow.


	5. Return to The Burrow

**_Author’s note:_ ** _The twins are going to feature a bit, and rather than worry about exactly which one is speaking, and break off between them, I’m going to use the notation “yada // yada // **yada** ”, where the // indicates switching from one twin to the other, and **bold** is when both of them are speaking at once. Hopefully this will prove less obtrusive than standard punctuation._

* * *

**5\. Return to the Burrow.**

Auror Banks was quite young – probably only about five years older than Harry. He looked totally overawed to be given charge of the Boy-Who-Lived. “The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, now”, the Auror thought to himself. Or man, really. Presumably Mr. Potter was now going to be given some new title – the Wizard-Who-Killed-the-Dark-Lord or some such.

Best to leave that to the Daily Prophet, though; Mr. Potter was asking him a question, and he hadn’t quite followed it. Something about where they were going. Right, he’d probably expected them to just apparate out.

“We need to go to the Headmistress’s office, sir; she asked specifically that all traffic go through there so she would know who had left and who was still on the School premises.”

Ah, Harry thought to himself, that will be why it took so long for Auror Godwin to come back after taking Narcissa to the Manor. Which had been a very good thing, as it had meant he had had the opportunity for the first civil chat he had ever had with Malfoy. _Draco_ , he corrected himself, _he’s my friend now_. It had been so pleasant talking to Draco without drawing a wand. Perhaps they would even be good friends some day.

“Thanks,” he replied, with a shy smile. Aurors, even young ones, were to be respected, after all. Auror Banks did not reply, but the brilliant smile he gave Harry in return made him look even younger. It warmed Harry’s heart to see it.

Harry was beginning to wonder exactly when he had turned into such a Hufflepuff.

* * *

When they got to the Headmistress’s office, Harry was surprised to find a small reception committee waiting for him. Kingsley stood in the middle of the room, flanked by McGonagall on one side and Arthur Weasley, chatting to his son Percy, on the other. Mafalda Hopkirk was there too, and a couple of other wizards that Harry couldn't quite place, obviously from the Ministry.

The Headmistress smiled at him and said, “Mr. Potter, we’ll have a word or two in private later, but for now the acting Minister for Magic has something he’d like to say.”

“Harry, we know you’ll be desperate to get back to the Burrow,” Kingsley began, and Harry could only think how right Kingsley was and how much Harry wished he would shut up and let him go there, “and Mollie Weasley is equally longing to have you back, but we didn’t want you to leave the castle without formally recognizing you as the Destroyer of Voldemort. I’m sure that there will be plenty of rubbish printed in tomorrow’s Prophet, but we want you to know the Ministry has officially given you that title, so no-one can argue.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied, deciding that if he was brief, perhaps Kingsley might take the hint. He liked the man enormously, but he had no stomach at all for political speeches. And thinking of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since... he had forgotten when…

“You’re welcome, Harry. Now, the last time we spoke, you seemed a bit out of it, I hope you are fully recovered?”

Ah. Harry had sort of forgotten about collapsing in front of the Acting Minister. Damn. He was going to have some explaining to do to Molly Weasley. But for now, short answers seemed to be working well for him.

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Harry, that’s quite enough ‘sir’ from you, young man. You are, and always will be, my friend, and you will always have an ear at the ministry as the vanquisher of our greatest foe. A more formal presentation will be made later, I’m sure, but for now Arthur and Percy will take you back to the Burrow.”

 _Thank goodness that’s over_ , Harry thought.

With that, everyone shook his hand and then Arthur took charge, and they Flooed back to the Burrow. Arthur made sure that Harry was between the other two. He must have warned Percy, who went first, about Harry’s dislike of Floo travel and tendency to fall out of the fireplace at the far end, because when Harry emerged, Percy had turned around and managed to stop Harry stumbling when he fell out of the Floo. Harry found himself rocked gently back into Arthur’s waiting arms. It was done so simply and gracefully that Harry did not feel in the least embarrassed.

“Well, here we are again,” his unofficial adopted father said, brightly.

* * *

 

A fourth person came through the Floo, and Harry was very surprised to be joined by Auror Banks.

Arthur spotted his surprise.  “Ah,” he said, gently. “The Ministry is very concerned to protect both you and your privacy, Harry, so Aurors will be on watch with you for the next little while. Auror Proudfoot is already here -” and with this, Arthur pointed out a tall, dark man, that Harry had completely missed, standing by the back door. Auror Banks went and stood next to him.

“Protect me? What do I need protection from?” Harry demanded. Not to mention that advertising his presence by being followed around by hulking great Aurors didn’t seem like a particularly good way to safeguard his privacy.

“Not all the Death Eaters are accounted for, sir,” Banks replied. “And they no doubt have sympathizers as well. Not everyone will be delighted that He-Who-Must… that Voldemort is dead. Or with you for killing him.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to respond to this because his own question had been a touch too loud, and a shriek of ‘HE’S HERE!' rang through the Burrow as Banks was talking, followed by the shrieker herself, as Molly Weasley wrapped him in a hug that was tighter than any bear had ever managed, Harry was sure.

She didn’t have him to herself for any time at all as he was instantly surrounded by a cloud of red heads as the Weasleys and Hermione rushed in from all sides. It was a huge crush. It was loud and manic. But he loved it. He loved how they all treasured him, wanted him to be there, were so overjoyed that he was back with them. He only wished the Dursleys had ever given him this feeling. He regretted so much that it was these people, no kin to him at all, who treated him like family, while his own had, at best, ignored him.

Harry pushed these feelings down, hard. He was NOT going to erupt into tears, or faint, or otherwise embarrass himself.

Molly obviously sensed something was not right with her “seventh son” and reacted in the way she knew best.

“All right, everyone, give him some room and some peace!” (Harry grinned, she was the biggest offender on both counts, crushing him and yelling almost in his ear.) “Come on, sit down, Harry, we need to get some food into you.” She turned a beady eye on the rest of her clan. “And no-one is to ask any questions until he’s finished eating and had a chance to draw breath.”

With that, Harry was propelled mercilessly to the large kitchen table, and a huge pile of food set in front of him. But he was not left to eat alone; whatever Molly said, food in front of a Weasley was never going to last long, and the whole tribe sat down and ate with gusto. A funny sort of banter went across the table – topics were raised but then abandoned as soon as they touched on the war. Eventually a discussion got going about International Quidditch, which seemed to involve a lot of shouting between Ginny and the twins on one side and Ron and Percy on the other. Harry loved it. They were being themselves, except that no-one spoke to him directly; Mrs. Weasley was obviously being taken seriously.

When he sat down, he hadn’t thought he would eat much, but he realized, after they had all been eating for an hour, that he’d eaten about twice as much as he normally could. He was about to comment how full he was feeling when a slice of treacle tart was levitated across to him, with the cream jug close to hand.

After dinner, he was a bit shocked with himself. You’d think he could have managed more than three slices of his favourite dessert, after all. He sat back, full and content, and looked around the table. And gulped. By the looks on their faces, everyone had now decided that the eating and breath-drawing were done, and the questions could begin. His heart sank. He could feel a strain in the room. They’d all want to know everything, all at once.

To his surprise, it was Fred – and George, it was never just one of them talking when they were together – who asked the first question.

“So Harry, // the thing // we’d like to know most is // **do you get to keep the chaise-longue?** ”

The entire table collapsed into howls of laughter. When Fred winked at him, Harry realized that this was exactly what the twins had wanted – at this ridiculous question, all of the tension that he had felt before had drained away, and now the discussion would start in a happy and friendly tone. He mouthed “Thank you” at the twins, but it hardly began to convey his gratitude and relief.

They talked for a long time. Harry explained about the events in the Forbidden Forest, but was careful not to give any details about being dead. He looked over at Fred while they were discussing this and the twin gave him a look that Harry interpreted as “you and I can talk about this later”.

Harry was very glad when they came to discuss the shield that had stopped Ron’s Stupefy, because suddenly Arthur, not he, was the focus of the questioning. And Arthur looked about as comfortable with this as Harry had about being questioned before.

“OK, Dad, spill,” said Ginny. “You obviously know more about this – what was it called, Houseman shield?”

“Haussmann, Ginny,” Arthur corrected, though Harry could hardly hear the difference. “A Haussmann shield can only be created when two or more people’s magical cores get aligned with each other. Normally, this only happens inside a bonded relationship –“

“So Harry and Malfoy are married?” Ron interjected in a shocked tone.

“No, no, I said ‘normally’,” Arthur continued, mildly.

“Yes, since when has our Harry // been normal?” Harry looked daggers at the twins for this, but he couldn’t stay mad at the mischievous twinkles in their eyes.

“ – but there are rare cases of friends being able to create one,” Arthur continued, imperturbably. It occurred to Harry that Arthur must be very well used to this sort of conversation by now and had just got used to continuing regardless.

“But Harry and Draco aren’t friends –“ Hermione chimed in.

“Well, we _weren’t_ ,” Harry responded. “We kind of are now. I think. It’s been a very confusing day!”

“But the thing for you to think about, Harry,” Arthur continued, taking advantage of the fact that Harry’s statement had stunned the rest of them to silence, “is that all the cases I know of ended up with the participants being bonded.”

There was uproar. Everyone began yelling at once.

“But, Harry and me –“ from Ginny.  
“He’ll never stand for it” Percy began; it was not clear who “he” was.  
“You can’t marry a Malfoy!” Ron burst out.  
“There must be something, maybe in the Malfoy’s library” came from Hermione. 

“WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!” Molly yelled. Astonishingly enough, they did. “A body can’t hear herself think! Just look at poor Harry, with his hands over his ears! And what will the Aurors think?”

“Quite understandable, ma’am,” Auror Proudfoot pitched in. It was the first thing that Harry had heard him say, and the baritone voice had an incredible soothing quality on him. He felt quite protected. 

_‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’_ he said to himself. ‘ _I am a Gryffindor! I do **not** need protection and I do **not**_ _need to feel soothed and protected_. _Especially when the man has only said three words, for fuck’s sake!_ ’

“I’m OK, Molly, really,” he said out loud. “But you’re all quite right, Malfoy and me, um, no. I just want him to be free to be himself. Mrs. Malfoy said something about that not being what has happened, but …”

There were two crumbs of hope here; one would have to wait for a private moment, but the other… “Hermione, if anyone can find out a way out of this, it’s you. I know the manor holds horrors for all of us, but if you would go there, maybe …”

Fortunately, Hermione was a Gryffindor through and through. “Of course I’ll go, Harry.” There was a mutinous sound around her of Weasleys being all protective, but she squashed them firmly by adding, “and Ron can come with me to make sure that they don’t try anything.”

There was a discreet cough. “I’m sure that’ll be alright, ma’am,” Proudfoot said. “There are Aurors on duty at the Manor to protect everyone there too.”

“Right,” said Hermione, “we’ll go tomorrow morning then.”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur said. “Tomorrow is going to be a rest day. We’ve just fought a huge battle today, and we’re going to need time to catch up with all the stresses from that. You can go on Monday.”

Harry was stunned. He’d never heard Arthur be so firm before. All of the Weasleys, and even, miraculously, Hermione, seemed to just accept what he said. It hit Harry that this was how this family worked: while Mrs. Weasley looked like she ruled the roost, Arthur truly was the head of the house. He just didn’t feel the need to show it, except when it really mattered. Like now: without a firm hand, nothing would have stopped Hermione from going in the morning. Indeed, Harry was half-surprised she hadn’t suggested going right now.

But the grilling wasn’t over. Harry had let something slip, and Hermione latched onto it.

“So, what did Mrs. Malfoy have to say, exactly? And when? Is this after you collapsed in front of Kingsley? What was that about, anyway?”

Harry groaned. “Well, after doing that thing with his wand I felt like all of my magic and energy had drained out, and I woke up alarmed when the Stupefy spell hit –“

“Sorry, mate,” Ron interjected.

“You weren’t to know. So anyway, the Malfoys had their magic back, and the mark was removed, and then Kingsley said… how did he put it?”

“’ Looks like you’ve done it again, Harry.’,” Arthur responded, promptly.

“Yeah, and then a whole load of stuff just hit me about things I’ve done and how everything really goes pear-shaped when I’m the centre of attention – from the Dursleys, from the press, from Umbridge ... I guess it all just built up inside me and I just lost it. And then, when I came to, I was in my old bed in the Tower with Narcissa Malfoy watching me.”

He went on to give a rather truncated account of what had happened afterwards. He left out the nightmare – he didn’t need them all worrying about that as well; but delighted in giving Draco’s recorded remarks as exactly as he could remember except for saying “expletive” instead of the swear-words. And he left out the kiss. He told himself it was for the sake of the ladies present, not to protect Draco at all.

  
By the time they’d heard him out and talked things through it was well after ten o’clock and Molly produced tea and cake and then sent them all to bed.

Harry wondered how that was going to work: the Burrow must be bursting at the seams. But room was found for everyone: Ginny and Hermione were sharing Gin’s room, apparently, and he was again with Ron at the top of the house. The Aurors did not need rooms, of course, and in fact, their relief team arrived as the rest were going to bed. Harry was sad to see Auror Banks go, he had got quite fond of him.

As they were lying comfortably in Ron’s room, Ron sat up and asked, “OK, mate, so what did you leave out from the Tower?”

Harry squirmed. Ron noticed.

“Come on, I’m not the dumb-ass everyone takes me for. I know when you’ve got the lid on something. Spill.”

So Harry told him about the nightmare, and the conclusions that he and Draco had drawn about it. To his credit, and Harry’s very great relief, he just listened, and commented at the end that it must have been awful. His last words before they fell asleep were “I’m sure it’ll have something to do with this Shield thing, but we can leave worrying about that till Monday. And you know, whatever happens, we’re mates, right? Good night, mate. And no nightmares, all right?”

* * *

 

Harry didn’t have a nightmare, for which he was very thankful. He slept soundly until nearly lunchtime the following day. Obviously, Mr. Weasley had been right about needing rest. He showered and dressed, and was trying to tame his hair – a lost cause, and he knew it, but if he didn’t make an effort, Hermione would know, somehow, and berate him for it – when there was a soft knock on the door.

It was Ginny. She came in, and sat on Ron’s bed. Harry sat on his, and they sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

“Um, so, how are you doing, Gin? Did you sleep well?” _Stupid, Harry, stupid, stupid._ He would have hit his head on the wall, but that would have been even more stupid.

“Harry,” she began, her voice strained, “when you were there in Hagrid’s arms, that scene, it just keeps playing over in my dreams, I just can’t forget seeing you there, dead…”

“I wasn’t dead, Gin,” he said, in what he hoped was a calming, reassuring manner. “I just had to pretend to be dead so Nagini could get killed before I fought him…”

He could see by the fire in her eyes that it wasn’t working.

“You _pretended_?” A touch of anger was coming into her voice. “But we didn’t know that! All I saw was a dead body in a giant’s arms. To me, at that moment, you were dead, and all the romantic feelings I had for you, it was like they kind of died too. I keep trying to feel them, but it’s not like before. I don’t know if they’ll ever come back….”

Harry’s heart was in his mouth. His first hope was crumbling away. “Then what you said last night …. You and me ...”

“I said it mostly for them, Harry. Mum is still desperate for us to get back together. But me? Oh, … I don’t know what I want anymore, alright?" Ginny put her head in her hands, clearly frustrated with not being able to work out her own emotions. "I don’t know what I feel any more. I do love you, Harry, I do want there to be passion between us, but right now it’s just not there …”

Harry had no idea what to say to that. All he could come out with was “Maybe we need to give it some time, yeah?” It sounded lame, even to him. Ginny smiled at him, and they went downstairs to find some food.

Mrs. Weasley had decided to do “just something simple”, as the family was getting up in dribs and drabs. Her version of “something simple” would have been only slightly less sumptuous than a feast at the Dursleys’, Harry thought, ruefully, regretting all the years he had missed out on a mother-figure showing him love through food. Or anything else, really. _Stop it! No regrets!_ He told himself firmly, and nibbled on a muffin.

He went outside and found that the twins had invented a new game they called “gnome tennis”, which seemed to involve little more than hitting gnomes as hard as they could with racquets.

“Don’t worry, Harry // the little blighters love it // see, they’re coming back for more!”

And indeed, when they landed after being it, the gnomes picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and ran back to be hit again. Harry smiled and joined in. It was just what he needed to take his mind off Ginny.

Bill and Fleur, who had been at Shell Cottage, Flooed in for afternoon tea, so they all sat down and demolished a mountain of cakes and scones. At least, the Weasleys did; Harry still felt very full after the previous night’s dinner, and had half a scone. Afterwards the twins grabbed Harry and took him outside. They played some more gnome tennis for an hour or so, but he could tell their hearts weren’t in it. They were up to something else. They took him over to a table and chairs at the edge of their garden. It was a private little spot, where no-one from the house or outside could easily eavesdrop.

“Harry, there’s a couple of things we need to talk about.” Fred began. “Firstly, about discussion last night ... // we thought it’s only fair to tell you all: // we made everyone draw straws for the right to ask the first question // and Fred won! // Then ickle Ronnikins accused us of cheating! Can you imagine!”

Harry could imagine, and the thought of Ron, a picture of self-righteous indignation, made him smile. Damn but the twins did that to him a lot!

“Of course, we did cheat; // but how dare our brother suspect us of it!”

George’s face had exactly the same indignant look that Harry had pictured on Ron. Harry couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“OK, little brother, that’s the next thing. // There’s obviously a lot going on in your head at the moment, // and we’re guessing by your face that not a whole lot of it is pleasant. // So we’ve decided it’s our job to get a grin on your face. And a laugh is just a bonus. First for a while, right?“

“Yeah,” Harry said, rather sheepishly. “Thanks guys, you’re doing a great job with that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised though, as it’s you two …” He gave a lop-sided grin. “Anything else?”

“You didn’t talk about being dead last night.” Fred’s face had changed and Harry could not remember ever seeing him so serious as at that moment.

Harry nodded. He still didn’t want to talk about it.

“I understand,” Fred continued. “I know about it, OK? I know there’s a white mist, and I saw a door I could have gone through, and that would have been game over. But then –“

“You brought him back! You brought Fred, who is half of me, back! Harry, we owe you forever, mate. We’re going to take care of you, alright? Whatever you need, come and ask.”

The earnestness and passion of their voices touched Harry so deeply that he couldn’t trust himself to speak without collapsing into tears. He put his arms out to the twins and found himself wrapped up in a huge hug that said more to him about being part of the family than any of the words could have done.

When he pulled away, he found that he hadn’t escaped tears. But neither had the other two, and they just looked at him and told him “It’s all right, little bro,” and cuffed him on the head.

At that moment Molly called everyone to dinner.

* * *

 

Conversation around the table largely centered on what Arthur and Percy had been up to. Apparently, they had had to go into the Ministry, even though it was a Sunday and even though they were supposed to be resting. Harry could see that Hermione was miffed, but Arthur was so obviously annoyed at having to go in that she didn’t say anything.

It turned out that they were going to have to delay her visit to Malfoy manor, as the next week was scheduled for funerals and it had been assumed that the Golden Trio would want to attend them all. Arthur produced the schedule, and the whole week was filled up.

Ron was absolutely indignant. “Bloody hell, they could have asked us!” he exclaimed. Harry quite agreed, but he knew that wasn’t the Ministry Way.

Or at least, it hadn’t been. But the Ministry Way was insane. It had put muggle-borns in fear of life and liberty. It had produced incompetent ministers like Fudge, who dithered and did nothing, and Scrimgeour, who had locked up the wrong people. It had let people like Dolores Umbridge, who hated children (and the feeling was generally reciprocated), be in charge of Hogwarts School of Wizarding and Witchcraft.

It was time for this insanity to stop. He hadn’t killed Voldemort so that the ministry could go back to “business as usual”. Things needed to change.

“Um, who decided all of this?”

“Well,” Percy replied, “the schedule is just a juggling exercise, so it was given to Cornelius Fudge.” Spotting Harry’s incredulous look, he expanded, “Yes, he’s still at the ministry, so we have to find him something to do, and we thought it was one job he couldn’t screw up.”

“Right, well he has screwed it up. You can tell Fudge that we are going to the main service and the funerals of the people we actually know, and that’s it. We are **not** part of the propaganda arm of the Ministry of Magic!" Harry ranted. "So that’s the general memorial service and four funerals then: Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Snape, Lupin and Tonks …”

Harry shut up like a trap on saying this. _Lupin and Tonks_. It hit him like a bludger to the ribs. Harder than that: you could heal the damage from a bludger. They really were dead then. And that meant that Teddy truly was an orphan. Like him.

“Oh god,” he whispered, “Teddy and Andromeda … and I haven’t got in touch …”

Molly bustled round him. “Yes dear,” she said, hugging him. “I Floo-called Andromeda this morning and said that you were caught up unavoidably but would be sure to call her this evening.”

“And don’t worry about the schedule, Harry,” Arthur continued. “I told Fudge that would probably be your answer; he told me to change your mind. As if that was going to happen! Now I can owl him back and tell him that things don’t work that way any more. So here’s the actual schedule,” and so saying he produced a second parchment, with just Remus’ and Tonks’ funeral the following morning, Colin and Lavender on Tuesday, the memorial on Thursday and Snape on Friday morning.

Harry was flabbergasted. He was very grateful that Molly had been in touch with Andromeda, and made sure it didn’t look like he was ignoring them. And he was stunned at this display of political acumen from Arthur, and his unexpected guile in having the second schedule already worked out. But here was an opening, and he was going to take it.

“Yes, please do. Arthur, we can’t let the Ministry just go on as before ...”

He would have said more, but Molly chipped in, “Haven’t I been saying that for years, dear? Now accept Kingsley’s offer and let’s get on with it.”

“Kingsley’s offer?” Percy asked.

“Molly!” Arthur growled. But Molly pre-empted further discussion by jumping up and producing a piping-hot rhubarb crumble fresh from the oven. A wave of her wand and the huge cream jug floated over and silence descended on the table as all mouths busied themselves with the pudding.

“So, Dad,” George began, a minute later, “is this a new job offer?” Fred finished.

Arthur gave in. “Yes, Kingsley has asked me to be his Deputy Minister. I’m happy where I am, but I guess now that you lot know about it you’re all going to badger me to accept.”

The table erupted into excitement and it seemed that everyone had to get up and shake his hand or slap his back. Harry quietly emptied the rest of his crumble into Ron’s bowl. It was delicious, but he hadn’t felt hungry all day and didn’t want any more.

After the meal, Mrs. Weasley reminded Harry that he needed to place the Floo-call. He sat at the fireplace, threw in a little powder, and waited for the green-tinged face of Andromeda Tonks to appear.

“Harry! Thank you so much for calling!” she began.

“Andromeda, I – I’m so sorry I didn’t call earlier, I …”

“HARRY POTTER! Don’t you DARE apologize to me for ANYTHING! You come over here AT ONCE, young man!”

Andy yelling at him shocked Harry enormously. No-one had said a cross word to him all day, and it brought him to Earth with a bump. He scrambled to obey, and fell out of the fireplace into a huge hug. Then the Floo behind him crackled, and he turned with wand drawn. But there was nothing to worry about: Auror Banks came through. It must be his shift again. He suddenly realized that of course, the Aurors were supposed to guard him, so maybe he should not just charge off by himself, so he began to apologize to the young Auror.

The other wizard cut him off. “Now Mr. Potter, you’re in enough trouble for apologizing when you shouldn’t. You’ve no call to apologize to me; it’s my job to guard you, not the other way round.” He turned to Andromeda, continuing, “I do apologize to you, though, ma’am, for turning up unannounced, but I am charged with keeping an eye on Mr. Potter here.”

“Yes, well I’m sure he’ll keep you on your toes,” Andromeda said, with a sly smile. “Please make yourself comfortable, Auror…”

“… Banks, ma’am, and I’ll be fine just here.” He stood in a corner, with a good view of the Floo.

Andromeda looked at him critically. “They get younger all the time,” she sighed. “Now, Harry, let me have a look at you.” She studied him with the same critical eye she had cast over the Auror. “Well, you’ll do for the moment, but you make sure you look after yourself, young man. I’m going to need your help with young Teddy, after all.”

“Sorry, Andromeda ...” Harry began.

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Andromeda yelled back, straight away. “I know you feel guilty for not getting in touch with me before now, but trust me, if I’d needed you, I would have yelled for you. You are allowed to have a life of your own, young man.”

The sound of the one-month old baby suddenly filled the house; Andromeda’s shout had woken Teddy. Before Harry could say the word ‘sorry’, Andromeda had her finger on his lips. “Not your fault,” she said. “Sit down”, she ordered, then disappeared upstairs. Seconds later she came down with the baby, and placed him in Harry’s arms. He looked panicked; he’d never held such a tiny infant before and he didn’t trust himself.

“Harry, you’re not going to hurt him. Just support his head, and cuddle him.” Harry did, and Andromeda smiled at him as the tiny boy reacted to the warmth of the wizard’s arm and dozed off again. “Harry, he’s not made of glass. Don’t drop him, obviously, but you clearly love him, the rest will come. Now, would either of you like some tea?”

Both Harry and Banks nodded, and Andromeda found out how they wanted it, then went out to the kitchen.

Harry looked across at the Auror, and suddenly realized he didn’t know his first name. Just how did that happen? He had automatically moved into a relationship where he saw the other man not as an individual, but as a functionary. As though his first name actually was “Auror”.

Well, that was the Ministry Way and it definitely wasn’t how Harry wanted the world to work. There was really only one way to fix it.

“Um, Auror Banks?”

“Yes, sir?”

 _Damn._ “Please, call me Harry. What is your first name?”

The Auror looked very sheepish. “Robin”, he replied.

 _Robin?_ Harry thought for a second. “Robin Banks? Like, ‘robbing banks’? You’re kidding, right?”

“No, sir – um, Harry. My parents thought it would be a great joke. So do all my fellow Aurors, unfortunately. And I get patrol duty at Gringott’s and the goblins think it’s the funniest thing ever.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have thought the goblins would find anything funny.”

“No, me either, but they do. And it’s very useful; I get on better with them than anyone else does because of it.”

“Right. So, may I call you Robin?”

The Auror looked at him, and Harry wondered for a second if he had spilt some crumble on his face or something.

“You’re a very unusual wizard, sir – Harry. No-one ever sees Aurors as people. Of course, I would be honoured for you to call me Robin.”

“Well, Aurors are people, Robin, you deserve for that to be remembered. That’s something I want to try and change.”

Teddy murmured slightly, and Harry looked at him with alarm. But with a little stroking and cajoling, he settled back to sleep easily enough.

“You’re a natural, Harry,” said Robin. “I should know, I have lots of cousins and get heaps of practice with babies. You’re doing just fine.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied. It was just the kind of reassurance he needed. Treating Robin as a person was working really well, Harry thought.

At this point, Andromeda bustled in with tea and biscuits. Harry took a long sip of his tea with honey; it was perfect. As he set it down – very carefully, because of Teddy – Andromeda offered the biscuits around.

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s very considerate of you to think of me – most people ignore an Auror on guard duty altogether.”

“We’re going to change that, aren’t we, Robin,” Harry responded.

Andromeda’s eyebrows shot up. “You poor man,” she said. “I bet your parents thought it was funny.”

“They did indeed ma’am.”

Harry was glad that she had been so kind about it. He could only imagine the humiliation of going through life with a joke name. Auror Banks seemed to cope with it pretty well on the whole, but it must get pretty wearing from time to time.

Andromeda broke in on his reverie. “My Ted, Teddy’s grandfather, was a mind healer, Harry. I learned a lot from him about people’s moods and mental weaknesses and how to help them overcome them. And that’s why I won’t let you take blame that’s not yours onto yourself, alright?”

Harry gave her a weak smile. This would be how she always seemed to know what he was thinking, then.

“Hmm. Too serious for the time of night, I know. I do tend to be like that I’m afraid.  And we have a horrid day ahead of us tomorrow. Harry, the funeral starts at ten o’clock; I intend to be there from about nine onwards. Please feel free to come when you like, but I would be glad of your company beforehand if you can manage it.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to fall in with what the Weasleys are doing, I guess; I suppose I should get back to them now.”

He handed Teddy back to Andromeda. He was very glad to watch someone who clearly knew what she was doing and studied carefully how she took and held the baby. Neither she nor the Auror missed it; Robin murmured “a natural” at him, and Andromeda smiled in agreement.

Harry blushed. “Thank you for the tea, Andromeda.”

With that, he and Robin Flooed back to the Burrow.

* * *

**_Author’s note:_ ** _Thanks to those who have favourited / are following this story, I hope you’re still enjoying it!_

_I should warn you: this story will definitely get slashy, but should stay M for fanfiction. There are other things on my mind which may make it into the story: supernatural (since magic already is, anyway) and maybe MPREG. If there is MPREG, it won’t be “of course, wizards can get pregnant too”, I feel that’s just a bit of a cop-out for the author!_

_Huge thanks to the lovely bickymonster, who has reviewed this chapter, corrected errors, made very helpful suggestions, and laughed at my jokes. What more could anyone want in a beta? Answer: excellent writing of their own; if you haven’t already, go and read her stories; Erotes and For the Sake of a Name are currently being written._

_Reviews would really make my day._


	6. Into The Earth They Return Together

**6\. Into Earth They Return Together**

His sleep was disturbed that night.

He dreamed of Remus dueling Dolohov, and then in that strange way that dreams work and situations change in an instant, it was him, not Dolohov, killing Remus. It was him, not Bellatrix, who killed Tonks. It was his fault. All his fault. He fell to the ground, sobbing, as the guilt of it loomed up, a dark cloud looming in front of him, then swirling around him, menacing. Tendrils came out like fingers to grip him, threatening to crush him to death.

He deserved to die. He was a murderer.

Then there was another boy in his dream. His face was familiar, but recognition was hovering just out of reach; Harry could not think of who he might be.

“NO! You are not a killer! It’s not your fault,” he yelled.

Something in the force of the voice convinced him without argument, beyond any doubt, that the words were true. The other boy pointed his wand at the cloud. A red flame erupted from the wand’s tip and where it hit, the cloud turned white, and the fingers were no longer menacing; they touched him, caressed him, it was so soft, so calming, so … there were no more words, and he dreamt no more.

Harry woke from a deep and peaceful sleep hours later, with the sun on his face.

* * *

**Monday, May 4 1998**

He had told the Weasleys about Andromeda’s plan to be there from nine o’clock, and it had been decided that they would all get there then. They were a bit out of routine for getting up in the morning, which meant a small and hurried breakfast – by Weasley standards, that is; Harry had plenty of time for the tea and single piece of buttered toast that were all he could face.

Ron’s owl Pigwidgeon had brought the Daily Prophet, and Ron sat reading it over his second plate of bacon and eggs. The front page looked rather tame, by Prophet standards, merely alluding to the funerals that were to take place during the week. There was a photo of him, of course, a rather old one, and a line about “ _Funerals Harry Potter will be attending, p3_ ” and he groaned inwardly. But it could have been worse. It might have been an embarrassing photo, with a story made up entirely of lies attached. There usually was whenever he did anything newsworthy. Or gossip-worthy. Or even just “hey, we-could-make-up-a-great-scandal-out-of-this”-worthy.

It then occurred to Harry that he had not seen the Sunday edition. He quite liked it, as a rule, because there tended to be longer articles, and just occasionally they were actually factual and interesting. It made a nice change from the usual weekday lies and trash.

“Was there a Prophet published yesterday?” he asked the table at large.

Everyone looked a bit shame-faced. There were a few “ums...” and “ers”, and then Ron admitted that there had been, but they thought it might be better for his blood pressure if he didn’t see it…

“Hand it over, then,” he demanded. Molly fished it out of a corner, folded over, and passed it to him.

As he opened it, a trumpet played and a garish headline leapt out of the page – literally; the publisher  had obviously spent a fortune on a very special charm. “OUR SAVIOUR!”  it read, in hideous purple letters, above an obviously retouched picture of himself, looking rather smug, and taking up most of the front page. He groaned, audibly this time, and read on.

**_The Boy who Lived Does It Again!_ **

**_By Rita Skeeter_ **

_Once again the Wizarding world is in awe of Harry Potter, as the boy who lived through the Avada Kedavra curse as a baby has now vanquished our greatest foe! In a tense and thrilling showdown that marked the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, our Saviour used none other than his favourite charm, **Expelliarmus** , to disarm the villainous Dark Lord!_

_Mr. Potter has now officially been styled the Destroyer of Voldemort by the Ministry of Magic. Can it be long before he’s inducted into the Order of Merlin?_

_Inside: eyewitness accounts of the duel p2-3; interviews with Mr. Potter’s fellow students p4-6; and SO MUCH MORE!_

They were quite right, it wasn’t good for his blood pressure. He threw the paper across the table in disgust.

“More tea?” Molly asked him.

* * *

 

They apparated to the funeral, which was to be held in a special chapel conjured overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts. The Ministry had decided that all who fell at the Battle of Hogwarts would be buried in a new cemetery at Hogsmeade. The chapel was in the middle of a rose garden, with walkways radiating out for people to wander along and be alone with their thoughts. And as he arrived, Harry saw two figures in black dresses standing together in a little bower at the end of one walkway. One of them was holding a small, squirming bundle that just had to be Teddy Tonks.

Harry wandered over, while the Weasleys and Hermione kept a respectful distance.

As he came up to them, both Andromeda and Narcissa turned to him, and Narcissa gave him a sad smile.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he began.

“Mr. Potter – Harry – how nice to see you again,” said Narcissa. Somehow, Harry just hadn’t connected it, but of course Tonks was her niece, so it was perfectly reasonable that she would be at her funeral, Aurors or no Aurors.

“Of course you’re not intruding. I asked you to come, remember? And I’m very glad to see you.” said Andromeda, rather gruffly. “I confess I’m rather counting on you for help with your godson.”

Harry became aware of the unshed tears in her eyes. It must be horrible for her. “Of course,” he said, and held out his arms. She passed Teddy to him; the baby was awake, but quiet, and stared up at Harry. Harry was transfixed by the baby-blue eyes and blond hair. The sight put a bit of a lump in his throat.

“You’re beautiful, Teddy.”

No-one had told Harry that Teddy was a Metamorphmagus, like his mother had been, for the simple reason that nobody yet knew. So it was a shock to him when, as he kept watching at the baby, he found the eyes looking back at him were the same green as his own, and the blond hair was now his dark brown.

He couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath, and the two women rushed to him to see what the matter was. Andromeda smiled; somehow Harry was sure it must be for the first time that day.

“He’s a metamorphmagus! Just like Dora!” exclaimed Andromeda, a definite note of grandparental pride in her voice.

“And if he’s changed to match you, he likes you, Harry.” Narcissa added.

“Wow,” was all Harry could manage.

Andromeda had not missed the astonishment on his face at seeing Narcissa, and now that Teddy was settled, she explained.

“Cissy and I had a very long chat yesterday, Harry. We decided that this was the perfect opportunity to let the past stay in the past, and rebuild our relationship. We were always very fond of each other before I married Ted, so it wasn’t too hard to put the disownment behind us. It’s ironic really that all three sisters are out of the house of Black now, one dead, one disowned, one now a Malfoy, and the heir is a Potter standing here cuddling my grandson.”

Harry had forgotten about this bizarre state of affairs, but before he could think about it, or apologize (which he probably would have got scolded for), the grandson in question made a loud noise, accompanied by a rather foul smell.

“You’d better hand him here,” Andromeda said, retreating into the bower where Harry could see the baby’s changing bag had been stowed.

“Um, well, if I’m going to help, perhaps you should teach me?” Harry asked. As the twins had suggested, he was never going to be normal, he thought to himself with a touch of bitterness, so why not learn how to change a baby at his mother’s funeral?

Andromeda was a good teacher, and he managed to get the nappy off and a new one on without any accidents. He picked Teddy up and the baby made an enchanting cooing noise and promptly fell asleep.

Narcissa gave him another sad smile. “Very brave, and very well done, Harry.” Seeing his blush, she started on a new topic, “It was a little difficult to get permission to come today, but Dromeda managed it with the Aurors somehow. They always did have a soft spot for her.”

Andromeda laughed. A short, harsh sound, but amazing that she could, nonetheless, given the setting. Harry was growing in admiration for this incredibly resilient woman.

“Dromeda? Is that your family nick-name? Shall I call you that?” he teased.

“It was mostly Cissy’s name for me,” said Andromeda. “But I suppose, since you are practically family, you may use it, or choose your own.”

Harry was stunned. _Practically family? Choose my own?_ e  He was an orphan, and now he had two families!  He had always been expected to take whatever he was given, and now he was being allowed, invited even, to choose a nickname for a lady he would always look up to. It did some very strange things to his heart.

“May I call you ‘Andy’?” he asked, his voice suddenly very quiet with emotion.

“Very well,” she said, nodding, and somehow he knew that she understood how important this moment was for him.

“Harry, I wonder if you would do something for me,” Narcissa asked. “The Aurors allowed Draco to come too – he was Nymphadora’s cousin, after all – but we felt it was prudent for him to stay inside the chapel; as he did actually have the dark mark, he could easily be a target for retaliation. Go inside and make sure he isn’t, would you, please?”

“Yes, of course,” said Harry, making his way inside, still cuddling his godson. His life was just getting stranger and stranger: now here he was, checking up on Draco Malfoy, his adversary for so many years, simply because his mother had asked him to. _And because you want to_ , a voice in his head insisted. He supposed there was some truth in that.

When he got inside the door he found the chapel had several Aurors standing quite prominently. Hmm, he thought. Narcissa knew perfectly well they were there, and wouldn’t let Draco come to harm. What was she playing at? An official came up to him and chatted about the service; he agreed to the part he was asked to take.  As his eyes adjusted to the indoor light, he spotted the two coffins at the front of the chapel, and forced himself to look away. There was Draco sitting by himself, with his head in his hands, at the end of a pew. Harry realized that he had chosen a spot that gave him a good view of a door out, with aisles to allow getaway in three directions. It couldn’t be accidental; he clearly was feeling paranoid. Having had the mark, it was probably justified, Harry thought, ruefully.

He made his way along the pew, “Hey,” he said, when still about halfway along; he didn’t want to spook the blond. Draco looked at him, gave a tired smile, and stared down at his feet again. Harry went and sat next to him. Draco looked at the baby in his arms.

“Is that –“

“Yeah, your cousin Teddy. How’s the Manor?” he asked. _Smooth as ever, Harry_ , he thought. He really wasn’t cut out for small talk.

“Shit,” came the blunt and entirely unexpected answer.

Harry waited for an elaboration, and when none came, asked, “Want to talk about it?”

Draco looked at him with an expression of mock horror. “Not really. But I guess you won’t leave me alone if I don’t.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Harry said, with a grin.

“Well, Father has all but lived in the study since we got back, shut up with his books and his fire-whiskey. I think he’s still looking into this Shield thing. But he hasn’t said three words together to me apart from ‘Please pass the butter’ and so on at meal times. Aunt Andromeda spent most of yesterday at the Manor. I stayed in my room.”

“You hid from your aunt?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty scary. And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you. Frankly, I’ve rather had enough of aunts in my house.”

Before Harry could respond, he was aware of a rush of motion, and Ginny came over and hugged him from behind.

“Hi Gin,” he said, a touch breathlessly. “Just watch out for Teddy, OK?”

“Oh,” she said, having not noticed the baby, “he’s adorable!”

As if to prove the point, Teddy opened his eyes. Ginny was clearly a bit unnerved to see eyes the same shade of green as Harry’s staring up at her from under a mop of unruly dark hair.

“How come he looks like you? Is he a meta-whatsit?”

“Yes, he’s a metamorphmagus, just like his mum. We only found out today.”

“Look who we found, Harry,” Fred’s voice interrupted them; he and George were coming along the pew, with Neville Longbottom in front of them. George continued, “he said he was going to sit with his grandmother but we told him not to be barmy. Then he wanted to sit with your classmates,”

George pointed over to the other side of the chapel, where he could see many of his other friends and classmates: Seamus and Dean and the Patil twins as well as Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

“But we told him he had to come and sit with the fun kids.” Fred finished up.

At this point, all the congregation seemed to be coming in, and in no time at all Harry found that Ron and Hermione were sitting behind him, with Narcissa sitting in front of her son, and next to Andromeda. Augusta Longbottom was sitting on the other side of Andromeda, and the Weasleys senior next to her. Harry had a strange feeling of being boxed in by his two adopted-into families. It was mostly delightful, but did feel a bit stifled as well.

The service began. There were the obligatory prayers; a few rather long, and patently insincere, speeches from Ministry officials; and some rather shorter, more to the point, and truly from the heart, words from her fellow Aurors. Eventually, the point Harry had been rather dreading arrived: he was called on “to say a few words in remembrance of the dear departed”. This invitation came from someone who, to Harry’s certain knowledge, had never met either of them in life, so he was a bit miffed at the stuffiness and hypocrisy of it all.

He got up and walked to the front, still holding Teddy. That gave him an idea.

“Well, Teddy Bear,” he said, addressing the baby in his arms, “these are the parents you’ll never meet. I’d like to tell you about them.”

“Your mother was an amazing woman. She managed to be fierce and kind, graceful and clumsy, all at the same time. When your father introduced her to me, she insisted on being called ‘Tonks’; she said you’d want people to use your surname if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora.”

This comment was met with a ripple of laughter. Harry worried that Andy might feel insulted until he looked over and saw her chuckling quite openly. Relieved, feeling the tension in the room lessen perceptibly, he ploughed on.

“Yeah, I guess she was pretty direct. You always knew where you stood with Tonks. She used to greet me with ‘Wotcha, Harry’ and I knew at once that we belonged together. She was the sort of person who you met, and it was like you’d known her forever. I’m so sorry you won’t meet her.”

“She had to talk your dad into marriage, you know. Well, order him, really. He said he was too poor and too old, that she deserved someone better. But the truth is, Teddy, there aren’t many people better than your dad was. And your mum didn’t want someone richer, or younger, or better. She loved him. And he loved her. I hope you find someone like that.”

“Don’t ever let people tell you that your father was less of a man for being a werewolf. He was, but he was also one of the kindest, humblest men I ever met. The first time I met him was just after I had been attacked by Dementors on the Hogwarts Express in third year; he made sure I ate plenty of chocolate to get over it. He showed the same combination of expert knowledge and practical caring in the whole time as our Defense Professor – he was the best one we ever had. He knew his stuff, and he cared about his students, about his friends, so deeply.”

“He cared about you, Teddy. He loved you so much. He died trying to make a world in which you could live a happier life. We need to remember that, Teddy Bear, and never be ashamed of him.”

He looked up to address the congregation directly.

“We all need to work for a world in which all our children can lead happier lives. Teddy’s dad was a werewolf, and so many people shunned him because of that. But we all need to stop judging people on one trait, but get to know them as whole people. Remus Lupin was one of my father’s best friends, and I’m so proud to be able to say he was my friend, too.“

With that, Harry almost ran back to his seat. His throat was so tight, he could not have said another word. As he passed Narcissa, she gave him a brilliant smile and whispered “well done”. She reached out for the baby. Harry gladly passed him over; he knew he was barely holding on to his emotions, and he didn’t want to put Teddy at any risk. He just managed to be seated before the tears in his eyes fell. He felt arms clutching him rather tentatively; it wasn’t quite the comfort that he needed, but he accepted Ginny’s embrace nonetheless.

The service concluded shortly after Harry’s speech. They went out into the cemetery proper and gathered round as the two coffins were interred side-by-side in the same grave. The Lupins had been robbed far too soon of togetherness in life; somehow it was fitting that they were returned to the earth together. The gravestones were levitated into place. Harry had a wry smile when he read the legend on Remus’s: apart from his name and dates, there was simply a circle, to represent the full moon, and the text _Mischief Managed_. A fitting tribute to Moony, the last of the original Marauders.

Walking back to the chapel from the graveside, the inevitable happened.

“Hello Mr. Potter, Virginia Grockle from the Daily Prophet,” said the reporter, thrusting her hand at him. Harry ignored it, and she continued, “I was just hoping you might like to say a few words for our readers? A little special quote from the Boy Who Lived Again?”

That did it. Harry had almost been prepared to play ball, but using a title like that…. He forced down his rising anger, and answered, through gritted teeth, “I think I said all I have to say during the ceremony – perhaps you could report that?”

And he sped up, leaving her behind, he wondered why it was that he seemed to be spending so much time suppressing his feelings. When had he stopped being spontaneous and out-of-control? Didn’t he want to feel anything any more?

The mourners gathered in a room next to the chapel for refreshments. There was lots of forced bonhomie, and everyone seemed to feel the need to come up to him and thank him for “those lovely heart-felt words”, or some equally saccharine variation on the theme. Harry guessed they meant well, but he felt like everyone was treating him with kid gloves, and it was driving him mental.

Harry couldn’t fathom how people could eat anything, but found a plate shoved into his hand with some ham sandwiches, and started to munch on them mechanically. That was it, he guessed; life had to go on, and giving and eating food was one of the primary ways to demonstrate it.

Draco Malfoy had not been at the graveside, and with a shock he realized why: the boy did not want to be so exposed in public. And that probably meant he was still inside the chapel, and Harry was willing to bet that no-one had offered him any sandwiches.

He made his way back inside, dodging several well-meant attempts to draw him into consoling conversations, and found that he was quite right: Draco was still sitting there, looking at his shoes, and no-one was paying him any attention.

He walked over and offered him the plate of sandwiches.

“What the **fuck—** “ Draco started; Harry had forgotten to warn of his approach. Then Draco eyed the plate, and Harry.

“Sandwiches, Potter? Seriously?” he drawled; but the effect was rather spoilt by his grabbing a sandwich and beginning to eat it with gusto.

“Seriously. And it’s Harry, remember?”

“I remember that your name is Harry, Potter,” came the smart rejoinder. “But I bet all those people out there have been using it, and none of them really gives a toss about you, do they?”

Harry realized that Draco had pretty much put his finger on the source of his irritation. They didn't care, really. People **weren’t** looking at one another as people. No, he was “The Saviour”, “The Destroyer of Voldemort”. The hero. The guy in the white hat. Of course someone gave him food. And Draco was “The Death-Eater’s Son”. The baddie. The guy in the black hat. Of course no-one did.

It was so **wrong**!

“Apart from the Weasleys, my friends, and your mother and aunt, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right, Potter. And I bet everyone’s told you how wonderful your speech was, right? And so heart-felt?”

This stung Harry a little bit.

“It WAS heart-felt!” he replied, his voice rising.

“OF COURSE it was heart-felt!” Draco yelled back. “But none of them got it, did they? They still see it as: Lupin’s a werewolf, I’m a Death Eater, you’re a saviour. So he got snubbed, I get reviled, and you get put on a pedestal and treated like you’re made of glass. You could have said anything, anything at all, they would have lapped it up.”

Harry was amazed. Draco understood. He really got it. But he had a point – what good was Harry’s speech if no-one actually listened to what he said? He slumped down next to the blond, dejected.

“Yeah, you _are_ right. So what the fuck is the point? Why do I bother trying to fix things? Why fight this insanity?”

Draco looked at him, eyes hooded. And then ….

SLAP!

Harry rubbed his chin. It stung, and he could feel that Draco’s hand had left an impression that he knew would be a livid red.

“Don’t you DARE give up, Harry Potter! We all thought, ‘what’s the point of fighting the Dark Lord?’ And you showed us. You beat him. But you needed your friends, right?”

Harry nodded.

“You can beat this. But you need us. Don’t forget that. And we need you.”

With that, the blond got up and walked out.

Harry only just heard his whispered parting words: “ **I** need you”.

* * *

There was a commotion outside as Draco walked out; Harry could hear shrill voices questioning him. Loudest and shrillest of all was Rita Skeeter. He shuddered; he hadn’t thought about the fact that she would be here. But of course she was never going to miss this! His was a bit amazed that Virginia What’s-Her-Name had got to him before Rita did.

Without thinking, he went out to find the Weasleys.

Ginny was the first to spot him. “HARRY! What the HELL happened to your face?” she demanded.

“Sh Gin! Please!” he whispered frantically back, hoping against hope that the reporters hadn’t heard. He ducked back inside the chapel, and motioned for Ginny to follow him.

He decided to keep it simple. “Draco Malfoy slapped me,” he said; as she bridled, he continued, “I deserved it.”

“How the f-- do you work that out?”

Harry was amused that she stumbled over an obscenity. She was still legally a child, he remembered, and he was glad she still had that innocence.

“Gin, everyone here is being so careful with me. Treating me like I’m super fragile. Everyone has to be nice to me. As Draco put it, they’ve put me on a pedestal and treat me like I’m made of glass. But that’s the problem, Gin. They’re treating me as a hero, not as Harry. They’re not listening to what I’m saying. They’re succumbing to the madness that sees people in categories and says one person is important and another is not.”

Ginevra Weasley was no fool. She took a long look at Harry and took in his shining eyes, the clear passion in his voice, and the fact that he’d referred to Malfoy by his first name. There was something going on here, and after Saturday’s events, she had a pretty good idea what.

“And was Malfoy listening?” she asked.

“Yes!” he replied. “He really got it, Gin. And I started despairing about it, and instead of saying some nice platitudes that would have done nothing, he got my attention with this” – he pointed to the mark on his face – “and reminded me that I beat Voldemort, but needed help. And we can beat this, Gin, but I need help…”

At this point, Harry rather ran out of steam, embarrassed by his own passion. Gin smiled at him. “I think you’re right there. It’s time to go home. It’s been a hell of a morning, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, and turned, and they both walked out. Draco was still there, surrounded by reporters. He was just finishing up, by the sound of it: “… I’d like to endorse everything that Harry Potter said about him. Remus Lupin was an excellent teacher. We may not have seen eye-to-eye as people, but I know now that that was my loss. I never had him as a friend, and I rather regret that. Now if you don’t mind, I think I should return home.”

While he was speaking, Harry put a glamour over the mark on his face, then grabbed the twins and Ginny, signaled to Molly, and they had all apparated back to the Burrow before any reporter had noticed him standing there.

No-one had seen the mark, then. The glamour had stopped the other Weasleys noticing it. He’d tell them about it, but in his own time. That he could deal with. _Phew_ , he thought. _A lucky escape_.

Unfortunately not, as it turned out.

* * *

No-one wanted to do anything much in the afternoon. Harry Floo-called Andromeda, intending to apologize for running out on her; she cut him off straight away.

“You’re a big boy now, Harry, and you don’t need to tell me where you’re going. I told you, you’re allowed to have a life of your own. I know if I’d needed you, I could have found you. And frankly, you did an incredible job this morning, both with Teddy and with your speech. Talking to him was inspired. Now, Teddy is fussing for a feed, you run along and play, and we’ll be in touch.”

He suggested coming over to help, but she wouldn’t hear of it. At a bit of a loss, he wandered through into the front room. Hermione was sitting there, a huge book in her lap, brow furrowed in concentration. It was such a Hermione thing to do that he couldn’t help but grin.

“Tea?” he asked. “Mmm,” she replied. Taking this as assent, he went into the kitchen and made two cups of tea, taking them back into the other room and putting one next to her.

Hermione looked up, confused. “What? Umm, -” then, as she saw the tea, “oh, thanks Harry,” and her nose went straight back into the book.

He drank his tea in silence. Hermione did not move, other than to turn pages of the book.

“I’m just going outside to see what the others are up to,” he told her.

“Mmm, ok” she said.

“Or I might just go and throw myself off a cliff,” he said, on a whim, suspecting she wasn’t actually listening at all.

“OK, Harry,” was the reply. _Brilliant,_ he thought. _Might as well go talk to a Mountain Troll for all the sense I’m going to get out of her._ So he went outside to see who was about. The twins were playing gnome-tennis, and George threw a racquet to him. It was a completely mindless game, he decided, and exactly what he needed. They played until tea-time.

* * *

As they were preparing for bed, Ron asked him about the glamour. Harry was surprised that he’d noticed it, but Ron pointed out that he had never been much good at hiding things from his friends for long, and glamours weren't much defense against wizards who cared enough to really look at him. Harry was truly delighted to learn not only that Ron cared so much about him (which he’d known already) but was prepared to say so. They’d neither of them ever been much good at expressing their feelings.

So, rather nervously, sat down on his bed, Ron opposite him, and told the story of the events just before they had left the funeral, except for Draco’s final words as he left the chapel; Harry told himself that Draco would have wanted them kept private.

“He’s absolutely right,” was Ron’s response.

Harry all but fell off the bed. “Agreeing with Draco Malfoy? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?” he demanded.

Ron laughed. “Hey, I agree with you too, you know. We have to put all this divisive stuff behind us. Otherwise, it’s like Voldemort won. If we’re really going to build that better world for Teddy to live in, it has to involve all of us. We need Malfoy. And he needs us. Otherwise it’s all just going to fall apart again into pure-bloods and muggleborns and all that crap. So, yeah, if he can get that message across by slapping you, and you’re OK with it, then I guess it’s a good thing, right?”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, it is. Thanks. Goodnight, Ron.”

He went to bed, basking in the warm glow of his wonderful friendship with Ron Weasley. The last thing he thought of, in the few moments before he fell asleep, were those words from Draco.

“I need you.”

That night, he slept without dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Ecclesiastes 3:20 in the Douay-Rheims Bible. The more familiar version may come in useful as well …
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> Many thanks to jill for reviewing!


	7. Once Departed. May Return No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before  
> The Tavern shouted-"Open then the Door!  
> "You know how little while we have to stay,  
> "And, once departed, may return no more."
> 
> from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,  
> as translated by Edward Fitzgerald

**7\. Once Departed. May Return No More**

_Tuesday, May 5 1998_

While Harry always remembered the whole of the Lupins' funeral with crystal clarity, he would find later that Colin's and Lavender's funerals were a hazy jumble of memories. Of course it didn't help that while his sleep the night before had been dreamless, it had also been restless. He woke up tired, grumpy and unrefreshed.

"You all right, mate?" Ron said, a note of concern in his voice. "Maybe you'd be better off staying in bed for the day rather than attending the funerals."

Harry was tempted, but he couldn't really let that happen; he was committed to going, so he forced a smile and jumped out of bed.

"I'll be right. I have to go to the funerals. After all, if you don't go to other people's funerals, how can you expect them to come to yours?"

"Right," Ron said, and then, when the point hit him, he laughed. Harry laughed with him, and the mood lightened considerably.

"Mate, I've been thinking about what you said last night," Ron suddenly blurted out. "I watched you and Malfoy yesterday, and I see what you mean about becoming friends –you two sitting together should have been all wrong, but it was cool."

"You sure, Ron?" Harry asked, "after all, he did nearly kill you with that poison!"

"Yeah," Ron replied with a grin, "but he didn't kill me, did he? And he wasn't trying to kill me. And he was being forced to act by a madman who had his whole family to ransom." A thought struck him, and he looked a bit uncomfortable as he said, "I guess, if you become friends, I'm going to have to put up with him, right?"

Harry was amazed that his friend could say that, that he could accept Malfoy becoming a part of their lives without complaint. It hit him again that the Weasleys really did love him.

It was the first emotional moment of a day that turned out to be full of them. He had expected the day to be less emotional than the one before: the young photographer had been a friend, yes, and Lavender too, once she'd stopped doubting that Voldemort had returned, and joined Dumbledore's Army; but he didn't love them like he'd loved Remus ( _and Tonks,_ he added: but if he was honest, Remus had been closer.) But emotions don't work like that; "the heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing at all" as a famous Muggle philosopher (*) had once said. Reason told him that it was a day, it had been continuous; but in his heart, it was more a set of unconnected events, each somehow quite separate from the others. It reminded him of Dudley listening to CDs: he'd play a bit and then suddenly skip to another song when he was getting bored.

He remembered …

* * *

Standing outside, waiting to go in, the wind whipping up, rather cold for May, and the clouds racing along, covering and uncovering the sun, so that there was a constant alternation between light and dark.

* * *

Fred collared Neville again, and they were seated as before, except that Malfoy wasn't there: Harry, Gin, Neville, George, Fred. _Why Neville?_ he wondered. Not that he minded at all, but he knew the twins well enough to have a sixth sense about when they were up to something. Which wasn't particularly difficult; they were nearly always up to something. But what were they up to that involved Neville?

* * *

The officials had again asked him if he wanted to speak, but he declined this time. He felt it would have been intruding. But he found out that in fact standing up and speaking had been cathartic, giving his emotions release during the service, and having to sit quietly and keep his emotions in check throughout the whole service made him very tense.

* * *

Standing at the graveside brought home that he had lived with Colin for five years. It had sort of happened without him noticing, but it meant he'd known him nearly a third of his life, and for most of his life as a wizard; Harry often thought that the years before he found out he was a wizard shouldn't really count. He would have loved to be able to just forget them altogether.

He had the same feeling later, at Lavender's graveside. His schoolmates had left him alone at the Lupins' funeral, knowing that his relationship with Remus was very special and individual; but somehow today they knew to crowd round him, after each interment, and he was very glad of their company.

* * *

As they walked back to the chapel, he found himself next to Colin's parents, and began to introduce himself to Mr. and Mrs. Creevey.

"Oh Harry," Mrs. Creevey said through her tears, "of course we know who you are. We've seen your photo so many times. Colin practically worshipped you. Thank you so much for coming today. It means so very much to us to know how much he was loved by his friends."

That did it. His control broke and tears flowed down his face freely. He felt a strong arm come around him; it felt … _safe_. He looked round into the tear-filled brown eyes of Auror Robin Banks. Harry couldn't believe that he had missed how handsome the man was: chestnut brown hair framing a vibrant and youthful face. He guessed that before he'd seen him as an Auror, not as a person.

"It's OK, Harry, we all miss him." In answer to an unspoken question, he added, "He was one of my cousins."

Harry wondered aloud why he'd never heard about the Auror before. As he said it, he realized it sounded like he didn't believe Robin, but he took it in his stride, replying:

"I went to Durmstrang. My parents live in Germany – my father is the British Ambassador to the Bundesministerium der Magie, the German equivalent of our Ministry of Magic – and I grew up there."

"OK, and then you became an Auror here?"

"Oh yes, I didn't really want to live in Germany myself – we moved there when I was ten, and I always wanted to come back here. I got through Durmstrang pretty quickly, and went through an accelerated training programme the Germans have for gifted students, so I came over here and was accepted as a fully qualified Auror when I was only eighteen."

Harry gaped. If there was a touch of pride in his voice as he said this, it was quite understandable. This was at least three years younger than the age a British wizard could become an Auror.

'So how old are you now?" Harry asked.

"Just turned twenty; Saturday was my birthday – and you've made it extra special!" he replied, with a chuckle. "Anyway, Colin and I didn't have very much to do with each other growing up; but of course, family is family. Every time I saw him he was always prattling on about two things: photography, and Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Auror Banks," Harry whispered, humbled and embarrassed by the testimonial. _Damn! Why did I call him that?_

"I thought I was 'Robin'? I hoped we might be becoming friends," he replied, sounding hurt.

"Yes, sorry, and I hope so, too. I mean, we are, yeah?" Robin nodded at this, somehow managing to follow Harry's rather incoherent reply. "I'm sorry, I just get tongue-tied when I feel, um, embarrassed; and I didn't know if you'd mind, you know, the twins finding out and all …"

"The twins finding out what?" Fred asked. He and George had been walking back with Neville and Ginny, Harry noticed; they must have come over to check up on their "little brother".

"My first name," the Auror stated. "It's Robin. Always has been," he added, looking at Harry with a twinkle in his eye. Harry got the message. _Yeah, like he'd be bothered. He's lived with it all his life._

"Robin / Banks," said the twins, both faces erupting into huge grins. "We'd like to meet your parents / they sound like just our type!"

Robin chuckled. "Yes, I suppose they are rather; come on then," he said, and let go of Harry, pointing the twins towards a couple walking a few feet away.

Harry felt guilty about his treatment of the Auror. Robin must have noticed, because just as he took the twins over to his parents, he said, "no harm done, Harry, I can cope with these two just fine," and Harry knew it was true. He had gained a new friend.

* * *

The twins, chatting to Ambassador and Mrs. Banks, dawdled a bit, and Harry reached the refreshment room well before them. He hung back a little, standing hidden in a little porch, hesitant to go in by himself; he was a bit gun-shy of being ambushed by reporters. That's how he overheard the conversation between the twins, who were now by themselves.

"You really think he'd make a good partner, then?" George asked.

"You do," Fred answered. Harry smiled the answer; it was exactly how their bizarre relationship worked.

"Yeah," George replied, and Harry could hear in his voice the smile that must be on his face.

Harry walked out, his face showing the confusion that was racing through his mind. _He?_ Who were they talking about? They must mean Neville, surely – why else had he been included so much in the last two days? But it didn't seem to make much sense – what could Neville bring to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, their joke-shop business? Perhaps his incredible knowledge of herbology would have some spin-off he couldn't see, but it was a mystery to him.

When the twins saw him, they separated; George went in, presumably to make sure they didn't miss out on the food, while Fred stepped over to Harry.

"What's up, little brother? Your face is all a-bother."

Harry decided not to mention his unintended eavesdropping and just discuss the seating. "I notice Neville seems to have become a rather close friend all of a sudden, sitting with us again; is there something I don't know about going on?" Fred looked very innocent. Which was practically an admission of guilt. "I know you're up to something!"

"Yep," came the reply, with a wink. "Match-making."

"Grub's up!" called George, and Fred legged it before Harry could ask any more questions.

* * *

The thing that stood out most at Lavender's funeral was a moment when they were all seated quietly, just before the service started. Ron and Hermione were behind him, Ginny, Neville, George and Fred seated along from him, and Molly and Arthur in front. He had this lovely feeling of being family again. And then suddenly it all crumbled as what Fred had said hit him hard.

_Match-making?_

It could only mean Neville and Ginny! His heart started racing and his breathing became shallow. Well, he thought, trying to calm himself down, that's good, right? Gin and I aren't together at the moment, and she's not sure if we will be, and neither am I if I'm honest … OK, so that's all good. He started breathing deeper and more slowly. But … there were Nev and Gin, and Ron and Hermione, and Molly and Arthur, and the twins had each other…. Everyone else was paired off. Suddenly, surrounded by family, he felt very alone.

* * *

It had hurt him very deeply. He'd kept it inside for the rest of the day. That was what he did now, push his feelings down. Part of him didn't want to, wanted to yell, or cry, or have hysterics, or punch a fist through a wall. But he couldn't. When they all sat down for afternoon tea, he just sat with a mug of tea in his hands, not saying anything. He didn't think anyone noticed; there were plenty of Weasleys to keep the conversation going, and Arthur was especially talkative; he was very excited about having met the Creeveys and discussed Muggle things with them. Harry suspected, reading between the lines, that they had been quite grateful for it too: he guessed that Arthur's interest in them had helped them feel part of the wizarding world, part of Colin's life, in a way that they hadn't been able to before.

He hadn't had to say much at dinner, either, because Bill and Fleur showed up, and so naturally the attention was all turned on them. It was agreed that the whole family, "including my extra children," Molly had said, looking pointedly at Harry and Hermione, would visit Shell Cottage for lunch the next day.

He found out after dinner that his withdrawing into silence most certainly had been noticed. Ginny tackled him about it, in typically direct fashion.

"OK, Harry, you haven't said two words all evening. What's going on in that head of yours?" Gin asked.

"Oh Gin …" he began. But what to say?

"You can't stop there, Harry," she replied, grinning, "even if it is two words!"

This made him snort with amusement. "Yeah, OK, it's just …" He took a deep breath. "Look, I love you guys, I really do, I just … oh, I'm sorry …"

Ginny's heart melted at the puppy-dog face he was making. "You're feeling a bit left out, aren't you, Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice calm and soothing. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and she wrapped him up in his arms, saying "it's OK, Harry, I know you love us; we're your family, right?"

"Yeah, but Gin, you and me … you've found someone else, right?"

Ginny inhaled sharply. Damn! She had thought she was being so discreet. "Harry … we could give it time, but you and me really isn't going to work, is it?"

"No, I guess not." He swallowed hard. That was it; as a couple, they were done.

"But you're still part of us, Harry. You still belong. I still love you; it's just, like you're my brother, OK? And nothing's going to change that."

"Yeah, but there's you two, and the twins have each other, and Molly and Arthur, and Ron has Hermione; but I'm all alone…" As Harry said that, some of the emotion he had been repressing began to come out, and the tears slid slowly down his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Gin," he said, sobbing, "I should be congratulating you, you deserve better than me, and here I am wallowing in self-pity about being all alone when it's my fault we're not together…"

In the grip of emotion he had raised his voice, and obviously others had heard, because he was suddenly aware of Ron's strong arm circling around him from the left, while a familiar voice came from his right.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione scolded. "Haven't you got it through your thick head that you have nothing to apologize for?"

"And it's not your fault, Harry – we're meant for each other, but as family, not lovers" Gin assured him.

"And mate, we care about you, we'll help you sort out this bond thing with Malfoy, remember?" Ron chimed in.

"But – but – there's nothing like that between Draco and me!" Harry spluttered.

Ginny smiled to herself. _Yeah, Harry, that's why you call him Draco, now, right?_ she thought. But in for a Knut, in for a Galleon; if she was going to be provocative, she might as well go all out:

"Yeah, there's so little between you that he slaps you and you don't hit back," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"WHAT!" Hermione exclaimed, startling Ron, who let go of Harry in surprise. _Damn,_ Harry thought; obviously Ron hadn't discussed yesterday's events with her. So he explained the incident from the previous morning to Hermione; Ginny and Ron already knew, of course, though Gin had not heard the details. He still left out Draco's last words; but this time he was prepared to admit to himself it was because he wanted them to be private, rather than for Draco's sake.

"And you didn't tell us about this precisely why?" Hermione demanded.

Ron looked a bit sheepish. "He did tell me last night; but I did have to ask." He turned to Harry. "Mate, what's going on? You're bottling everything up, and you seem to be a bit distant all the time. In fact, you're being more like Malfoy than yourself!"

A CLICK! went off in Harry's head, so loud he wondered who had made a noise. _More like Malfoy?_ Did that explain this pushing down emotions? Was he learning the 'Malfoy mask'? He thought back over the last few days; was there anything else like it? He remembered one stray thought: _When did I become such a Hufflepuff?_ That was much more Draco Malfoy than him. _Hmm._

The shock must have made itself visible on his face; his friends were looking very concerned.

Questions came tumbling out.

"Do you think there's anything in that? Could it be that shield thing? Or even the bonding that Arthur was talking about?" And then the full reality of that hit him hard, and he continued, "Does that mean we'll get …" – he swallowed hard, hesitating over the next word – "married? Is that where this is going?"

Harry was getting more and more nervous as he gave voice to his concerns. He remembered what Draco had said: _"_ _I've been watching you for the last two years, wondering if that's what you wanted."_

Was it? Was he … gay?

To his surprise, it was Ron who worked out what the problem was. He put his arm around his friend again.

"Harry," he said gently, "you do know that we have no problem if you're gay, right? I mean, if you like men, that's no problem; you're still you, and we still love you. And I guess if you get together with Malfoy, somehow we'll deal with it. We'll always be here for you. You'll always be part of this family, no matter what, OK?"

"OK", Harry said, non-committally, but he didn't really believe it. And they didn't believe him. And he knew they didn't believe him …

"It's just –" he began, breaking off immediately to take a deep breath, and then thinking, _Gryffindor courage, Harry_ , and continuing, "Vernon Dursley used to rant about that sort of thing. He said all sorts of horrible things about 'queers' and 'Nancy-boys' and how depraved they are and they all end up dying in misery; I guess I just can't cope with the thought that maybe, once more, he was talking about me…"

His voice tailed off at the end. Hermione felt her heart break to see her friend so down.

"Right, we really are going, then," she said to Ron.

"Going where?" Harry asked, befuddled.

"Malfoy Manor, to get you some answers about shields and bonding," she replied, as though it were obvious. "Lucius Malfoy and I have been writing to each other during the week – you saw the book I was reading yesterday; that was from his library, a very interesting book about shield spells in general, though a bit lacking about the Haussmann shield – and he's agreed to us visiting tomorrow morning, so we'll see you at Shell Cottage for lunch."

Harry looked at her, feeling incredibly grateful; and then his guilt-gene kicked in again. He remembered he'd actually asked her to do this; how could he be so insensitive?

"Ron, you're going too?" His friend nodded. "I can't believe you guys. Hermione, how can you do this? How can you so calmly offer to go back to Malfoy Manor when you were tortured there? Ron, are you really going back there, where we were attacked and imprisoned? It might still be dangerous! I can't ask you guys to do that!"

Hermione put on her best schoolmistress voice, and ticked off her points on her fingers:

"Firstly, I've wanted to see the Malfoy library since I first heard about it in first year, and when Lucius invited me on Saturday it was all I could do not to rush over there at once. Secondly, there are Aurors there; I don't see how we'll be in any danger. Thirdly, even if we are, the two of us together have proved to be pretty good at looking after ourselves. Fourthly, I said I'd go, so I'm going. Because, fifthly, Harry Potter, you need to know what's going on here. You need help. We're your friends; we'd do anything for you. Hell, Harry, when the wizarding world needed help, when you had to die to destroy Voldemort, you walked right up and did it. So stop apologizing and accept that we're going to do this for you because we love you and you need it. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject!"

With that, she got up and left the room.

"Well, mate, I reckon you've been told." Ron said.

Harry grinned. There was obviously nothing to do but accept the situation. "Yeah, I reckon I have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes  
> (*) Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662). Although he said it in French: "Le cœur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point."
> 
> Massive thanks to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster, for her hard work, again.
> 
> Thanks to all who favourite/follow/comment. Here, as requested by ChibiAyane and Mayra, is more!


	8. Return to Scheming

**8\. Return to Scheming**

_Tuesday, May 5 1998 – Malfoy Manor_

Draco Malfoy was getting rather bored of his own company.

He'd come back from the Lupins' funeral yesterday without his mother. As she had never actually taken the Dark Mark, she was not under the same stringent house-arrest requirements that he and his father were and so she did not have to return to the Manor with him, and had gone back to Andromeda's house instead to help with Teddy. While he was jealous of her freedom, he could see that it was definitely in their favour: by not being in the Manor all the time, she was subtly pointing out to the Aurors that she shouldn't be lumped together with her husband and son, which might help keep her, at least, out of Azkaban. There was always a chance that she would be able to lobby for their release, if it came to that; and at any rate, keep the Malfoy name from being irreparably dragged through the mud.

Draco had mixed feelings about his father. They had had a conference about the state of affairs, and Draco knew that there were two concerns uppermost in his father's mind: staying out of Azkaban and avoiding being a slave to Harry Potter. From Lucius's research in the Malfoy library, it appeared that the latter was a shockingly real possibility.

It seemed that a wizard's magic was the most important thing about him, as far as the ancient pure-blood traditions were concerned, and so had given rise to the heaviest debt known to wizarding law. It turned out that there were some very old, very dark, and very illegal spells that could bind up a wizard's magic. Evidently, the Dark Lord had learnt one of these and used it on them. It occurred to Draco that he had probably learnt it here; a terrible irony that the knowledge which was the source of so much of their power had been used against them to rob them of it. But these spells could be broken. And when a wizard was denied his magic and someone set him free, this created an obligation, the "Dette of Magickale Emantschipation" as the old books quaintly termed it, which was even more important and far-reaching than a Life Debt.

The debt amounted to the fact that, if Potter wanted to, he could claim both father and son as his vassals. And not just their service; they would be unable to lie to him, to plot against him, or even to use magic at all without his approval, if he chose to enforce it. This clearly terrified the older Malfoy. Draco thought he could understand the fears and frustrations that were driving his father: Lucius had been under the Dark Lord's sway for so many years; had had freedom for a few hours; and now, it appeared, was potentially once more bound to a Lord.

But Harry Potter, Draco knew, was no Lord Voldemort. He had said that the only thing he wanted was for them to be free. Draco had watched him for seven years; he knew that Potter would never go back on such a statement. He would not insist on his rights. At first, when they had discussed things on Sunday, he had shared his father's concern; but when he had seen Potter again at the funeral, he realized that he could make it work.

It was, he knew, the slap that had changed his mind. He'd gone to the funeral primed by his father to do whatever he could to get Potter on-side; when he had fallen apart in front of Draco, and it looked like he would just give up, Draco knew instinctively that he had to act, and act drastically. The slap had not been premeditated; but it had hurt, and Potter had not been offended, so Draco was now certain that Potter would accept him as an equal, not insist on his status as a slave.

At that thought, his native Slytherin cunning kicked in. Being accepted by the "Saviour of the Wizarding World", as the Prophet called him, as an equal was no bad thing for wizards who had picked the wrong side of the battle and stood to lose everything. Even, it seemed, his friends. When he'd gone to see Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Greg Goyle at Hogwarts while Potter was out of it, Pansy and Greg had made it clear that, while they sympathized with him, they weren't going to risk openly assisting him in any way. He had not been in touch since.

This left Blaise Zabini as his only remaining true friend. He no longer had a power base amongst the Slytherin snakes; well then, as a Slytherin, he would have to seek another one. He would brave the Gryffindor lions, and seek new strength there. It was going to take a new strategy; amongst the snakes, he could hide his cowardice with bullying, but he might actually have to be brave, and – horror! - Honest, with the lions. It occurred to him that he already had been: the slap had been partly about waking up Potter for his father's sake; but Draco knew perfectly well that there was more to it than that. He'd told Potter he needed him. And that was not Slytherin manipulation; it was the stark, honest truth.

Draco was becoming a bit of a Gryffindor. The thought scared him shitless.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy sipped her Lady Grey tea and considered the issue of Harry Potter calmly and carefully.

Firstly, there was the undeniable fact that she adored Lucius Malfoy. She always had, she expected that she always would. And she knew that he adored her in return. He had always made sure that, whatever happened to him, she would be alright. There had never been any suggestion of her going to Azkaban. She alone knew how much his protecting her had cost him over the years. She desperately wanted to keep him free, and to stop him needing to pay any more for her freedom. She could see only one possibility of achieving this, but was there a limit to what she would do to achieve this? Was welcoming Harry Potter, of all people, into the Malfoy circle too high a price?

Now consider the blossoming relationship with her sister. They both needed each other, that was clear. And they were both very much enjoying getting back together, that was also clear. She enjoyed Teddy; it was lovely to have a child to fuss over again, it was such a help after all the unremitting angst of the War. And, of course, Mr. Potter turned up again. As Teddy's godfather, he was always going to be part of that scene.

Then there was her son's happiness to consider. She could not deny that there was something between him and Mr. Potter. They had had all this talk about shields and bonds and debts. She knew all the theory. She also knew the evidence of her own eyes over the years: her son had always had an obsession with Harry James Potter. He had never stopped wanting to be his friend, ever since Harry had spurned his hand back when they were both eleven. To be certain, that obsession now manifested as hatred; but every witch knew the mantra, "if you can't kiss him, hex him": and that, she was sure, applied here. She could sense that her son's walls, the elaborate defences he had built up over the years to hide his emotions, even from himself, were tottering.

The shield and debt might be real enough, but Narcissa considered that the bond might well have happened without them. And, she decided, it was a desirable thing. On the whole, no, Mr. Potter was not too high a price. There was, of course, the question of an heir; but then, they could always adopt Teddy. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened in Malfoy history, she knew, though it was never discussed openly.

So she had manipulated as best she could to get them together. She knew that the thought of Potter gave Lucius heartburn; but she knew him well enough to see that he understood the power that the boy wielded, quite unknowingly. Imagine if that power could be harnessed, could be directed by the Malfoys!

What could they not achieve then!

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was worried about his son.

Draco was not coping very well with their enforced confinement in the manor. He was glad that the Aurors had allowed him to accompany his mother to the Lupin funeral; it had given Draco something to do other than staying in his room, which seemed to be all he spent his time doing since the Battle.

He knew that they were both in a limbo that would only stop when the Ministry got round to holding trials for former Death-Eaters. And the limbo was probably better than the Hell to follow. He knew that things were pretty grim: he was as likely to escape another sentence in Azkaban as a Muggle was to escape a body-bind curse. It was this thought that had led him to all but abandon his son for the time being: he hoped that by showing the Aurors that there was a coolness, a distance between them, his son might be able to avoid the same fate.

As for himself, he had been cautiously owling a few old friends, suggesting that perhaps a little influence might be brought to bear. But he knew he had to be subtle; very subtle. The Aurors swore blind that his correspondence was not being monitored. They probably even believed it. Lucius did not. He knew far too well how the Ministry operated.

But Azkaban was only one of his problems. What to do about Potter? This Magical Emancipation Debt worried him greatly. It seems that he might have only traded one form of slavery for another. And how to take Potter being a Gryffindor into account? The Dark Lord was at least predictable. Lucius had worked out his measure; after all, he had managed to maintain his position as Voldemort's favourite Death Eater for nearly twenty years, until his failure to obtain the prophecy.

Draco thought that, because it was Potter, things would be different. That Potter really wanted them to be free. Lucius ruminated about that. If Potter had been a Slytherin, he would have known how to deal with things, known how to strike a deal with him to his face, and manipulate him behind his back. But Gryffindors were always so unpredictable. One simply could not count on them to act in their own best interest; and this unnerved him.

Draco even seemed to believe that Potter might keep them out of Azkaban. If so, what an irony that it was him! Here in front of him was the very real possibility of a second term of imprisonment in Azkaban, and loss of his standing in the wizarding world; and his best hope to avoid it seemed to be the boy who had caused his first prison sentence, and his loss of standing with the Dark Lord.

He sat, sipping a fine vintage port, one of the few muggle things he really enjoyed, and let his thoughts wander. He had long ago discovered that his best plans happened this way, when he just relaxed and let them grow in his mind, rather than try to reason things out.

This time was no exception. The plan, when it came, was beautiful, and breathtakingly simple. And the best thing was that it actually hinged on Potter being a Gryffindor. He looked at it from all angles, rolled it around in his mind just as he rolled the port around in his mouth, testing it from every angle. Were there any flaws? Arthur Weasley, of course, obviously knew something about Haussmann shields; tricky; but he knew nothing of Dark Magic, so that should be safe. Hermione Granger; yes, but she could be managed.

After another half an hour of mulling things over, he reached a conclusion. The plan would work. It was perfect. It would keep him out of Azkaban, and Potter out of his hair; and with a very little luck, achieve both at no cost to him or Draco.

A very good evening's work.

He left the fire in the grate to die down by itself, and went to bed.

* * *

_Wednesday, May 6 1998 – Malfoy Manor_

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley arrived at the manor at half-past nine, as arranged. Lucius smiled to himself; their punctuality showed that she took him seriously. This was very promising. He offered them tea and toast, which was politely declined.

He led them to the library, taking care to avoid rooms that might have unhappy memories. To this end, he had specifically had them Floo into Narcissa's study. While this room was less imposing than his own study, it had the advantage of a Floo connection and a straight route to the library. Also, it meant that he could hide the books he definitely did not want Granger to find in his own study.

He didn't want to suppress knowledge of the Magical Emancipation Debt entirely; that would leave him open to the risk of her finding out about it from some other source. But he wanted to leave her with the impression that it had to be an oppressive burden if it was to be taken up. Potter had to be made to agree to let them off immediately and completely; and, he being a Gryffindor, the best way to do that was to take his words about setting them free at face value, and make it clear that this Debt was the opposite of that.

Lucius had a terrible feeling in his stomach. Almost anyone else Lucius knew would have jumped all over such a display of weakness. He was in effect throwing himself on Potter's mercy. He had to remind himself that he was not dealing with a Slytherin, who would not have shown any. Potter would have mercy; he would live up to his words about setting Draco free. He had to believe it. He kept repeating it to himself over and over as the morning went on.

Granger's gasp of amazement when they walked into the library was very gratifying. He went over to the section on Shields, and was momentarily grateful to the house-elves who had manage to rearrange the books so that it was not obvious that half a dozen books were missing, currently sitting on his study desk.

 _Grateful to a house-elf? Lucius, control yourself!_ He berated himself.

Near the shelves a table had been drawn up, with three comfortable stools. On the table were three books with slips of paper inserted as bookmarks at relevant points.

"These are all the books that might contain something of interest about shields," he said, indicating three shelves packed tight with very old books. Ron groaned; Lucius hid a smirk. He indicated the top shelf, where the books were significantly less dusty. "These are the books that I have had a chance to read since Saturday. The ones I have put back on the shelf don't appear to contain anything of much further help; these three, however," pointing to the books on the table, "were quite instructive. So perhaps we might start understanding what this Shield means for my son and your friend by sharing what we have found so far? Then there are these other books for us to continue researching."

Hermione smiled at him. She loved being in this place, so full of ancient books, and talking with someone who so obviously loved them too.

"Arthur told us a little more on Sunday," she began. "He said that a Haussmann shield can only be created when two or more people's magical cores get aligned with each other. He said that normally, this only happens inside a bonded relationship, but that there are rare cases of friends being able to create one; but the friends ended up being bonded in all cases he knew of."

Lucius blanched. "This is news to me," he said, truthfully. His research had uncovered the Debt of Magical Emancipation, and he had not considered the bonding issue at all. It made him rather sick to think of it – Harry Potter as "Restorer of his Magicke", as the books put it, he probably had to live with; Harry Potter as a son-in-law was a step too far. "That is, the idea of bonding. But I don't know if it would apply in this case. After all, Mr. Potter and Draco were neither bonded nor friends. Their history is rather acrimonious."

"Perhaps we were not friends, Father. But we shook hands on Saturday and parted as such," drawled a familiar voice, as Draco Malfoy entered the library. "Good morning Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,' he said to the two visitors, his voice dripping with an icy politeness.

"Draco," Ron said, nodding his head in acknowledgement, the tension in his voice at odds with the informality of using his former classmate's first name. "Perhaps, if you're going to be Harry's friend, we should be friendly too, and use first names?"

"And, my son, do you think that you and Mr. Potter will end up bonded? Is that an acceptable outcome?" Lucius continued, as though Ron had not spoken.

Draco was a bit shocked. The subtle difference between being friendly and being friends was not lost on him. If the offer had been friendship straight up, he would have scorned the idea out of hand; he would have had to, with his father there, he was never going to openly accept friendship from a blood-traitor before the head of his family did. And his father had made his opinion clear – as clear as he ever would –by ignoring the words.

Being friendly was another matter. It was obvious that the Weasel was making this offer for Harry's sake, not Draco's. Well, he could be civil, he supposed. But he knew the Gryffindors well enough to know that 'friendly' would become 'friends' all too soon. It was all moving too fast – he had to be friends with the Weasels? And bond with Potter? In the Gryffindor Tower on Saturday, all had seemed right and natural, even the kiss on the cheek; but in the cold light of the Manor, he wasn't at all sure any more.

Lucius marked the hesitation in answering, and continued, "I thought not. Now, there is another issue that we need to consider. When a wizard loses his magic for some reason: in our case, because of the Dark Lord's curse, and someone restores it to them, there is a debt accrued."

"Like a life debt?" interjected Hermione, unable to contain her usual exuberant thirst for knowledge.

"Sort of," Lucius answered. _Best not to give it all away too soon_ , he thought to himself. "But the details I have found so far are rather sketchy." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his son's eyes go a little wide, and then settle back to their usual state, masking his surprise well. _Good_ , he thought. _Draco has worked out to keep his mouth shut._ "So, it seems that we have three avenues of research: the Shield, the bond and the debt. Now, do you wish to review the books I have discarded, or shall we move on to the books I have not read yet?"

"I'm sure we needn't revisit them, if you think so," Hermione answered, smiling.

Lucius did not miss the slight condescension in her smile. It showed him that her Gryffindor nature was guiding her to trust the information he was giving her, which pleased him enormously. "Thank you," he said, a small bow of the head masking the slight grin at her falling in beautifully with his plan. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the small blue book that contained the hints he was desperate for her to find; so he suggested that they continue reviewing separately and made sure she started on the shelf it was on.

Draco and Ron decided to bow out of the research. Ron had noticed a Wizard's chess-set standing next to a window in a little alcove, and challenged Draco to a game. Draco readily accepted; a good, or even a bad, game of chess would be the most exciting thing to happen in the Manor since they had come under house arrest.

For an hour or more, they sat in two odd couples, Lucius and Hermione reading, and occasionally sharing, some insight they had found, while Ron and Draco played chess. Ron was delighted to find that Draco was a worthy opponent; caught up in the joy of playing a game that actually stretched him for once, he found himself actually starting a very quiet conversation with the younger Malfoy.

"Must be horrid, cooped up in here." He began.

Draco looked at him closely, but there was no hint of animosity in the other's eyes.

"Yes." He replied. "Getting out for the funeral on Monday was the only thing to relieve the boredom."

"Bit sad when a funeral is the highlight of your week," Ron replied, with a low chuckle.

Draco was surprised. It appeared that the Weasel actually had a sense of humour. He'd never suspected it; but then most of their conversations at Hogwarts had involved yelling and hexes, which perhaps was not the ideal way to find out what each other was really like.

"I suppose so," he agreed. "Look, um, I have to ask – how is Harry? How did he take that stuff about bonding?"

Ron in turn looked at Draco closely.

"You actually do care about him, don't you?" he said, his voice gentler than Draco could have imagined. Draco wondered if perhaps they might end up friends after all.

"I guess I do." He replied, surprising himself, both that he did care, and that he was being so open about it with a Weasel. This Gryffindor thing seemed to be kicking in with a vengeance.

"Well, he's a bit scared about it all. I mean, he hasn't said so, as such; but he did talk about how his uncle used to rant about gays being depraved, I think that frightened him about maybe being gay himself. His uncle is a nasty piece of work, and Harry's always been afraid of him."

Draco was curious. The "Boy-Who-Lived-Twice" afraid of a mere Muggle? He would have to look into this. Later; Weasley was still talking.

"Harry did ask if this was going to end up with you two married. I guess that's one thing we came here today to find out: what you think about that."

Draco looked straight at the red-head. He instinctively wanted to give a smart retort: the Weasel was asking him about his feelings. He was a Slytherin for Merlin's sake; he didn't discuss his feelings with anyone! But the idea of Harry being afraid had begun to obsess him: it was just wrong!

What **did** he feel? He didn't know. Very unnerving, he'd always known exactly what he wanted before. Part of him recoiled at the idea; part of him was desperate to find out more, to right the wrong done to Harry ( _yes, Harry, not Potter_ , he told himself); and wasn't that just a surreal thought?

"I guess I don't know either," was all he came out with, as honest and up-front as he could be. Weasley – Ron – held his gaze, and nodded, accepting the honesty and the fact that this wasn't a "no".

At this point Hermione found the passage that Lucius was waiting for. He knew she had; she gave a huge shriek that made Weasley nearly fall off his stool.

"What have you found?" he asked, in what he hoped was a politely interested tone.

"Oh, sorry, Ron." She answered, "This is a very old book called _Protections and their Associated Obligations_. It's hard to read, but it appears to confirm that what it calls a Shield of Haussmann can only be created between people who have a significant relationship with each other. Apparently the shield is a form of mutual protection; it takes very strong wizards to cast it, which means it's very hard to break and will shield the casters from most spells as long as they are in physical contact. But there's also a section that looks like it might be the debt you were talking about, what it terms a…" – and here she struggled over the words; as Lucius well knew, not only were they spelt very strange, but the font was a very old, German one, and hard for modern Britons to read - "a 'Dette of Magickale Emantschipation' – I guess that's a 'Debt of Magical Emancipation', right?"

"I should think so," Lucius confirmed. "And does it go into detail about that?"

Hermione read on. "It has something to do with" - and here she flipped to another section of the book, and read out, " _Should it be that a Wizard has his Magic taken, and restored, by any means, the Restorer shall obtain a Dette over the Wizard, in respect of the Wizard's Magicke_. And back here"- she returned to the page she had been reading before:

" _ **The Shield of Haussmann**_ _._

_**Establishment** _ _._

_It is known that a Shield, established, evidences a Meeting of Magick of two or more Witches or Wizards. A case has been recorded of Four Participants, but two were Veelas. It is not known whether other magickal Creatures can form a Shield._

_Should a Shield become established over a Dette of Magickale Emantschipation, it evidences a Binding of Wizard to Wizard, Magicke to Magicke, Soul to Soul. Such a Binding shall endure unless it be not Sette._

_**Extent.** _

_A Shield can be Temporary or Endurant. A Temporary lasts only while a Need is pressing and dies with the Moment; an Endurant appears to remain without Limitation or Circumscription of Efficacy._

_Some think that a Shield established on a Dette shall be Endurant or not as the Dette is Sette or not. Others suggest it depend on the Number of Participants equally as their Disposition._ "

"Blimey," said Ron, "what does all that mean, then?"

"And how can a binding be set?" Draco asked.

"Well," drawled Lucius, "the usual way to seal a bond is by … consummation."

"So," said Draco, swallowing hard at the thought, "since we haven't done that, the bond is not set? We can avoid it?"

"Perhaps," said Lucius, cautiously. _Don't appear too eager!_ "But there's still this debt. Does the book tell us more about that?"

"I don't really think that's so important," she replied.

"NOT IMPORTANT?" Ron exploded. "How do you work that out?"

"But don't you see, Ron? Harry's been so worried about forcing people into things. All he needs to do is forgive the debt and then, since the bond is not set, everything will return to how it was before! Come on, let's go and tell him!"

She jumped up and began to race out of the room. Lucius got up, pleased at this turn of events, but rather surprised: he'd always pegged her as the more level-headed of the two, but she was the excited one, Weasley just looked... bemused? Pensive? Lucius wasn't quite sure how to describe it.

But it didn't matter. His plan was going well. He ushered then back to Narcissa's study and they Flooed away.

* * *

Hermione and Ron couldn't go straight to Shell Cottage; because it was still under a Fidelius charm, they could not say its address in front of the Malfoys. Accordingly, they Flooed back to the Burrow. As soon as she came out of the Floo, Hermione picked up some more Floo powder, obviously itching to proceed to the cottage, but Ron held her hand, restraining her.

"We have to tell Harry straight away!" she said, breathlessly, fighting his hold.

"Um, no, Hermione, we need to think first," said Ron, steering her to the old settee in the corner. "Yes, there's stuff he needs to know, but frankly, I don't trust Lucius Malfoy an inch."

"But Ron, you heard what it said in the book!" she said, still fighting him.

"Yes, but I also saw a few things. Like, how come you found the book that explained so much within a few hours? Hmm? Lucius has had days; don't tell me he hasn't at least skimmed over anything that might be interesting."

Hermione stopped fighting. "You might have a point," she conceded.

"I **do** have a point," Ron said adamantly, "And his face, when you found it: he wasn't surprised by what was in the book, I'll swear to it. Actually, he looked impressed; like he'd set you a puzzle and you'd solved it in record time."

"Hmm," the witch replied, thinking quickly. "So, what should we say to Harry then?"

"The truth," Ron suggested.

"Of course the truth!" Hermione snorted in reply. "But if we tell him everything he will charge in head first and we will never get the chance to find out more before he insists on trying to free them."

They chewed over everything they had learnt, especially what Ron had seen from Lucius, and what Draco had told him.

It was nearly one o'clock when they arrived at Shell Cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do take a moment to review. Your thoughts are helpful -- it's nice to know if my story is being enjoyed, or could be improved.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos or followed my story. You are all wonderful.


	9. Hope Returning

**9\. Hope Returning**

_Wednesday, May 6 1998_

Harry Potter was having a wonderful day.

It hadn't started like that; when he got up it was an overcast day, threatening rain, and he was in a mood to match. When he got downstairs he found Ron and Hermione already eating and chatting about their visit to the Manor during the morning.

 _Brilliant_ , he thought bitterly. _I won't even have their company today!_

The twins took one look at him moping over the breakfast table and decided that drastic action was called for.

"Hey Harry," George said as he ruffled his hair, "want to come over to the shop with us this morning?"

"Is it open again?" he asked, a note of hopeful excitement in his voice.

"Um, not _exactly_ ," they replied, "Diagon Alley suffered a lot at the hands of Death Eaters, and it's still a bit of a mess. / We could use a hand cleaning it up, though. / Getting it ready and all. / We're planning on having a grand opening as soon as we can!"

Harry laughed at the way the conversation switched between them so easily. He actually felt happy about the thought of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opening again. It reminded him that sooner or later things were going to return to normal (whatever that was going to mean!); right now was a strange time of funerals and cleaning up, but the world definitely needed the exuberant fun that the twins' business would bring.

And for today, going to Diagon Alley sounded like a lot more fun than sitting around the Burrow being bored.

"Of course I'll come," he answered with enthusiasm.

They apparated over straight after breakfast. Auror cover was provided by Auror Proudfoot, who encouraged them to forget all about him; he told them he would be around but not intrude. Harry had half-hoped Auror Banks would come, but apparently he was going to the Cottage later that morning with the remaining Weasleys. Proudfoot said this with a strange smile on his face, and Harry wondered if there was something he was missing. But he had other things to think about.

Diagon Alley was a mess, and Harry was heart-broken to see what had happened to so many of his favourite places after the Death Eaters had wreaked havoc.

"Don't worry, Harry, / it's not all as bad as it looks," the twins assured him, George throwing an arm over his shoulder. "But we are going to need help. / We put up some strong charms to protect the buildings / but we had Mad-Eye before, and we need the extra strength to undo them."

"I don't understand, how can -" Harry began.

"Oh you will," they answered straight away. "Let's start with Fortescue's."

They stood in front of the ice-cream shop that Harry loved so much. He had such fond memories of studying here in third year, having escaped from the Dursleys', and Florean Fortescue feeding him ice-cream sundaes every half-hour. But Florean had been taken off by Death Eaters, never to return, and his shop looked like a bombed-out wreck.

"Just point your wand at the shop / and use the incantation _R_ _edire_ _ad sanitatem!_ "

The three of them chanted the spell together. Harry gasped as the twisted shop-front started to unwind and move out, and the walls behind became straight. In minutes, the building was basically sound again; the roof, which had caved in, managed to restore itself to its familiar jaunty angle, and all that was needed was a good paint job and the place would be good as new.

Harry's jaw dropped, and his eyes opened as wide as they could go. This had to be one of the most impressive pieces of magic he had ever seen. "How did you do that?" He asked in awe, a bemused but delighted look on his face.

"When we started up in Diagon Alley, we got word the Death Eaters were planning something big, / so Mad-Eye had this brilliant idea. / He roped us in and put spells on all the important stores so if they got destroyed, / we could fix them again!"

Brilliant idea, indeed. And amazingly well executed. Not surprising, perhaps, since Mad-Eye had had a hand in it. Harry knew he had been regarded as one of the best Aurors there'd ever been, and was a sad loss to the wizarding world in general, and personally to each of the three of them. But Harry refused to dwell on such thoughts. He hadn't cast these spells for them to get all maudlin about his death. No, this brilliance was to be celebrated.

As if on cue, a sunbeam burst through the clouds, lighting up the shopfront.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed with unrestrained joy. The twins were confused; "wicked" was exactly what it wasn't! But clearly Harry meant it as a good thing, so they guessed it must be some quaint Muggle turn of phrase he'd picked up. They too were very excited, so they just accepted his words with pleased smiles; they had not missed the slight flicker as he'd thought about Mad-Eye, though they didn't know that was what it was; but seeing him that happy again was what mattered.

"We tried to restore things on Sunday but we weren't strong enough without Mad-Eye."

"Sunday? But we were at home, resting?" Harry wondered.

"Sh!" the twins said, "not all of us, / not all the time, alright? / But don't tell Dad, / he gets upset if people apparate away without telling Mum. / Now, are you going to help us with the rest of the Alley?"

"Of course!" Harry agreed without hesitation, "That was BRILLIANT!"

* * *

They worked hard all morning and by half past ten, many of Harry's favourite shops were solid and sound again, and several of the shop-owners had returned. They had mostly been staying in the Leaky Cauldron, their houses above the shops not being habitable, and had come out to see what all the noise was about. Harry watched their faces and his heart sang to see the hope returning as they saw their shops being fixed.

Floriana Fortescue, Florean's daughter, cried tears of joy upon seeing her father's shop repaired. Of course, Harry realized, it was her shop now, since Florean was gone. He hoped she'd keep the name though; She waved her wand in an incredibly intricate pattern and, far more quickly than Harry had dared to believe possible, the shop was redecorated and ready for business. She placed a large sign above: _**Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour**_ , it proclaimed, in crimson and gold.

"I'm never going to change the name," she said with a wistful but happy expression. "I'm so proud of him, and I want everyone to remember that he stood up to Death Eaters right here in front of his shop."

Harry was delighted to discover that she was as happy as her father to offer him free ice-cream. As it turned out, this made good business sense as well: many witches and wizards, having somehow got wind of the fact that something was going on, had turned up and they all wanted to be photographed eating an ice-cream with 'the great Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World'.

Ordinarily, Harry would have hated the fuss, but when ice-cream was involved, he was happy to take one for the team. Or in fact, several. Harry got through quite a few ice-creams before the twins decided that they needed to take action. Not that they begrudged him the treats; they'd actually decided that their mission for today was getting him out of the funk he had started the day in, and keeping him out of it. So far, they reckoned they had been riotously successful. But if they stayed out in public it was only a matter of time before Rita Skeeter or one of her cronies turned up and spoilt Harry's day.

"Hey, little brother, how about we go and check out the shop?" Fred suggested. Harry's face lit up, and he stood up and thanked Floriana for her kindness. She handed him a cone to go and made him promise to come back soon. Then the twins linked their arms through his and the three of them sauntered over to the shop. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had not suffered much, and they had managed to repair the façade easily. Fred and George told him that they had popped along on Sunday, so the place was already habitable and they had even found a caretaker to watch over it for them.

"Anyone I know?" Harry asked, trying to sound off-hand; but actually he was dying to know everything that the pair had been up to. He was really enjoying the day. Being with the twins was like being permanently on holiday, he decided.

"Wait and see." George replied, with a sly smile.

"Here we are then!" Fred announced cheerily as they walked in.

"'Bout time, too," came a familiar voice.

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, as Neville Longbottom came out of the inner rooms and onto the shop floor. Harry rushed over to give his friend a huge hug, which was returned with gusto.

"You've done a splendid job, Neville!" George enthused. Harry was a bit surprised; not really like George to be gushy; he looked at him with concern; did he looked a bit flushed? Was he coming down with something?

"You alright, big brother?" he asked.

"Never better, little brother," George replied, with a wink and a wide grin.

Fred suggested they make a start on sorting out a great heap of products that had got thrown together in the middle of the floor.

"That'll take weeks!" Harry groaned.

The others chuckled. The twins responded, "The problem with you, Harry, is that / being brought up by Muggles, -"

"- you will forget about magic!" It was Neville who finished the thought, so naturally and immediately that it was as if the twins had suddenly become triplets. The three of them waved their wands together and the items in the heap suddenly took on a life of their own, zooming wildly around the shop. Harry laughed maniacally; it was like being back on the Quidditch pitch, avoiding bludgers, only without a broomstick. He ducked and weaved and jumped to avoid being hit; he suspected that the three were aiming at him on purpose, but he couldn't help bouncing back up in his joy at the sheer exuberance of the magic.

In no time at all, the shop was back to rights. Harry was breathless; it took him five minutes of huffing and puffing, cackling the whole time, to get back to normal. While he did so, George and Fred wove some charms together, and the decor changed from what the muggles called 'shabby chic' (a polite way to say 'train wreck', Harry thought) to an inspired combination of golds, reds and purples. It was gaudy, outlandish, over the top, and absolutely perfect for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Wow!" said Harry, turning on the spot as he took in all the pure, almost childish, joy that the place seemed to exude. "You could have your grand opening today!"

"We thought we'd leave it till the weekend," Fred replied, "you know, mark of respect and all that." Not wanting to give any of them a chance to dwell on such thoughts, he squinted through the shop window and took a look outside. The crowd had dispersed nicely; there were a few passers-by, but by the looks of it, most people had gone into the shops. "Looks a bit less crowded, fancy another ice-cream, Harry?" he asked with a grin.

Harry Potter, having been starved of sugar as a child, had never been known to refuse such an offer. Even though he'd lost count of how many he'd already consumed today, this, he decided immediately, was not going to be the first time. The two of them wandered back over to Fortescue's, where two huge ice-cream sundaes appeared as they sat at one of the tables. It was only when they'd sat down and he'd wolfed half his chocolate and raspberry sundae with chopped nuts that it occurred to him that, of the three others, only Fred was with him.

"Where are George and Neville?" he asked.

Fred gave him a sly look, reminiscent of the one on Auror Proudfoot's face before, when Harry had asked about Robin Banks. "I think they might have found something else to do."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well, I guess they miss out on ice-cream, then. Or do you think we should take some back for them?"

Fred grinned. There was no mistaking that look: pure mischief. "That, Harry, is **such** a good idea ..."

* * *

Neville had been very busy sorting out the living quarters, and George was very impressed. They had asked him to set up separate bedrooms: at the Burrow, they had always slept in a room together, but they both had plans that would make it, ah, _inconvenient_ , to continue the practice. Accordingly, Neville had cleaned up and furnished two rooms which George came and inspected. He was enjoying playing landlord. Fred's room was light blue and orange, a combination he would not have chosen himself, but which worked, somehow. He knew Fred would like it.

His own room was lilac and green. Very tasteful, George decided. This one was definitely a keeper. And, he noticed, Neville was also getting a little bit flustered standing in another man's room. And his trousers seemed to be just a little tight all of a sudden.

"Um, George, I, um..." Neville began. _How do you do this?_ He wondered. _How do you tell another bloke you've had a mad crush on him for years?_

"Yeah," said George. "Me too."

He moved closer to the caretaker. A little closer than was quite polite and definitely intruding on Neville's personal space. Neville noticed (it would have been difficult not to) and looked up slowly. There was no mistaking the lust in George's eyes; it was enough to rob him completely of self-control, and the two practically crashed together in an embrace of mutual longing. All of a sudden, they were kissing, though for a moment Neville found himself wondering how they had managed the coordination to actually meet each other's lips. But after that, all thought seemed to fly out of his head, and all Neville knew was that it was the most amazing experience he had ever had. Their mouths worked against one another, opened for each other, their tongues stroked and pressed together as hands moved to shoulders and arms, caressing and squeezing.

Eventually, George decided that he really did need to breathe, and they broke apart; reluctantly, on both sides. _Definitely a keeper_ , he thought.

"Look, Neville, the room's really great and all that, but there's something really important missing."

Neville looked like he was going to faint. He'd tried so hard, he so wanted to make George happy; what had he forgotten? "Um, what?" he managed to ask, his throat tight.

"Well," George said, with a wink, "don't you think the bed would look ever so much better with a naked Gryffindor on it?"

* * *

Five minutes later, George decided he had been half right. Mind you, the Gryffindor he had thought of was absolutely gorgeous. It's just that he seemed, somehow, to have miscounted; two was definitely a better number than one. He pulled Neville to him in a tight embrace and their lips locked together again. George slid his tongue across Neville's lips and was rewarded with a low moan as Neville opened his mouth and their tongues tangled together.

"I've been dreaming of this moment," Neville exclaimed, as his hand strayed down George's side to rest on his swelling cock, "for three years ..."

"Perhaps," said George, punctuating his words with a kisses, "it's time (kiss) to stop dreaming (kiss) and start living (kiss)", and his hand was firmly encircling Neville's huge, hard boner.

"Nng – uh – urr – nng," Neville said, shuddering at the touch. Apparently he had temporarily lost the ability to form actual words. George was quite chuffed that he had managed to reduce the Gryffindor who had openly defied Voldemort to a quivering wreck incapable of articulate speech. It was obvious that Neville was a virgin with no prior experience of making love, and that made the moment almost unbearably sweet.

For his part, Neville was in ecstasy. He had thought of George while jerking himself off, of course, but it had never been like this. He'd never realized the fire of passion that would course through him, and the heady sense of joy that came from knowing that the other man felt it too. It didn't take him long to come, and he might have felt embarrassed had George not been close behind.

They lay still together, cuddling and murmuring to each other. George wanted this moment to last forever; he was afraid that if either of them said anything out loud, he would lose it. But he was wrong: Neville whispered "thank you," and the words reverberated in him with all the love and joy of the moment they had shared. He did the only thing he could think of to express his own gratitude: he kissed his new lover, at first gently, so gently, then deeply and passionately, and their cuddle quickly became stronger and erotic again.

But it is in the nature of moments that they are ... momentary. The door downstairs banged, and Fred's voice yelled up, "We're back! We brought you ice-cream! Hope you're decent!"

Neville panicked. "We have to clean up and get dressed! They'll find us! What will Fred think of you?" he said, in a whisper lest his own voice betray him.

George laughed. A quick _scourgify_ dealt with the cleaning-up part, but he didn't bother with getting dressed, contenting himself with summoning the covers over the two of them. "They'll find out we're lovers eventually, Neville, and I'm not bothered if you're not."

"I'm not ashamed to call you my lover," Neville replied, horrified that George would think that he might be. George marveled at how the nervous boy of six years ago had matured into this courageous, gorgeous man and couldn't resist telling him so.

"You're gorgeous, you know. I've wanted you for a while too, and Fred has been very encouraging since he came back to us on Saturday. I know exactly what he will think, and it's going to make him…"

"Grin from ear to ear!" said the Weasley in question, as he poked his head around the door. "All right George?"

"Never been better, Fred."

"On you, Nev!" Fred exclaimed. "Oh, and, love your work!"

Neville had no idea whether he meant the decorating or his recent – ah – activity; but he went a deep crimson anyway. George found it charming, and it toned beautifully with the dark green sheets.

"Here's your ice-cream," Fred added, as an afterthought, levitating a single caramel sundae towards them. "I told Harry you only needed one to share."

He shut the door behind him. Harry had not come upstairs yet, and Fred thought it was probably a good thing. He wasn't sure his little brother was quite ready for this yet. He walked back down to the shop floor.

"Are they coming down?" Harry asked. "We need to leave for the Burrow soon."

"Give them a minute to eat their ice-cream, Harry." Fred told him, stifling the smirk that was trying to escape. "I think they're really going to want time to enjoy it."

* * *

In fact, it took nearer a quarter of an hour. Admittedly, it might have been quicker if they'd just eaten it out of the tub with the little plastic spoons Fortescue's gave out; but Fred seemed to have forgotten to get them any. And licking the ice-cream off each other was definitely more fun.

"Must dash, lover," said George as he knotted his tie. "Be here when I get back?"

"Of course!"

It took George another five minutes to get out of the room. It's amazing how many just-one-more-goodbye-kisses you can fit in five minutes …

* * *

"You ready yet, Harry?" George asked, cheekily, as he came down the stairs.

Harry looked up. "So, you and Neville …"

"Yes, me and Neville," said George, a huge goofy grin spreading across his face; but it became a little more serious as he continued, "You might want to check yourself in the mirror, Harry."

Harry and Fred had been making themselves busy, restocking shelves and planning new merchandise lines; and Harry had unwisely tried out some new trick binoculars …

Now he had to clean the dark rings from around his eyes. So, to his great chagrin, the answer was, no, he wasn't ready, and it took another ten minutes before they could Floo to Shell Cottage.

Which was why they arrived only five minutes before Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Lunch was, of course, wonderful, and accompanied, in true Weasley fashion, by a great deal of happy chatter. Wonder of wonders, Charlie had managed to get time off, and Arthur brought Percy from the Ministry, so Molly really did have all of her children around her. She did, of course, berate the latecomers for "nearly spoiling the lunch", but her heart hadn't been in it, she was so overjoyed to have them all. She even insisted on Robin Banks sitting down to the table as well, which he seemed quite pleased to do, taking a seat between Ginny and Fred.

"Harry dear, you haven't eaten very much, are you sure you're all right?" she asked him, worriedly.

"Oh, our Harry's doing fine, Mum," said Fred, with a smirk. Given the number of sundaes Harry had wolfed, he was amazed that his little brother had eaten anything at all. "Now, Ginny, on the other hand …"

"Ginny? What's wrong, Ginny?" said Molly turning to her.

Fred winked at Harry, who gave him a grateful smile back. There was, of course, nothing wrong with Ginny, she was chatting happily with Auror Banks, but Fred knew how to divert his mother's attention when he needed to.

* * *

In all of the excitement and family, it wasn't until mid-afternoon that Harry could get away long enough to do something he'd wanted to do for a while: he slipped out and went to visit Dobby's grave.

He tidied the tiny grave, and spelled some forget-me-nots onto it. It was such a strange week: even without a funeral, here he was today visiting a grave….

"Thought we might find you here," said a familiar voice, and he turned to see Hermione and Ron climbing the dune to meet him.

"Hi guys!" he said, grinning at them, warmly at first and then a bit strained as Hermione all but crushed his ribs in a huge hug. "How did this morning go?"

Hermione conjured some benches and a table with a flick of her wand. "Let's sit down and talk about it."

As she did so, a plate of biscuits floated up, with three cups of tea following like ducklings behind their mother duck. The biscuits glided onto the table and the tea came to rest bobbing in front of each of them. Harry chuckled. He **loved** magic! Hermione's levitation charms were coming on a treat. He took a sip of his tea while absent-mindedly Summoning a biscuit to him.

"Was that wordless wandless magic?" Ron asked, gobsmacked.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "I couldn't be bothered getting my wand out."

Ron looked like he was going to explode. "Mate, there are wizards who never manage to do that! Most of us have to concentrate so hard it hurts our teeth! And you do it just to save yourself fishing your wand out!"

"Yep," said Harry. He really didn't want to discuss the things that made him different from everyone else; he'd had plenty of years of the Dursleys calling him "the freak", he didn't need it from his friends. Even though Ron spoke with nothing but admiration, it was still too painful.

"Now, what did you learn this morning?"

"Well," said Hermione, "we managed to confirm what we already knew."

"Except that it looks like the Shield might have been a temporary thing" added Ron.

"And if so, then the bond was temporary too – it wasn't what the books called 'Sette'," Hermione continued, huffing a bit at being interrupted.

"Set?" asked Harry, "Which means what, exactly?"

"We think it means 'consummated'," Ron answered.

"As in ..." Harry asked, but could not bring himself to continue in words; his face went an endearing shade of red, though, so his meaning came across well enough.

"Exactly! And that hasn't happened, right?" said Hermione, with more enthusiam than tact.

Harry's answer was to go even redder and splutter, "No!".

Ron took pity on him and left that particular subject. "And there was something about a debt that happens when you free someone's magic."

"A debt? I don't like the sound of that."

"We didn't think you would," Hermione answered. "So we're going to do more research on it."

"You're going to go back to the Manor?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Er, no, we didn't actually discuss that," said Ron.

"I thought I could try the Hogwarts library as well, and maybe even the Central Wizarding Archive; I'm sure Kingsley would let me in if you asked him ..." Hermione asked, in a voice that made it clear that she would have batted her eyelids at him if she'd thought it would have worked.

"I don't think you're telling me everything," Harry said suspiciously. He wasn't at all pleased at being asked to use his influence with the Minister. He was painfully aware that being famous was more of a curse than a blessing, and calling in favours wasn't going to help that one bit.

He had been having such a good day, but it looked like that might not last.

"That's because we don't know everything," Hermione answered. "We came away still not quite trusting Lucius, so we need to find some independent corroboration before we do anything."

"But it looks like the Shield is temporary, and you won't be forced into a bond." Ron continued.

"Which is not to say you can't go into one willingly," Hermione added.

"OK, that makes sense," said Harry, mollified. "Hang on, what? Hermione!" To cover his embarrassment, he took a sip of his tea. It was just how he liked it: piping hot, with a liberal dose of honey. _Thank goodness for warming charms_ , he thought.

Ron continued, "Malfoy – Draco, not Lucius – asked how you were. I think he does actually care about you, you know. He wasn't sure about being bonded either, but he didn't just dismiss it. So maybe you can work something out?"

"Yeah, OK. Thanks, guys, I really appreciate you going there today." He wordlessly wandlessly Summoned another biscuit, which made Ron raise his eyebrows.

They hadn't told him much. But he had to admit, what they had said gave him hope: a debt could presumably simply be cancelled, and if the bond wasn't set then Draco and he might just stay as friends. He didn't want to be forced into anything, nor force Draco.

And Draco cared about him? Those words about a possible relationship kept coming up in his head: _I've been … wondering if that's what you wanted._ He was beginning to think he did. And the way he had said it, Draco wanted it too…

It was still a good day, he decided.

* * *

They'd returned to the Burrow in time for a light meal. Though Harry didn't really think that curried chicken on a huge bed of rice with pappadums and roti and chutneys and cucumber raita really met that description. He'd never eaten so well as at the Burrow! There was no way the Dursleys would ever have eaten Indian food – "it might burn our sensitive stomachs", they would have said. As if.

He flopped down in an armchair afterwards, groaning about how much food he'd eaten.

"You didn't have to eat it," the twins pointed out to him, "and you did have two helpings of trifle / and a lot of ice-cream."

Ron perked up at this. "Ice-cream? There's ice-cream? I didn't get any!"

"Oh, our Harry had Fortescue's today, didn't you, little brother?" Fred said, with a grin.

"Neville and me, too," said George, an even wider grin spreading across his face. The grins must be contagious, Ron thought; Harry seemed to have caught one too...

"So that's where you went!" Ginny butted in. "Off eating ice-creams without me, eh?"

They were interrupted by a crackle in the fireplace. It was Narcissa Malfoy, placing a Floo-call from Andromeda's house.

"Good evening all," she said, "I was wondering if I could have a word with Harry?"

"Of course, Narcissa," he replied, jumping up and standing in front of the Floo. "Would you like me to step through?"

"I think that would be best," she replied.

He suited the action to the words. Auror Proudfoot followed him, told Narcissa, "don't mind me, ma'am," and took up Auror duty next to the fireplace.

Andromeda came in, hugging Teddy, and offered them all tea. She handed her grandson over to Harry, who was very pleased to accept a cuddle from him, and went into the kitchen. It wasn't long before she came back with four steaming mugs of tea and a plate of ginger cake. Harry was sure he didn't need any cake, but of course politeness forced him to eat a slice. The second slice, he admitted to himself, was pure greed.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about the arrangements for the general memorial tomorrow," Narcissa began, once they were all seated and Teddy had drifted off to sleep in Harry's arms. "Of course, Draco wants to go, but the Aurors are very concerned that he will be an obvious target for anti-Death-Eater violence. As such, they are insisting on certain precautions, that perhaps Auror ..

".. Proudfoot, ma'am," the auror supplied, helpfully. "Auror Toby Proudfoot at your service."

"Thank you. Perhaps you could explain?"

"I take it that we're insisting on a Cuffing spell for the day?"

"A Cuffing spell?" Harry asked.

"It's the magical version of something the Muggles call 'hand-cuffing'," Proudfoot continued. "It's a spell cast on two people that forces them to stay in physical contact the whole time. Makes sure that no-one can abduct the person being protected, or surprise them alone." _Also makes sure they can't run off and make mischief_ , he didn't add.

"As you can imagine, Draco is not in favour of the idea," Narcissa continued. "But I was wondering if you might volunteer? I think he would be happier with that arrangement ..."

Harry swallowed hard. He could see through the ruse: this was about as close as Narcissa Malfoy was likely to get to telling him she accepted whatever was going on between them. And more than merely accepted: she was even encouraging them to be together.

"Um, have you discussed it with him?"

"No, I thought it would be better to let you say 'no' if you wanted to, without feeling that you had to say 'yes' so as not to disappoint him."

 _Smooth_ , Harry thought. Even telling him that she wasn't pushing him into it was doing so: he might not disappoint Draco, but Andy and Toby Proudfoot would know all about it. He didn't really have a choice. But it didn't matter anyway, he decided; in truth, he rather liked the idea ...

"OK," he said, "I'll do it. That is, if the Aurors are OK with the idea?" he asked Toby.

"Im sure that will be quite alright, sir," the Auror replied.

"Thank you, Harry," said Narcissa, quite genuinely. "Draco can't leave the Manor unescorted, of course, so could you please be at the Manor at two thirty tomorrow afternoon?"

It was agreed, and they spent a little longer chatting about the day. Narcissa seemed pleased to learn that Diagon Alley was getting back to normal, and both women laughed at the thought of Harry eating ice-cream sundaes all day.

"It wasn't **all** day," he said, petulantly.

At this point, Teddy woke up all of a sudden, rather smelly, and Harry got some more practice changing nappies.

They settled him down, and Harry and Toby Proudfoot returned to the Burrow.

* * *

"Good day, mate?" Ron asked, as they got into their beds that evening.

Harry thought back on the day.

The morning with the twins had been so much fun; he had really enjoyed repairing the shops and seeing hope and joy in the shopkeepers' eyes had been priceless. The ice-cream had been wonderful, too, of course. He could see in his mind's eye the street bustling again, sure, not all the old shopkeepers would be there, but they would recover.

The family around the table at lunch, just being normal, that had been great. Everyone lounging together, being easy with each other, was such a precious thing to a man who had grown up with a family who deliberately excluded him from such times. And Molly's excitement at having "all my children" around her was so heart-warming. That he was regarded as one of those children brought a lump to his throat.

Cuddling Teddy, even changing his nappy, that was special too. It made him practically a father, and he definitely felt included by Andy; and, yes, even by Narcissa. The boy whose family had rejected him was becoming a man belonging to two families.

And there was something going on between George and Neville; George had looked so happy. And he took hope from the fact that Fred so obviously didn't mind. Maybe the Weasleys really would accept it if there was something in his relationship with Draco.

Maybe there was hope for a happy life for him yet.

And Ron had told him Draco cared about him. That Draco didn't know if they would end up married, but hadn't ruled it out.

Dare he hope?

He dared.

Good day?

"Yeah," said Harry, with a grin. "Wonderful day."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you lovely people who are following my story! And especially big thanks to Bicky Monster for saving my bacon and yet another sterling job of proof-reading.
> 
> Please remember, I love comments!


	10. Dust Thou Art, to Dust Returneth...

**10\. "Dust Thou Art, to Dust Returneth …"**

_Thursday, May 7 1998_

Harry Potter woke up slowly, a huge grin on his face. He had been dreaming of Draco; the conversation they had had in Gryffindor Tower had been playing over again in his mind. As he came fully awake he remembered with pleasure that he was going to see the blond today, and get to hold his hand, because of the Cuffing spell.

The idea of holding hands was very important to Harry. When he was young, almost the only touching he knew was when his aunt and uncle punished him, or Dudley beat him up; so he was only just learning that being touched could be safe. It was one of the things he loved about the twins: they were always mussing his hair, or throwing an arm round him, and it made him feel, deep down, that he really was loved. Having never been held lovingly as a child, he was very sensitive to physical contact, and he needed a lot of it. Having been punished and bullied, he needed it to feel safe. He knew that that was how he felt with the twins; it came as a bit of a revelation to him that shaking Draco's hand had made him feel the same.

He rolled out of bed. A muttered _tempus_ charm told him it was not long after six o'clock. Ron was still fast asleep, so he quietly got up and made his way to the bathroom and had a quick shower, then went downstairs to see if anyone was about and whether there was any chance of breakfast.

Molly was bustling about in the kitchen, getting breakfast for Arthur. He took a seat next to him.

"Harry, hope I didn't wake you," Arthur said to him, "I like to get to the office by seven o'clock if I can; it's astonishing how much more work I can get done when there's no-one else about."

"Here you are, Harry dear," Molly interrupted, as two waves of her wand brought a full plate of sausages, egg and bacon to the table in front of him and a cup of tea over from the kettle.

"Thank you, Molly, this looks amazing," he said "I don't think you woke me; I'd just slept enough," he said as he turned back to Arthur.

"Good. I'm afraid I have to leave you now," Arthur replied. Suiting the action to the word, in one fluid motion he got up, kissed Molly on the cheek, picked up his briefcase, and was gone.

"He works too hard, poor man," Molly sighed, sitting down with Harry as a cup of tea made its way to her. Her housekeeping spells, Harry reflected, were second to none. "Still, I've made Kingsley promise to shoo him out of the office at five every night."

"So, he is Kingsley's deputy now, then?"

"Oh, yes, he accepted on Monday and Kingsley moved him in the same morning."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as Molly drank her tea and Harry made a small dent in the mountain of food in front of him. It made a useful distraction; there was a topic he knew he needed to discuss with her, but couldn't find the words to begin. She must have sensed his unease, and launched right in.

"Harry love, I had a little chat with Ginny yesterday afternoon."

"Oh," he said. "Um. Er…" _Top marks for coherent speech, Harry!_

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "It's alright, Harry. Seeing you apparently dead in Hagrid's arms affected her very deeply, I don't know that she would ever quite have got over it if you two were together – she'd always feel it was wrong that you were there with her alive, but remembering you dead. So it's probably for the best. And I'd say she's found another rather lovely young man, wouldn't you?"

Harry realized he had assumed before that it was Neville; wrongly, obviously, since he and George were evidently together ( _I wonder if Molly knows that?_ He asked himself, but decided it wasn't his place to tell her if she didn't). So who was it then?

His face must have betrayed his ignorance, because Molly chuckled, and said simply, "You'll work it out in time. But you do know that I'll always think of you as my son, right? You don't have to be with Ginny for that, much though I would have loved it. Listen to your own heart, Harry; don't try to be what other people want you to be, or even what you may have wanted once. We all grow and change."

Harry nodded. He hadn't realized how much he had needed that reassurance until he received it.

"Oh and the _Prophet_ is here." All of a sudden her voice became stern and motherly. "It seems you had a lot of ice-cream yesterday, young man."

She handed him the paper as Harry groaned. There was a photograph of him outside Fortescue's, obviously taken with a long-range lens as Harry hadn't seen any photographers nearby. Underneath was the heading:

_**He's done it again!** _

_**Diagon Alley gets a facelift, courtesy of Our Saviour!** _

_**By Rita Skeeter** _

_Once again the Wizarding world is in awe of Harry Potter, the Destroyer of Voldemort. Yesterday when we all woke up, our beloved Diagon Alley was still wrecked, having been hit hard by Death Eater raids during the War against Voldemort. But trust our hero to have a plan! He arrived on the scene and by lunchtime, all of our most precious stores were back to rights!_

_Eyewitnesses report that Mr. Potter, with some help from Messrs Fred and George Weasley, used an incredibly complicated, and previously unknown, spell to effect this change. If so, we hope that he will share this spell with the Ministry and perhaps other destroyed buildings will be brought back to their former glory! You can be sure that the Prophet will publish any and all developments in this regard._

_**Inside:** _ _Eyewitness accounts of the day p2; "My father gave him ice-cream; since he gave me my shop back, I could do no less": feature interview with Floriana Fortescue discussing the Boy Who Lived and a dozen ice-cream sundaes, p3; …_

Harry stopped reading at this point, having seen enough.

"You know it's all crap, right – um, sorry," he said, apologizing at the end for his language. "Except the ice-creams, I had them; but maybe not a dozen."

"That's all right, Harry, I'm a big girl now, and yes, I do know it's all lies," Molly replied. "Mad-Eye explained to me exactly what he'd done; it was brilliant, of course, and I told him so. I rather think he liked being told how good he was sometimes. And of course I understand that you were helping the twins, not the other way round. But Harry, listen, love, the Prophet thinks you can do no wrong now, and I know how much you hate that, and it is awful, but you should work out what you want to achieve and bend them to it. You know they'll go back to berating you soon enough; but right now you could use them as a powerful force for change."

"Isn't that a bit – Slytherin?" he asked, somewhat appalled by Molly's sneakiness.

She put her tea down, and looked at him, sternly, but not unkindly. "Harry, you're better than that. In the real world, people aren't divided into the four Hogwarts houses. There's some of all of them in each of us. That sort of thinking is exactly what we need to get rid of."

Harry looked abashed. She was absolutely right. He just hadn't thought it through.

"Take Draco Malfoy," she continued. "The world thinks of him as a Slytherin and a Death-Eater. I look at him and I see a poor child who was led badly astray, made some bad choices, and who is trying to work out how to deal with them. Of course he's scheming and manipulative, so-called Slytherin traits; but it took courage and perseverance to get that silly cabinet working; qualities any Gryffindor would be proud of. Even that horrible thing he did to Ron was an accident, caused by that evil man leaning on him, threatening to harm his family. The Aurors want to lock him up; but what he really needs is to be loved."

 _Wow,_ Harry thought. He had not expected such understanding. He seemed to have underestimated his wonderful adopted mother. He plucked up courage to ask, "So, if this bonding thing happens … what would you think?"

"Harry, you very well know I think of you as my seventh son. As with any of my children, if someone makes you happy, I'll accept them with open arms and I'll move Heaven and Earth to get you together, if I have to. If it is Draco Malfoy, then we'll all deal with that. You follow your heart, love, and we'll always be there with you."

"Thanks, Molly," Harry whispered. He couldn't speak for the emotion choking his voice.

* * *

He sat on the sofa with a fresh cup of tea and thought about the upcoming day. The general idea of the afternoon's memorial was to finish off the wave of funerals with a service to remember all the fallen, but particularly those who couldn't have a proper funeral because their bodies had not been recovered, or their family were all gone. Harry was glad that he had only been to three funerals so far; by the time of the memorial, there would have been about forty, he knew, and he remembered bitterly that ridiculous schedule which Cornelius Fudge had drawn up which had him attending them all. He would have been dead by the end of Monday! Not to mention he'd have to miss many of the interments because the services were scheduled back-to-back.

He wondered why Snape's was scheduled after the memorial. He'd have to ask, tomorrow. Today was about remembering people who had nothing else to remember them by. It suddenly occurred to Harry that this included Vince Crabbe, who had perished in the Room of Requirement by Fiendfyre that he himself had cast. Draco had been very close to Vince. He wondered ….

He placed a Floo call to Professor McGonagall. She answered at once, despite the early hour.

"Potter, how nice to hear from you. How can I help you?" she said, in the calm, crisp tones he knew so well. Even calling him 'Potter' was so much in character that he had to fight not to think of himself back in school.

"Professor McGonagall, I mean, Headmistress, forgive me for interrupting you, but I remember you talked about having a word or two in private when we parted on Saturday, and I suddenly thought of something I'd like to talk about, to do with the ceremony this afternoon. May I come through?"

"Of course, Potter, I'd be delighted to see you. And don't worry about forgetting to call me Headmistress – it's going to take all of us a while to adjust to that!"

He went through into the familiar Headmaster's Study - Headmistress's, now, of course. All the familiar portraits of previous headmasters and –mistresses were there, together with a new one of Professor Snape. As Harry emerged from the Floo, Professor Dumbledore looked up from his frame above the large desk.

"Ah, Harry, how lovely to see you again. I hear that you and Mr. Malfoy are having quite an adventure?" he said, with the inevitable twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir" Harry replied simply, having no idea how else to respond to that. In his dark frame, Snape snorted. Harry ignored him, and looked around the study.

Professor McGonagall had furnished the room in a completely different style to those her predecessors had used. Instead of Professor Dumbledore's strange collection of magical devices, arranged on spindly tables dotted haphazardly around the room, there was no nonsense here; all was Spartan and utilitarian. It was clear that everything had its place, and by Merlin that's where it was going to be.

The room was furnished with several hard chairs, with straight backs; and even the lounge chairs set in a corner alcove didn't look particularly comfortable. But there was none of the gloom that always seemed to surround Professor Snape; instead of dark furnishings, everything was wood or tartan, with bright-coloured cushions for accent on the sofas.

He chuckled. McGonagall had certainly stamped her personality on the room already.

"Welcome," she said, reaching out both arms to him. He clasped her hands, and she led him over to the lounge chairs he had spotted. They were more comfortable than they looked; and to his surprise, the Headmistress handed him a piping-hot cup of tea with honey, just how he liked it.

She noticed his surprise, and let out a wry chuckle.

"Albus reminded me how you like your tea, Harry," she said, in a softer, more wistful voice than he had ever heard her use before. "Now," she said, becoming all business-like and efficient, "I should imagine by now that you are heartily sick of being thanked for your part in the war, but of course you have my grateful thanks. Your actions were truly remarkable, and I am very proud to call you one of my Gryffindors."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, blushing.

"We must also think of the future. I believe that Kingsley is very keen to get you into the Auror programme straight away; is that still what you want to do?"

She was looking at him shrewdly; _I don't think he knows himself_ , she thought.

"Um, actually, I'm not sure I do, Professor. I'm sorry, I know you put your neck out for me to become an Auror with Professor Um-"

"Please," she interrupted him, "let's not talk about her. And I don't think she deserves that title, or ever did. But you have no need to be sorry; you must follow your own heart and not be beholden to what other people want for you, or even what you yourself used to want."

This was so like what Mrs. Weasley had said to him that he couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face.

"Thank you, Professor. Funnily enough, you're not the first person to say something like that to me today."

"Molly Weasley?" she asked, and smiled when he nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're staying at the Burrow, then; you need family around you. Now, let's not get side-tracked. If not the Auror programme, what does the future hold for you?"

Harry gulped. He'd been living in the moment for the last few days; he hadn't given any thought to his future career.

"I don't know," he said, simply. "I guess it's a bit hard, not having N.E.W.T.s or anything … Is there any plan to deal with that?"

"Yes, of course, The Ministry and I are working out an abbreviated intensive course for the students who took – or didn't take, in some cases," she said, looking at him with a mock-stern expression, "- seventh year last year; after all, none of the students who were here in seventh year have taken their N.E.W.T.s either. And the general feeling amongst the staff is that they didn't learn very much, what with the Carrows hassling them night and day. The plan is to start earlier than September, and to enlist the help of what will be our eighth years in restoring the castle to something approaching its former state. We will be announcing details of this programme as soon as they are finalized; but I should say, Harry, that the school would, of course, welcome you back with open arms if you chose to come."

"Thank you, Professor," he said, blushing again.

She took pity on him and asked, "You said you had something you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh yes!" he said, excitement returning to his voice. He explained what he wanted.

"Well, I suppose it's possible," she replied, somewhat dubiously, after considering his request. "And if anyone can do it, you can; so by all means, try."

"Thanks, Professor," he said with a grin.

* * *

He stood in front of the Room of Requirement, his heart beating an anxious rhythm. As far as he knew, it hadn't been used since the Fiendfyre. A cold fear gripped him: would it still work?

He passed in front of it three times, thinking about what he wanted. On the third pass, to his great relief, a black, funereal door appeared. Nervously, hopefully, he went in. The room was largely empty. Around the sides was all the mess and ash from the fire; that didn't bother him, he had asked for it. In the very middle of the room there was a clear space in which stood a low, round table, and on it was exactly what he had asked for. His heart leapt for joy. He was nervous for a different reason; he hoped that somehow this would bring some peace to that "poor child led badly astray".

* * *

That afternoon was the first opportunity to see if Lucius had been telling the truth about changing the wards at the manor to allow him unrestricted access. Happily, it turned out that he had; Harry was able to apparate without difficulty into Narcissa's study at two thirty, as agreed. The wards parted for him perfectly, and he had no trouble landing exactly where he wanted to.

Narcissa and Draco were there waiting for him. Narcissa was the very epitome of cool, calm and collected, but Draco's eyes went wide as he arrived. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him look so agitated.

"I thought you'd want to accompany your girlfriend. But you're really prepared to do this? For me?" he asked, nervousness stamped all over his face. He was even shaking just a little. It was the least self-assured Harry had ever known him, and he found it endearing.

"I said I would," he replied, the tone making it quite clear that for Harry, the promise and the performance were the same thing.

"Thank you," Draco said, with so much feeling in it that Harry knew he really had been dreading the prospect of being Cuffed to an Auror. If what Molly said was true, Harry could see why.

Harry didn't know the Auror present, so he introduced himself: "Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

The man sneered at him. "I know," he replied. He paused, just a touch longer than was polite, before continuing, "Auror Crockford". He inclined his head very slightly to Harry, but did not offer his hand.

"Right," said Narcissa briskly, obviously wanting to gloss over the incivility of the moment. "Now, I believe you will need to cast the Cuffing spell?"

"Yes," the Auror said, with a tiny trace more politeness. Apparently Narcissa's nobility rubbed off even on this unusually rude man. "Now, you two, put your wrists together."

"Pardon?" Draco asked, in that tone often used by mothers speaking to naughty three year old children.

The Auror sighed. "Put your wrists together, Mr. Potter's left over Mr. Malfoy's right, _please_." It was obvious that they had been fighting on this point for a while. Harry had to hold in his amusement at the Auror being treated in this way, as if he were yet to learn manners. _Probably about right_ , he thought.

They put their wrists together, and the Auror mumbled an incantation. A yellow ribbon of light came out of his wand and snaked around their wrists, then vanished.

"Until the spell is cancelled, you will be forced to remain in contact with one another at all times. Take care when Flooing, it can be very painful if you don't co-operate."

With that, the Auror went through the Floo himself, without seeming to care if they followed him or not.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he," said Harry, taking a firm grip on Draco's hand. Draco looked at him in surprise.

"We don't have to actually hold hands," he said.

"No," Harry agreed, "but I want to."

Draco stared at him for a moment. He hadn't expected this; being Cuffed would explain touching, but this was more deliberate. It was making a statement. Draco wondered if it was a statement he agreed with.

And then he decided. He smiled in assent. "Let's go!" he said.

And, hands clasped together, they did.

* * *

The Chapel was much larger than Harry remembered. When they arrived, Auror Proudfoot was standing near the Floo; there was no sign of Auror Crockford, for which Harry was quite grateful.

Proudfoot greeted them cheerily. He must have noticed Harry's surprise at the size of the room, as he said, "the chapel has been enlarged as we expect a much bigger congregation today. I found out that's the reason why we took the extra precautions for Mr. Malfoy here. Oh, and, just in case you're wondering, I sent Auror Crockford out to stand duty at the front door."

"Thank you," Draco said, with evident relief.

"Yes, well, not many of us like him either, I'm afraid. A stickler for the rules and a right pain in the arse. Anyway, please take your seats; the Weasleys and company are keeping the same places as before for you."

Harry and Draco made their way to the front and found their seats. The seating was a little different this time: Ginny was missing, so Harry was seated next to Neville; then came George and Fred, and then at the end was Angelina Johnson. Harry smiled at her; he remembered her from Hogwarts, of course; he vaguely recalled that Fred had been sweet on her. He would have to rag him about it later.

Where, he wondered, was Ginny? He looked around the room and eventually spotted her, seated next to Auror Robin Banks. They were lounging together like old friends, and Ginny looked happier than he had seen her for months.

And then the sickle dropped. He hadn't thought about it before because he always thought of Ginny being so young, and Aurors so old. But she would be seventeen in August; and Robin Banks was only just twenty. They made a wonderful couple together; it was obvious that he made her happy. He had to agree with Molly: Ginny had found a rather lovely young man.

Draco noticed his distraction and asked him about it.

"Ginny and I broke up," he explained, "and now she's over there with Auror Robin Banks."

"Jealous?" Draco asked. He knew he would have been.

"Not at all," Harry said, surprised. He was happy for Gin; it hadn't occurred to him to be jealous. "We wouldn't have worked; in some ways I think she's too noble for me." Draco looked askance at him, so Harry tried to explain a little further. "It's hard to put into words. I know Gin would be there for me, support me, but she wants me to be perfect. I'd be on a pedestal again. I need someone who's prepared to stand up to me, to accept that I'm broken too. She doesn't deserve that; she deserves someone sweet and whole, and I think she and Robin are perfect together."

Draco was stunned. While he'd been practically alone in the Manor, doubt had been gnawing at him. He had been talking himself out of the idea of being with Harry: he knew Harry had a girlfriend and he had been telling himself that 'goody-two-shoes Potter' wouldn't want a Death Eater as a friend, never mind a companion, and that it was only a matter of time until he came to his senses and ended their relationship. If they even had one.

But now look at his actions: Harry had come to the Manor specifically so that Draco didn't have to be Cuffed to that odious Crockford; he had deliberately held Draco's hand when he could have just kept wrists together; and now the bombshell that he and Weaselette had broken up, that he wanted someone who would stand up to him … Someone to slap him when he needed it, perhaps?

Draco was roused from his reverie when Harry was asked to say a few words, and agreed. Of course, as they were Cuffed together, Draco had to stand up and go to the front with him. He listened politely as Harry said some heartfelt words about the dead. Then Harry continued,

"You've all noticed that I'm standing here with Draco Malfoy. That's because the Aurors wouldn't let him come without being Cuffed – magically joined to another wizard – for his protection"

"And ours, from the Death Eater," someone called out in a fierce whisper.

Harry glared in the direction the words had come from. "That is exactly what I want to talk about. We don't get to decide who lives and who dies – none of us would have chosen for any of the people we mourn today to have died. So we have to take care of the ones we have. We have to move on from demonizing one another as 'Death Eaters' or 'blood traitors' or anything else. We have to treat people as themselves. I believe the best way we can remember those who died, the best way to honour them, is to work against the mistakes that let Voldemort become so powerful. To deal with the prejudice we show one another. To reach out to one another with a hand of friendship. To rebuild our society based on love, not fear. That's why I decided that Draco Malfoy didn't deserve to be shackled to an Auror and hidden away in a corner, cowering from the Wizarding world. He deserves a second chance. He has lost friends too; why shouldn't be allowed to grieve openly too? We have each saved the other's life; the past seems so unimportant when that happens. That's why I stand here today to tell you that I am proud to call Draco Malfoy my friend, and anyone who attacks him attacks me too."

With that, the two of them made their way back to their seat, Harry taking exaggerated care with Draco to show that he wasn't just there because he had to be, because they were Cuffed, but that it really was Harry's choice to welcome him to the front.

Draco was deeply moved by this. Harry was deliberately putting him in the limelight, letting it be known that he wanted healing, not a return to fighting.

Part of Draco was wondering how long the attack would be coming; this was an open challenge, after all. But also, he was beginning to allow himself to hope that perhaps his life might not have gone completely down the toilet…

* * *

The ceremony was quite short, and they all went outside to bury what remains there were of the departed. A Ministry official gave a short (by Ministry standards) speech, concluding with those poignant words "In the midst of life we are in death. Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May they all rest in peace, and live on in our memories."

As he spoke, Draco became quite mournful: he was thinking about Crabbe. The boy had been an absolute idiot to cast a spell he didn't know how to counteract, of course; and he had nearly got them all killed; but nonetheless, he and Goyle had effectively been Draco's bodyguards for six years, and the three had become quite close.

It hurt him very much to think that there was nothing of him to bury. Until his eyes, wandering over the caskets, spotted a small urn of ashes. It had a crest on that he would have known anywhere: the Crabbe crest.

Someone had found Crabbe's ashes. There was only one person who could possibly have done it. He turned to Harry, wide-eyed.

"Harry, how did you …"

"I wondered if the Room of Requirement could give me at least his ashes, Draco. And it did. I knew that you would be feeling his loss. He deserved to be remembered, and buried properly, and I hoped that if we actually buried him, it would give you a sense of finality and help you move on …"

When people with strong self-control lose it, they tend to lose it altogether. At these words, realizing how much Harry had done for him, how much he had thought about him and sought his good, Draco broke down completely. He turned his head into Harry's chest and began to sob uncontrollably. Strong arms encircled him and Quidditch-calloused fingers rubbed his back even as his own arms shifted to hug the other man.

Harry was muttering soft words of comfort to his friend. He knew that other people would be watching, but right now he didn't care. Draco hugging him … this was what he had wanted, all week. These were the arms he wanted around him. This was the person he wanted snuggled into his chest. He had acted to try to comfort Draco; but he realized that it was really him who was being comforted.

Sooner than Harry would have liked, Draco broke away. "Can't have people talking," he said. But, however worried he was, he kept hold of Harry's hand. Fortunately, there was a general groundswell of emotion at the same time, so perhaps they might not have been noticed.

No chance. It was at this point that the attack came. Curses came at them from at least three different directions. Draco heard a " _STUPEFY_ " a " _CONFRINGO_ " and, most worrying of all, someone cast " _SECTUMSEMPRA_ ". He huddled into Harry again, wondering how they dared to risk their Saviour like this; at this range, there was no chance of hitting one of them and sparing the other.

Harry's wand was out in a flash and he yelled _"PROTEGO MAXIMA"._ The Shield charm burst out of his wand, an emerald-green light enveloping them. Draco knew a great deal about shield charms: his father had drilled him in them as an essential part of the armoury of the Dark Lord's followers. But he had never seen a charm cast as strong as this by a single wizard. He would have said he knew Harry Potter well, after watching him for seven years; but everything he did today seemed to take him totally by surprise. Seeing the power he wielded in the shield brought home forcefully that this really was the wizard who had destroyed the Dark Lord.

And then the curses and charm hit something. It became clear that the two of them were encased in a shield of magic which the other spells could not penetrate. As the curses hit it, they became visible as blobs of colour, surrounded by a thin border of green, silver and red threads entwined together; as the Protego hit, it seemed to reinforce the other shield and they pulsed together with power. Two of the curses were thrown off and dissipated completely; but the _Sectumsempra_ was evidently too strong for that; it was pushed back to the caster. Draco heard a gasp. The wizard who had cast it had managed to put up his own Shield charm; but it was not quick or strong enough: the curse broke through and sliced off his former friend Theodore Nott's wand arm.

There could be no question now. The Haussmann Shield that Harry had cast was definitely an Endurant Shield. That meant it was part of their lives now. Somehow, they would have to work out what it meant to have this shared protection. What that meant for the Debt and the Bond remained to be seen; he couldn't be sure if they would rule his life. But some things were clear. He could not rely on his own magic, if there was such feeling against him; there was no way he would have survived those three curses by himself. He could not rely on his friends and former allies; if Theo was prepared to curse him, his standing as Prince of Slytherin was gone. He couldn't rely on the Ministry for justice; even now, none of the Aurors had taken any action to find the curse-casters.

One thing was certain: ther was no certainty for Draco anywhere, unless with Harry Potter. Humbled by the thought, not caring how weak it made him look, he squeezed closer to 'the Saviour of the Wizarding World'.

At that moment, his saviour. His only safety.

Harry must have read his mind. "It's all right, Draco," he promised, "I'm here. You're safe with me."

And Draco, at that moment, for the first time, felt that it was really true.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for comments and kudos - I love them all! And you all! Thanks once again to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster, for doing another fabulous job.


	11. ... Was not Spoken of the Soul

**11\. "… Was not Spoken of the Soul"**

_Friday, May 8 1998_

Draco Malfoy woke up at four o'clock in the morning, his head pounding. Just how much fire-whiskey had he drunk last night? An image came back to him with shocking clarity: Theo Nott shrieking in pain, his arm severed off. His wand arm. The arm that he had just used to send a Sectumsempra curse at Draco and Harry.

The memory still terrified him. It had taken him ages, and a Calming Draught, to calm down after Harry had apparated them back to the Manor. Then he had had to face dinner with his parents – his mother looking solicitous, his father looking daggers at him. They had, of course, discussed the events of the day; Draco had explained about the three curses aimed at them, and the Haussmann Shield reappearing. His father's expression darkened even further. Draco had decided not to put up with this any longer.

"Wurzle got your tongue, father?" he asked, forcing a mischievous grin onto his face, "or did you swallow something you didn't like?"

His father had lightened a bit at this. "I had hoped he would have asked about cancelling the debt by now," he'd said. "But apparently he's not quite _that_ much a Gryffindor."

"I don't think we should rely on stereotypes, father," Draco had replied. "Everything he does lately comes as a surprise."

His father had raised his eyebrows at this, but the conversation had been moved on to safer topics by his mother. It wasn't until somewhat later they had returned to discussing the Debt. Lucius and he were alone in the study, drinking fire-whiskey together. It was a shocking thought that they hadn't been able to do this in peace since before Voldemort had occupied the Manor. His father had been uncharacteristically anxious as he explained what he had learnt about the workings of the Debt. Apparently, there was a small amount of time – not more than a week – after the Debt was incurred during which Harry could waive the debt entirely; that gave them two more days at most, and Draco was quite unsettled to realise that his Father was now despairing that anything would come of it.

After this first period had passed, and the debt could no longer be waived entirely, there were unavoidable consequences that could never be undone. Chief among them, at least as far as Lucius was concerned, was that it would become impossible to harm Harry or lie to him in any way – including by omission: they would be forced by the debt to protect him, and to tell him anything that they were aware of that concerned him. But only if he was there with them; they would not have to seek him out to do it.

Draco could understand why this was such a big deal to his father. Politics was Lucius' very life-blood, and lying, deception and concealment were essential to politics. To be robbed of these weapons, that he had wielded with such skill and ease for so long, would cripple him. But Lucius would have to learn to live with that, if it came to it.

Part of him wondered if he should have the same concern for his own future. But Draco was not his father; he had different worries and concerns to the older Malfoy. Right now, feeling lonely and sleepy in the early hours of the morning of Severus Snapes' funeral, it was time to think about what he wanted; after all, it wasn't just his father's life that could be irrevocably changed by this whole situation. He was sure that Severus, his godfather, would have told him to sort that out: how often over the years had Snape told him to grow up and be his own man?

He thought about the lines he had heard at the service: ' _dust thou art, to dust returneth'._ Snape had quoted them to him. His Muggle father had been fond of reading poetry, when he wasn't busy getting blind drunk and beating his wife and son up; and that poem had stuck in his godfather's mind. The next line, he recalled, was ' _was not spoken of the soul_ '. What did that mean?

As Draco mulled the words over in his mind they suddenly came together in startling clarity: _"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," was not spoken of the soul._

So, the verse was telling him that his soul didn't end with death? That it went on? He wasn't sure about this. Could there be an enduring purpose to his life? Such as what though? What purpose could the life of a reviled former Death Eater possibly serve?

And then he remembered those strong arms around him. He remembered how Harry had been almost shaking, and calmed down when they had touched. All at once it struck him that there was something different here. Physical attraction, perhaps; definitely, from Draco's side, he admitted to himself. But there was more to it than that, he was sure. He focussed on that moment between them, trying to remember everything that had happened, everything he had felt. It had felt like Harry really needed to hold Draco. Somehow, that physical contact was needed to bring him back to himself.

Why?

" _He needs your comfort"_ , a voice said, inside his head. _Comfort?_ Somehow, he didn't doubt it; but the thought raised as many questions as it answered. He couldn't see how Harry Potter, with his fame, his friends and his fortune could possibly need comforting. _How could this be?_ He asked himself.

All at once he had a vision of an obscenely fat man with little eyes like pigs', and his huge hand striking a tiny boy, who cowered and whimpered and longed for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. And he recognized that little boy; there was no mistaking the scar, even then, on the head of the young Harry Potter.

He wondered who the man could be. He had certainly never seen him before. He knew that Harry had been brought up by Muggles; but surely, this man could not have been in charge of the little boy hero? Surely Harry would have been fêted and spoilt, not beaten and left alone.

Two emotions washed over Draco.

One was anger: how could this be? How could anyone dare to strike the Boy-Who-Lived? The force of the emotion shocked him: he knew at once that if he ever met the man, he would not be able to restrain himself from killing him. Anyone who could do that to any small child, never mind to Harry Potter, did not deserve to live.

The other was relief.

Harry had friends and fame and fortune now, but he had never known any of them when growing up. And Draco suspected that no-one else had any idea how much Harry had suffered. If Harry had told anyone else, the Slytherins would have found out, he would have known about it long ago.

He now understood, not completely of course, but it was a beginning; and with that he found a purpose. Harry needed someone to accept him unconditionally, totally, not for what he had done or the riches he possessed, but for himself. Someone to help him heal the wounds of the past.

Draco knew now that that was his purpose. Harry needed him. He didn't know where that fact would take them; but for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what the day might bring.

* * *

It was the second day in a row that Harry Potter woke just after six o'clock. _Good thing, too_ , he thought; Snape's funeral was at eight o'clock. Even in death, it seemed, the old Potions master was determined to be awkward; though the thought amused more than annoyed him.

He had been surprised to learn that no-one else from the Burrow would be attending the funeral. It turned out that Snape had left very detailed instructions: the funeral was to be private; it was not to be held during any official period of mourning (which explained why it came after the Memorial Service); and only a very few invited guests were to attend. Now that he knew Snape had been in love with Lily all his life, Harry was sure that he had been invited as his mother's son; certainly not because of his father!

He thought back to the previous evening. He had trembled with rage after the attack, but Draco was there with him, and obviously needed his support, so Harry pushed his anger down, making Draco's safety his priority for the moment. He was glad for the distraction which gave him something to focus on. He always found it easier to deal with his feelings when he had something to do. He had apparated the trembling blond back to Malfoy Manor straight away, to ensure there was no chance of any further attacks, leaving the Aurors to deal with the situation as best they could. Auror Crockford had returned to the Manor by Floo, with the other Malfoys, soon after, and practically shouted at him that the Malfoys were not allowed to apparate. Narcissa, standing behind him, had mouthed "don't antagonize him", and Harry had decided to accept the hint; he apologized to the Auror, pointing out that it hadn't been Draco's fault. This seemed to mollify him a little, and earned Harry a grateful smile from Narcissa.

Draco had been badly shaken by the curses, and had not stopped hugging Harry for nearly an hour. In the face of this obvious need, Harry found it easy to swallow his anger down even further in favour of taking care of his distressed friend. Eventually, Draco had let them give him a Calming Draught, and Narcissa had taken him up to bed. She had returned to her study a short while later, and she and Harry had discussed the events of the day further.

Harry was fairly shaken himself, but in a different way. Now that he was sure that Draco was safe and well his anger was fighting its way back up, warring with his concern for Draco and the difficulty he had dealing with the idea of compulsion: if the Shield was still there, did that mean that the relationship that was growing between them was a lie?

He tried his best to explain this all to Narcissa; in the end, she had pointed out that they had been obsessed with each other long before the events of the previous Saturday – in Draco's case, even before he first offered to shake Harry's hand – and Harry accepted that perhaps they were merely being pushed along a road they both wanted to take anyway. The idea didn't set his mind completely at rest, but it perhaps eased his concerns somewhat and so when Narcissa invited him to come to the Manor for lunch after Snape's funeral, he was happy to accept. It was strange to think that he wanted to come back to the Manor, the place he had such unhappy memories of, but the truth was he really wanted to talk more with Draco.

He had Flooed back to the Burrow soon afterwards to find everyone waiting for him. And that did mean everyone: George and Neville were there, Fred had brought Angelina, and Ginny was sitting on Robin's lap. He was hugged all round and they all sat together in the Weasley's lounge, the others obviously concerned for him after the events of the afternoon and wanting to hear his take on what had happened.

They were outraged to hear of the attack, and Robin had been scathing of the Aurors who had been there and their lack of action. As it happened, he and Auror Proudfoot had been tasked with keeping the chapel secure, so had been unable to help.

Harry was glad to have Robin's support; it did make it easier to feel justified in his lack of trust in the Aurors when their own colleague agreed with the sentiment. He had then repeated Narcissa's words, and Arthur and Molly had nodded vigorously.

"Follow your heart, Harry love," Molly had said to him. "You have to live without regrets – imagine the pain ten years from now if you didn't try, and wished you had?"

 _Shit!_ He thought, suddenly coming back to the present. It was now nearly quarter to seven; he'd sat too long thinking about the night before, he had to get moving. It was a good thing that he had learnt to have lightning-fast showers at Hogwarts, or miss out on breakfast altogether. He had missed enough breakfasts at the Dursleys'.

* * *

When Harry got to the chapel, with twelve minutes to spare, he found out just how 'private' Snape had meant. The only people there, apart from the inevitable Ministry officials and Aurors, were Kingsley Shacklebolt, representing the Order of the Phoenix; the Malfoys; and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, representing Hogwarts. Harry went and sat next to Draco, who immediately grabbed his hand.

Harry looked at him quizzically. "We don't have to hold hands," he said.

"No," Draco agreed, "but I want to."

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then he remembered saying the same thing the previous day. A broad grin came across his face as he happily gripped the blond's hand firmly.

* * *

The service was very short; there was no Ministry speech, Severus had specifically forbidden it, to Harry's private delight. In its place, unusually, was the reading of Snape's Will. This turned out to be extremely simple: apart from a few bequests to individuals, Snape had left his entire stock of potions and equipment to "perhaps my most promising student in recent times, Mr. Draco Malfoy"; and the bulk of his estate to "surely my least promising student in recent times, Mr. Harry Potter". The gift, though not the description, came as a shock to Harry; but Narcissa assured him that it was the measure of how much Severus Snape had truly loved Lily Potter. Given this, Harry felt he could not refuse.

There was just one item that was left to Harry individually: a book wrapped in black cloth. When he opened the cloth, he found his old Potions textbook from Sixth Year, the one that had belonged to the Half-Blood Prince (who had turned out to be Severus himself) and which he had believed had been lost in the Room of Requirement when the Fiendfyre swept through. There was a note on the book, in Snape's spiky handwriting: _To Mr. Potter, to remind him that he is not as good at hiding things as he thinks he is; in the hope that he will learn from it and prove unworthy of my low opinion of his skills in my subjects._ Harry didn't miss the sly reference to his lack of Occlumency, as well as Potions, skill; but he took the whole, coming from Snape, as a huge compliment. It was, after all, an encouragement to him to continue his studies and a suggestion that Snape thought him capable of better things. The man had never even hinted at such a thing while Harry had been at Hogwarts.

At that moment Harry made some momentous decisions. If Snape held out hope for him, he would accept McGonagall's offer, he would go back and finish his studies. But it would not only be because he owed it to Snape. Running away into the Auror programme, he realized, was a safe option. Not an easy option, to be sure; but he would always feel that he had been accepted because of his fame, rather than his ability. He would be living the life of the Famous Harry Potter. But that wasn't him. He had always known he didn't really want that. No, he wanted to be Just Harry. He wanted to earn his place, if that was his fate, fair and square. But above all, he wanted to live his own life, not one chosen by someone else.

And a big part of that life at the moment was the burgeoning desire in his heart to see justice done, instead of revenge. There was too much ill-feeling about Death Eaters, he thought, harking back to the activities of the previous day with a shiver. No, that was prejudice, and just as bad as the old prejudices about blood. He could not get the image of Albus Dumbledore believing that everyone deserved a second chance out of his mind.

To begin with, he decided, something needed to be done about the situation at the Manor: he simply did not trust Auror Crockford. And Kingsley being here gave him the perfect opportunity to get things sorted out. So after the interment, as everyone was milling about, having cups of tea and making small talk, having checked that Crockford was not in earshot, he went up to his friend, the Minister.

"Ah, Harry," said Kingsley. "I hear from Aurors Proudfoot and Banks that all is going well at the Burrow?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and was cut off instantly: "None of that 'sir' stuff!" Kingsley reminded him.

"Sorry, Kingsley," he continued. "In fact, Auror Banks is becoming like one of the family."

Kingsley gave him a sly look. "Ginny?" he asked.

Harry was a bit miffed that he'd worked it out so fast, given that Harry had missed it for a day or more. "Yes si- Kingsley," he said. "But I don't think all is quite so well at Malfoy Manor."

"Really?" said Kingsley, "I did hear that there was an issue with apparition yesterday."

 _Right_ , Harry thought. He had been told about the apparition, but obviously not about the cursing. He decided to take the Minotaur by the horns, and gave Kingsley a very full account of events of the previous day, including the curses and Shield, and the fact that none of the Aurors appeared to have done anything to prevent the attack or assist them during it. And he repeated what Crockford had said to him afterwards about apparition. He was very careful to avoid blowing up with the anger that was once again running white-hot within him as he replayed it all in his mind; while he didn't actually complain about Crockford, he knew if he stuck to the facts that Kingsley would draw his own conclusions.

"Hmm," the Minister said at last. "I see what you mean. I think we need to do something about this." He looked around the room, spying the Auror who had taken Narcissa and Draco back to the Manor on Saturday afternoon. "Auror Godwin, would you come here, please?" Then he turned to Harry and said, "Go and keep an eye on the Malfoys please, Harry; I don't think either of us trusts Crockford with their safety and I'm sure Draco would like a word with you." Harry happily went over to him, trusting Kingsley to come up with a plan with Auror Godwin.

Draco was standing at the other end of the room with his parents, under the watchful eye of Auror Crockford, who was scowling as though he had just eaten a green-persimmon-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. Narcissa offered Harry a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. Lucius smiled at him; not the warm, welcoming smile the Weasleys would have given him, but encouraging none the less. Harry smiled back, remembering a time when they would have been more likely to hex each other.

He turned to the youngest of the Malfoys. "Draco, I wanted to see how you were after last night," he said. It was a lame opening, he knew, but it was about all he could think of. But Draco didn't tease him about it; he simply led them to a couple of seats nearby. They sat down and Harry cast a _Muffliato_ for privacy.

"Thank you for yesterday," he said. As soon as the spell was cast. "I apologize for my unusual behaviour, but I couldn't get over the fact that Theo cast that curse. His family is friends with mine, he's been my friend for ten years, and now it comes to this!"

Harry sighed. He could see Draco was only just holding tears at bay. Despite the changes he had seen in the other boy recently, it was still disconcerting to see such emotion displayed so openly. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he said, his voice so soft and gentle that Draco looked at him with wonder-filled eyes. He continued, remembering the time during the Horcrux hunt when he thought they'd lost Ron's friendship, "I can understand how losing a friend would make you feel," his tone making it clear that Draco didn't need to discuss it further if he didn't want to.

Which Draco didn't, so continued with, "and thank you for apologizing to that bastard Crockford; he didn't deserve it, but it made our lives a lot more bearable yesterday."

Harry was shocked by this; but of course the Malfoys were entirely dependent on the good graces of their guards for the time being; and from what he'd seen so far, Crockford's mercy and protection were about what you'd expect from a hungry Hungarian Horntail Dragon, not a Ministry-certified Auror. He was very glad he had had his little chat with Kingsley. He looked over at the Minister, who seemed to be finishing up with Auror Godwin.

Harry cast a _Finite_ to end his Muffliato as Kingsley came over to talk to Crockford. "Dandelus," he began, and Harry held back a snigger – the name was so close to 'dandelion', which was so inappropriate that it tickled his funny bone – "there have been some reports of possible Death Eater activity in Salford – I think that was your old patch, wasn't it?"

Crockford nodded. He looked vaguely hopeful; _maybe I'll get taken off scum-minding duty_ , he wondered to himself.

"I'd like you to look into it if you would. Auror Barnes is available to partner to you, go back to the Ministry and tell him I want you both on the case straight after you have filed a full report on the activities at the Memorial yesterday." Kingsley stressed the 'full', leaving it in no doubt that he was not satisfied with the report so far. To forestall any comment, he continued straight on, "Tom Godwin will take over for you at the Manor."

Auror Crockford brightened considerably at the prospect of getting away from the Malfoys, even if writing a fuller report would be a chore. "Very well, sir," he said, in an official if-I-must voice that didn't fool anyone, and hurried off to Floo to the ministry immediately.

"Thank you," Harry said to Kingsley, very quietly. But not quietly enough, it seemed; Lucius came up to him and said, just as quietly, "Godwin is a much more tolerable man to deal with than Crockford; do I gather we have you to thank for this agreeable turn of events?"

Harry smiled, deprecatingly, and said, "really, you have to thank _Dandelus_ himself," stressing the name and not missing the sly smile that came to the corners of the older man's lips, "if he had been any use at all yesterday I think you'd still have the, um, _pleasure_ of his company."

"Well, that makes the first thing he's done yet that I could thank him for," Lucius replied.

* * *

"Harry, I read in the Daily Prophet that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is having a re-opening tomorrow. Will you be attending?" Narcissa asked him, as they sat at the lunch table. "More carrots?"

"Thank you," said Harry to the second question, accepting the plate that was passed to him. "Um, I haven't seen the Prophet today – I was a bit rushed this morning – " (Draco passed his napkin over his mouth at this point, ostensibly to wipe it, but in fact to hide the smirk that came involuntarily) " – but yes, I'm certainly planning on being there."

Lunch was quite a strained affair. Harry found out what Draco had meant about his father – the older Malfoy wasn't by any means rude, but it was as if he was barely there – clearly lost in his own thoughts. But this was Harry's first chance to follow up his conversation with Ron and Hermione on Wednesday, so he decided to jump in feet first, in true Harry Potter style.

"Lucius," he began, startling the Malfoy patriarch with this easy use of his first name, "Ron and Hermione mentioned you'd discovered something about a debt that happens when you free someone's magic. Could you tell me what you know?"

Lucius looked at him with concern in his eyes, careful not to actually stare. _DAMN!_ He thought. He had been hoping that Granger and Weasley would have discussed this with Harry; he now had less than a day to avoid the consequences.

There was nothing for it but frankness, he decided. If he told all, or nearly all, perhaps Harry would yet cancel the debt before its true power took hold. Although he knew perfectly well that this was making a virtue of necessity; the debt was already making it all but impossible for him to lie to Harry.

"You know about a Life Debt?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"A Debt of Magical Emancipation is like a Life Debt, only even stronger."

Harry looked puzzled. "How can anything be stronger than a Life Debt?" he asked.

"Because of honour. You can die with honour; but you can't live without magic with honour," Draco chimed in.

"So … this debt you owe me means you owe your honour to me?"

"Yes, and our sanity, and our lives," Lucius continued. "Every wizard on record who has lost his magic has lost his mind soon afterwards, and killed himself. The longest I ever read of anyone living was Cedric the Unfortunate, who had a Reaping Curse cast on him in 945. He lived for a mere three weeks after that. But it was, and still is, to my knowledge, the record."

"Oh," said Harry, somewhat shocked. He may not have particularly liked Lucius; but he was rather appalled at the thought that Voldemort's curse could have been, quite literally, the death of him; and Draco as well. "And that won't happen to you two?"

"No, you have saved us from that fate," Lucius admitted. "However, if the Debt is not cancelled soon, there are different consequences …" He could feel a pressure to elaborate, but he resisted. Just. Harry had to be coaxed in.

"Then what do I have to do to avoid them?" Harry responded, in wide-eyed innocence.

 _This is almost too easy,_ Lucius thought to himself. "There is a form of words that is required; I could dig it out if you're interested …"

At Harry's nod, he excused himself from the table and fetched an old blue-bound book from his study. He opened it and passed it over to Harry; there in the middle of the page was written:

**A Pronouncement – to cancel annul and terminate a**  
 **Dette of Magickal Emanschipation**  
 **And to manumitte those enslaved thereby**  


_Being a Wizard in full Knowledge and Understanding of the Nature of the Dette I hold,_  
 _And seeking to release my Dettors therefrom,_  
 _Do I this Day foreswear and adjure from maintaining such Dette_  
 _Calling it cancelled and finished with,_  
 _And I freely bind Myself to this Pronouncement and all its Consequences._

Lucius schooled his face to be impassive – easy after so many years of practice – but his heart was racing within him. So close … One might have forgiven Lucius for thinking that it was all over – here were the words, as far as he knew, Harry had but to speak them, not even mean them, and they were free. But he had forgotten the fierce spirit of the man in front of him. He still, in the back of his mind, thought of him as a boy to be manipulated and bullied, not a man to be reasoned with. That was about to change, radically.

"Bind myself?" Harry asked. "Consequences? What does that mean?"

It took all Lucius's self-control not to answer, with the debt pressing him to do so. He hesitated a fatal fraction of time too long.

"I can't do it, then, if you won't tell me," Harry continued, certain now that they were hiding something from him.

"There is something of a time limit here," Lucius began, but Harry cut him off.

"Then you need to explain quickly."

Lucius was trapped. To tell all would, he was sure, doom them; there was no way Potter would give up the chance of knowing he had their protection and truthfulness for life. To say nothing was equal doom: clearly, he was not about to say the words without more information. He did the only thing he could think of that might, just might, work.

"Draco?" he asked, turning to his son, his eyes pleading for help.

'Harry," Draco said, understanding what was needed, "let's go and talk about this in my suite."

 _Suite?_ Harry thought. _Git._ _I don't even have a room, I'm sharing with Ron._ But then it occurred to him that he owned an entire house; and he should probably visit it soon. Brushing the thought aside, he followed Draco as they went to his suite. It turned out that it did deserve the name: Draco had his own bedroom, bathroom, study, library and sitting room. He took Harry into his bedroom, obviously the most private place, and sat him on the bed.

"I wanted to bring you in here because this room has the most powerful privacy wards of the whole Manor," he explained.

Harry gave a shy smile. He hadn't assumed that there was any other reason. Oh no. And his trousers didn't feel at all tight. Nor did his chest. Not at all.

Draco had noticed the tightness of trousers and chest, and gave an enticing smile of his own. _Clearly we are thinking along the same lines…_ he thought, which heartened him immensely.

"Harry, my father is worried because if the Debt becomes established, there are certain behaviours we will never be free from. He doesn't want to tell you because he thinks that if you know what they are, you won't cancel the debt, and he's afraid of being in your power."

"And what do you think?" Harry asked.

"Oh he's right about the debt, I'm sure of it. But not the rest. I'm not afraid of being in your power. Harry, the only happy moments I've known over the last week have all been with you. My father is too preoccupied with the trial we know is coming and this stuff about the Debt to give me any attention; my mother simply doesn't know how to help; my friends – what friends? Theo tried to cut me in half, and you too if he'd succeeded; the Aurors? Crockford hates me; I doubt the rest feel much different. No, the only future happiness for me is with you. I don't care where that takes us – friends, lovers, husband and husband; but I've decided that it's what I want."

Draco was aware of a delicious feeling creeping over him as he spoke. He knew it was the Debt; he was being brutally honest, at a depth he'd never revealed to anyone else before; and that was clearly the right thing to do. It made his heart sing.

All at once he knew the debt was established: he could never lie to this man, nor harm him. Why would he even want to? If he could, if this morning's voice told the truth, he wanted more than anything to comfort Harry, to take away the memories of the hurt dealt to him by the man with tiny piggy eyes. To hold him, caress him, to let him know how special he was, how safe he made Draco feel, how wonderful it was to be with him.

The emotion he felt spread itself across his face. Normally calm and reserved, closed off, it was open and honest and earnest. Draco's words and the look on his face put a smile on Harry Potter's face, a smile Draco would have given anything to keep there forever; to know that he was the one who had made Harry that happy turned his heart over, and he could no longer speak.

But words were now superfluous; Harry leant over to him, his lips ghosting on Draco's. They were so soft, so sensual, so deliciously warm, and without even thinking about it, Draco had lifted his hand and stretched out, holding the nape of Harry's neck, and stroking that hair. He'd always assumed that it would be rough and unpleasant; but it was fine and smooth and all of a sudden he couldn't get enough of it and both of his hands were combing through Harry's hair as their lips came together firmly and he inhaled the other man's scent.

It was a glorious feeling, and all of Draco's senses seemed to become incredibly acute. He was so completely aware of the look of those beautiful green eyes, the lust he saw there mirroring the lust he felt; the touch of those gorgeous, full lips on his; the smell that seemed to surround Harry that he couldn't describe, but was better than every smell he loved all run together; the taste of his mouth as they opened to each other and tongues slid together; and the amazing groans of lust and longing that Harry was making – and so was he, he discovered to his amazement.

It was pure bliss. For one all-too-brief moment, Draco Malfoy knew what it was to be simply and completely happy.

Then Harry pulled away. "I don't know!" he said, in a voice of terrible sadness. "Is this the debt? The bond? Am I pushing you? Are we being forced into this?"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Draco said, looking at him, keeping his expression as earnest and open as he knew how. "This is **us**. This is how we are now. We have to live with it. Asking if we're being forced doesn't matter, surely; it's like asking if our hormones are forcing us. Even if they are, isn't that simply an unavoidable part of being together? A real part?"

Harry nodded at this, but didn't seem quite convinced.

"Look, we'll work it out together, OK?" he said. "But for now, I guess I should get back; I was only coming for lunch, the Weasleys will be wondering what happened to me."

"You will come back? Soon?" Draco asked, with an expression like an abandoned puppy in a dog's home: a look that said 'How could you leave me?' It melted Harry's heart.

"Of course," he said, giving Draco a soppy grin and gripping his hand for just a moment before apparating back to the Burrow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **AUTHOR'S NOTE**  
>  _: Draco quotes the second verse of Longfellow's_ **A Psalm of Life** :
>
>>   
> Life is real! Life is earnest!  
> ... And the grave is not its goal;  
> Dust thou art, to dust returnest,  
> ... Was not spoken of the soul.  
> 
> 
> _As you can see, the title of this chapter and the previous one come from here, so that the 'return' for this chapter is the return of the poem …_
> 
> _Thanks again to Bicky Monster who improved the first draft wonderfully. And lets_shine_forever, just blown away by your comment._
> 
> _As always, thanks for comments, subscriptions, kudos, love 'em all._


	12. WWW.Returns.Joy!

**12\. .WWW . Returns . Joy!**

_Saturday, May 9 1998_

Saturday dawned, bright and cheery, if still quite chilly: it was, after all, still early May. Everyone was up early at the Burrow; there was a general feeling of relief, now that the funerals were all over, and excitement now that the day of the re-opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had finally arrived. The twins' joke shop had been ready for days, as Harry, who provided the start-up capital by donating his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament of 1994, knew perfectly well; but the twins had been busy in every spare moment crafting new products and producing more stock.

Harry had been ecstatic to find that for once, he didn't feature in the Daily Prophet at all. He was fed up with the sycophantic rubbish they'd been printing all week, gushing endlessly about "Our Saviour" and how Rita Skeeter had such a special empathy with him – which made him want to hurl the paper into the fireplace, especially as he knew they would turn on him in a heartbeat if they thought it would sell more copies. The only thing Skeeter really empathised with was her Quick Quotes Quill, which probably wrote more of the interview than she did …

But this morning's headline simply announced

**TODAY'S THE DAY!**

_**WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES** _ **GRAND RE-OPENING!**

Underneath was a photograph of George and Fred, smiling and winking in a most alarming manner, and, Harry was sure, some guff about how wonderful this was and how much the wizarding world needed their brand of whacky humour. He didn't bother to go on; why read about the twins when he had the real thing sitting grinning at him from across the breakfast table?

Their grins were infectious, and Harry found himself chuckling under his breath as he remembered their playful digs during the week – asking about the chaise-longue still made him laugh whenever he thought about it.

The twins were absolutely delighted to see the huge smile on their little brother's face.

"Operation _Happy Harry_ is working a treat," Fred whispered to George.

"Let's see if we can't get him shrieking with laughter," George replied, equally quietly.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Forge?" Fred whispered back.

"Always, Gred."

"Oh Haaarryyy," they sang together at him. Harry chuckled; what mischief were they up to now?

"Ye-es," he replied, with just a little trepidation. There was a sudden BANG; and Harry found himself six feet up in the air. The cushion he was sitting on had popped open like a balloon, and now surrounded him, so it felt as though he was sitting on a rather bouncy throne. After the initial shock, Harry did indeed howl with laughter, as the throne bounced up and down beneath him, and the sides came out like fingers and tickled him.

"Do you like our latest product?" The twins asked him. "We picked up the idea from a Muggle thing called a nairybairg. / Or something like that!"

"An air-bag!" Harry replied, breathlessly. Mr. Dursley had talked incessantly about the two in his car, he was very proud of them. Harry wondered just what he would say if his air-bags behaved like this, and the thought of Vernon Dursley six feet up in the air being tossed on a one-man bouncy castle that was tickling him to death made him laugh even harder. "Yes, it's great fun!" And then, as he was getting more out of breath, and starting to be concerned for his safety, "um, do you think you could let me down now?"

"Oh, sorry, Harry," they replied, and with a swish of their wands, the cushion gracefully collapsed back down and Harry found himself seated at the table once more.

"You guys are just amazing!" he said, weeping with laughter. "That landing was so smooth… how did you do it?"

"Ah, well, that, ah, that did take a bit of time to sort out," George admitted.

"Yes, we bruised ourselves rather badly before we worked out the spell completely," Fred continued.

There was a sharp tutting sound from Molly behind them, but she didn't say anything, and three plates heavily laden with bacon, sausages and eggs floated over to the table and settled in front of Harry and the twins. At the same time, two toast-racks came over from the toaster, one for Harry and one between the twins, and three mugs of tea floated straight from the kettle. And Harry's sweet tooth was not forgotten: a honey-pot followed his mug, pouring honey into the tea, as a spoon scuttled over and began to stir the cup.

The whole thing appeared to be done effortlessly; Harry, in his current happy mood, found it incredibly comic, and doubled up in laughter.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said, as Molly looked at him with concern, "it was just so beautiful and funny to watch breakfast come over! Your spells are amazing!"

Molly smiled at him indulgently. A little flattery never hurt. And she could see that the twins were rubbing off on Harry; she'd lived with them for twenty years, she was quite used to people finding the strangest things amusing.

* * *

They Flooed to the shop at half-past eight. Harry had wanted to apparate into Diagon Alley and come into the shop through the front door – he still wasn't a big fan of Floo travel, and he wanted to see what the experience would be like for everyone else – but when they got there, he was glad that they hadn't. The Alley seemed to be full of people already, some of them going about their business, but many just standing around, obviously waiting for the Grand Re-Opening. The shop, even with no-one in it, seemed full, as joke items were in piles everywhere; plastic bins were overflowing with Skiving Snackboxes, Joke boxes, Nose-Biting Teacups, spiders that were charmed to wriggle realistically, Peruvian Darkness Powder, and hundreds of other lines.

"You've been busy!" Harry exclaimed.

"They had help," said a voice from the back of the shop, and Neville came out, leading Seamus and Dean. Harry was overjoyed to see them again; it had only been two days, but that was at the Memorial Service and he hadn't got to say good-bye properly. Now his friends surrounded him with chatter and started showing off some of the tricks they'd helped the twins to make. Then Neville made his way over to George and gave him a big kiss, to whoops of joy and cat-calls from the others. Harry was stunned and delighted to see how readily his other two classmates accepted the relationship.

Operation _Happy Harry_ was going very well, Fred decided.

Harry was amazed that people were prepared to stand around for an hour and more just to enter a joke shop. Not _just_ a joke-shop, he told himself. It was, after all, the best joke-shop in the Wizarding world, and he was proud to have invested in it. But then the real symbolism of the day hit him. For these witches and wizards, visiting the shop was a statement that they wanted to leave behind the horrors of war and go back to the carefree life that they had had before Voldemort had risen so many years ago. Many of them, perhaps, would barely remember such a time; for them, it must be exciting to think that the Weasleys would at last bring carefree joy into their lives, unmixed with darkness.

An idea struck him. A wickedly good prankish idea. An idea worthy of the twins themselves. "Got any more of those cushions?" he asked Fred, in his most innocent voice, at which the twins both pricked up their ears – they knew full well that meant he was up to something! After all, they'd had years of knowing when each other were thinking evil pranking thoughts, spotting someone else doing it was child's play for these masters of mirth.

"Yeah, there's a whole bay of them over by the wall there. What are you thinking, Harry?" Fred replied.

"I think I can guess," George said, and Fred turned to him as the same knowing smile spread across both faces. "Harry, **that's** **brilliant**!" they said, together.

Ten minutes later, Neville and Dean walked out the front door, and placed a row of chairs in front of the shop. They went up to some of the more elderly – but not _too_ elderly – witches and wizards, and offered them a seat. Of course, their unsuspecting victims were only too glad to accept such a kind and thoughtful gesture from these "nice young men". It wasn't long before their shouts – a little apprehensive, but mostly gleeful – rang out throughout the Alley as they bobbed six feet up in the air. George had spelled a sign to appear underneath them:

  
_Don't be down in the dumps!_   
_Get up with the bumps!_   
_In Weasley's Bouncing Balloon-Chairs!_   


"Not my best, I'm afraid," George said, apologetically. But no-one believed him. After all, they weren't interested in brilliant poetry, their aim was to amuse. And, of course, to sell their products; but the cushions would probably do that perfectly well all by themselves.

After a minute or two they let the poor witches and wizards down, only to find a ready queue of volunteers wanting a turn of their own. Of course many of the younger witches and wizards now felt left out, coming and demanding a turn as well, so in very short order there was a huge crowd yelling and laughing right in front of the shop.

It was the sort of advertising you couldn't buy with a million galleons, Harry thought. How better to advertise a joke shop than with a huge crowd of people having fun? He wandered out with a few trick items to give away as freebies: a couple of Decoy Detonators went off soon afterwards, and the bangs just added to the noise and fun.

As he stood at the far edge of the crowd, surveying the mayhem, Floriana Fortescue came over and shoved a chocolate and raspberry sundae with chopped nuts in his hand. He was amazed that she remembered his favourite, and told her so; she looked at him like he was a Dementor.

"Harry, my father loved you best of all his customers! He made sure we all knew your favourite!" she exclaimed.

She had not come over just for him, he was glad to see: she had a whole tray of sundaes, and they were disappearing rapidly at two sickles each.

"Hey!" Harry shouted above the general din, "don't spend all your money on ice-creams!"

But it was plain to see there was no danger of that. People had come prepared, their pockets full of galleons, itching to part with them for the wonderful Weasley products.

Harry looked back at the shop and got his first glimpse at the huge sign advertising the re-opening. The doggerel was both appalling and endearing:

YOU-KNOW-WHO HAS GONE AWAY!

U-NO-POO IS HERE TO STAY!

COME AND HAVE SOME FUN TODAY!

Underneath was some text rather more to the point:

WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES

PURVEYERS OF PLEASURE TO THE PEOPLE!

MAKING MIRTH FOR THE MISERABLE!

WE'RE BACK, VOLDY, AND YOU'RE NOW MOULDY!

He grinned. They just couldn't resist the dig at Voldemort, stealing Peeves' line. But somehow the jocular humour fit the occasion, and the shop, perfectly. He wandered back through the heaving, boisterous, happy crowd, into the shop.

They weren't even open yet, and the Grand Re-Opening was already a roaring success.

* * *

The morning flew by. The doors opened at exactly ten o'clock, and by one minute past you could hardly move inside the shop. Naturally, Harry helped out, and found that his being there was a drawcard all by itself; people came up to him to shake his hand all morning, and he made sure everyone who did bought a little something extra. George came up to him about eleven with a cup of tea, and told him they reckoned he was personally responsible for about half the sales; he was sure this was an exaggeration, but it made him grin anyway.

By half-past twelve, Harry was getting worried: they appeared to have sold practically everything!

"What about the afternoon crowd?" he asked.

"Don't worry, Harry," a twin replied, "We've got a trick or six up our sleeves still. / Now, how about some lunch?"

They closed the shop for an hour and the six of them went to the Leaky Cauldron. The place was packed with very happy witches and wizards who all seemed to have some Weasley item they wanted to show off. The noise was incredible, and yet managed to double as they walked in and were spotted. Harry was glad to see that the twins were being hailed as celebrities today: he had had quite enough of being famous; it was wonderful to be able to take a step back and not be in the spotlight for once.

Everyone wanted to buy them drinks, so by the time they found somewhere to sit, each of the six had a tankard of butterbeer in each hand, and there was a tray full of more tankards placed on the table in front of them. It took a while to convince Tom the landlord that what they really needed was food, rather than drink. But when the message got through to him, great platters were passed around, and everyone ate their fill. After that, there were a couple more rounds of butterbeers, and Harry offered to pay. Tom wouldn't hear of it; "the drinks have been paid for twice over, Mr. Potter," he said, grinning happily, "and the food is on the house."

As they left the Cauldron, accompanied by a large crowd eager to visit their shop, Floriana Fortescue came up with a huge bucket of ice-cream for them. George offered to pay, but she wouldn't take his money.

"Thank you so much, boys!" she said, her face beaming, "I've been rushed off my feet all day with the crowd you drew! Heading for the best sales for a single day ever, which is stunning considering that it's not even hot!"

When they got back to the shop, and had eaten their ice-cream, George and Neville scuttled out the back, and for a brief moment Harry wondered if they were up to …. No, couldn't be. Surely?

They came back in shortly after, carrying a small, but evidently very heavy, box between them. They put it down slowly, and it bounced a little: it was obviously under a levitation charm, but so heavy that even that couldn't keep it in the air.

"You might want to stand back, Harry," Fred warned him, and they all did, standing at the far wall as George and Neville took the lid off the box.

Immediately, hundreds of items rushed out of the box and flew around the shop, settling happily into the right bins. By half-past one, the shop was nearly as full of stock as it had been when they had opened at ten, and the doors were re-opened.

* * *

At about half-past two Harry was fretting because he remembered his promise to Draco to visit, when there was a big commotion (that is, the prevailing din got appreciably louder) as the Weasley clan came in.

"Look, Fred, it's ickle Ronniekins!" George called out.

"And Hermio-ninny!" Fred replied.

"Stop it, you!" Hermione replied, slapping him lightly on the wrist; but there was no heat in it and he just grinned in reply.

Hermione had worked out long ago not to let the twins get to her, or she would spend her whole life being annoyed by them. She linked her arm through Ron's and they wandered around the shop, looking at everything. They weren't buying much; the twins always made Ron pay double, and he and Hermione didn't have many galleons. Harry would have paid for them, of course, but the twins would never accept his money; so he just watched to see what Ron really wanted, then set one of each item aside for him later. The twins could see perfectly well what was going on; but they weren't going to let on; their pride kept them silent: Ron paid double, Harry never paid, that was the rule, and they stuck to it. It was a strange arrangement, but they actually liked it, because they didn't have to break their rule about Ron, Harry got to do his friend a favour which made him happy, and his smile always melted the twins' hearts.

Molly was obviously astonished to see the shop looking so smart and complimented her boys on the décor. Harry thought he had never seen them turn so red. It was really cute that their mother could embarrass them so easily. No-one else ever had; not to his knowledge, anyway.

He didn't hear what Arthur had to say because Neville came over at this point and suggested he might like to go upstairs. _Like going upstairs?_ He thought to himself, _I never have before …_ But when he decided to stop being silly and did go up, he was overjoyed to find his friend Robin Banks, who had evidently Flooed into the shop. He greeted Robin with a huge hug; he decided they were getting a bit beyond shaking hands, despite only having known him for not quite a week. Robin was one of those people, like Tonks, who you met for five minutes and felt you'd known forever.

"It's lovely that you're happy to see me, Harry," the Auror said, "but there's someone else here I think you'll be even happier to see."

And there, coming out of the Floo, looking more than a little apprehensive, was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Harry didn't so much give Draco a hug as wrap him up in one. Draco looked as if he was afraid that it was all just a dream and would burst at any moment; or, more likely, worried that he would be scolded and hounded back to the manor, as Auror Crockford certainly would have done had he been there. But he soon plucked up courage and returned the embrace in kind.

"Harry," he said, "it's stupid, I know, I only saw you yesterday, but I've missed you so much; Father has been impossible today, I think it's because he's realised the Debt has set in; and Auror Banks was on duty and …"

"You gave him permission to come?" Harry completed, making it a question to Robin.

"And brought him," said the Auror, with a smile. "He is allowed to travel with escort. We mustn't be away long, but I saw no reason why he couldn't share in the fun. We're not all heartless bastards, Draco," he replied to the blond, who was still looking a bit frightened.

"So you're not worried he's a danger to the public?" Harry said, with a strong hint of irony in his voice.

"Oh yes, I'm sure," came the reply, as Robin obviously got the irony and replied in kind. "Wizards who aren't allowed their wands and are being escorted by trained Aurors are **such** a menace to the public!"

His face had a warm, uncomplicated smile on it, and Draco, seeing it, seemed to trust his luck and relaxed a bit more into Harry's arms.

"I think you two might be more comfortable on the settee, don't you think?" Banks asked them, ushering them into the small lounge-room as he closed and locked the Floo. "I think I can trust you with Harry, Mr. Malfoy, so I'll just be in here if you need me," with which he went back into the Floo reception room and closed the door behind him.

Harry and Draco now had some privacy, which they put to good use. Their kiss was every bit as passionate as the one they'd had the previous afternoon, and Draco finally relaxed completely. Harry felt the tension leave his – what was Draco now? Friend? Lover? He didn't know. They'd have to talk that one through. Later.

Almost as if he'd read Harry's mind, Draco chose this moment to ask, "so, you've got over your scruples from yesterday, then?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "But I said we'll work it out together…" He thought a bit more. "I'm sorry about your father, Draco, but I just couldn't say those words. Something told me it was wrong to just say them without understanding them. I just hope – does this mean –"

"It means, Harry, we get to work things out together. That's all. Forget about the debt; just tell me, honestly, how do you feel right now?"

"I guess, right now, I'm just really, really happy to have you here and to hold you in my arms. And kissing is good, too. Better than good," he added, in response to a mock-glare from Draco.

"I can live with that," Draco said, holding Harry tighter and kissing his nose.

There was a discreet tap on the door, and Harry made an encouraging "come in" sort of noise, which was a little incoherent as he had just buried his face in Draco's hair. Auror Banks came in. "Sorry to disturb you two, but I will have to get Draco back to the Manor soon, and I thought he might like to see the fun downstairs."

Draco looked mildly horrified. "But there's lots of people! Isn't there a danger of being cursed?" he asked.

Robin waved his wand in a complex pattern, and suddenly there next to Harry was not Draco Malfoy, but Dennis Creavey. "Being a dab hand at casting glamours is quite an asset for an Auror," said Robin, affecting modesty but failing completely to achieve it.

Harry was astonished. "It's a perfect replica of Dennis! How do you get it so exact?"

"He is my cousin, remember?" Robin replied softly, "I've known him all his life; that certainly helps with glamours. But I really am pretty skillful; I got an O in charms at Durstrang on the strength of it."

As he spoke, Harry noticed a mirror on the wall behind Draco, and turned him so he could see the effect. Draco smiled, showing off Dennis's rather crooked teeth.

"That is pretty amazing," he agreed.

Robin smiled and escorted them downstairs, and stood at the back, keeping one very watchful eye on Draco and the other roaming for any possible threat. It was obvious to Harry that he didn't see Draco as a threat in any way; there had been no talk about Cuffing or any such nonsense, and Harry loved him even more for that.

But everyone in the shop was busy looking and buying, and while people came up to Harry to shake his hand, no-one gave Draco a second look as they wandered around, Draco's eyes wide open as he gazed in astonishment at all the merchandise.

"It's incredible," he whispered to Harry. "When they were at Hogwarts, I just thought those two were a pair of no-hoper troublemakers; but the skill that's gone into thinking up these things and making them is astonishing. In their own way, they're geniuses."

Harry chuckled. He was delighted to think that Draco was changing his mind about the people he would before have simply dismissed as 'blood-traitors', unworthy of his contempt; he was actually coming to admire them.

"Remember the swamp?" he asked. "Flitwick called that a lovely piece of magic."

"Oh yes," Draco said, the memory coming back in a rush. "Professor Umbridge HATED it! It showed up just how bad she is at charms and counter-charms."

Harry was a bit perturbed – he didn't really want to think about Umbridge, not today. Today was a day for fun; Umbridge was everything but. Fortunately, they were interrupted, and that train of thought derailed.

"Hello Harry, wondered where you'd got to," Ron said as he came up to them. "Oh, hello Dennis –" and then Ron took a closer look, realized who he was talking to, and lowered his voice: "Malfoy? Do the Aurors know you're here?"

Draco looked alarmed, and Harry murmured, "Ron is very sharp about glamours, don't worry, no-one else has noticed." Draco then indicated to Ron with a nod towards the back of the shop, and Ron looked over and saw Robin Banks standing there, all official and alert. He gave Ron a quick grin, but then his face went back to an impassive mask, surveying everything.

"Don't let Ginny know he's here," Harry whispered to Ron. "He's on duty, and he's being wonderfully kind – he brought Draco over, set up the glamour and let us both come down here and mingle."

At that point, Robin signalled to him, and Harry realized their time was up. It really hadn't been long, but he was very grateful that they had come at all. He grabbed Draco's arm, and indicated with his head that they had to go back up. Draco grasped the meaning immediately, and, without seeming to rush or doing anything suspicious, they were at the back of the shop very quickly.

"Sorry boys, time to go," they were told, and the three of them went upstairs.

When they reached the Floo point, Robin ushered them back into the lounge-room, and said, with a wink, "We don't have to rush straight away; you can have a minute to say goodbye."

And Auror Banks didn't seem to mind that they took rather more than a minute; and in fact they didn't do all that much talking.

As they came out again, Draco asked, diffidently, "Will you come by tomorrow? Say, ten o'clock?"

Harry grinned widely. Draco had sounded casual and off-hand, but he knew that he was anything but. Being together was becoming important to both of them. Draco wanted him. All by himself. And, he knew, all for himself, in both senses: he didn't want to share Harry, and also he didn't want Harry the Boy who Lived or Harry the Slayer of Voldemort, he wanted Just Harry. The real him. The thought made his heart sing for joy.

"It's a date," he said.

Draco blushed red at these simple words, and the implications behind them, but said nothing. Robin looked all innocent before turning away to open the Floo, then gently leading Draco back to the Manor.

Harry sighed. It was silly, he knew; he'd just seen Draco, but he really was 'missing you already' as the Muggles said.

He didn't care if he looked silly; hell, he didn't care that he was being silly.

He was going to see Draco tomorrow. It put a huge grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **Bicky Monster** my beta, **Orchidfire** for pointing out anomolies, and **Orchidfire** and **lets_shine_forever** for their kind words. And all who subscribe and leave kudos -- love you all!


	13. Return to Grimmauld Place

**13\. Return to Grimmauld Place**

_Sunday, May 10 1998_

Harry was so excited at the thought of seeing Draco again that he apparated to the Manor half an hour early. There was no-one about in Narcissa's study, and he took the chance to have a proper look round. The furnishings were, of course, exquisite; the desk was a beautiful French antique, not that Harry could have placed it, but it was obviously quite special. His eye fell on the chaise-longue under the window and with a gasp he recognised it: it was the one that Draco had transfigured the previous Saturday, just over a week ago, though it felt more like months ago. He hadn't given it another thought since the twins had asked about it on Saturday; he'd have to remember to tell them that he hadn't managed to keep it, now he knew where it was.

He stepped out of the study and learnt for the first time how soundproof the room was. The din was incredible; the normally sedate Manor was in turmoil. There were Aurors and lawyers everywhere, removing boxes of papers and books and artifacts, and all was bustle and noise. It suddenly hit him: the Wizarding trials! These people must be removing evidence for the Wizengamot to examine before the Malfoys were tried. He'd known that this was scheduled to happen after the funerals, but he hadn't realized that there would be so little time between them.

"Draco?" he yelled, wandering the corridors, but there was no response; no-one seemed to take any notice of him, they were all evidently fixated on what they were doing. By the rushing, they needed to be done soon. He decided that the Malfoys couldn't possibly be here, anyway; no-one would dare carry on the way these people were in Lucius Malfoy's house if he was anywhere about.

Amid the din, a familiar voice called his name. He looked round and saw Kingsley striding towards him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said, "but the Wizengamot has decided that the Wizarding trials will begin on Tuesday with the Malfoys' trials, and they have been placed in detention at the Ministry until then. I tried to get them to agree to leave the Malfoys under house-arrest at the Manor, but they wouldn't hear of it. I'm sorry, but you won't be able to get in touch before the trial."

Harry had a sickening feeling in his stomach, worse than being hit by a bludger: he wasn't going to see Draco before the trials, and if they went badly, he realized, he may not get to see him afterwards, either. The feeling must have made itself visible on his face, because Kingsley looked very concerned and called over an Auror, Glinda Dalben-Chun, and asked her to escort Harry back to the Burrow. Harry had never seen her before, and he took some small comfort from that; she hadn't been one of those totally useless Aurors who had stood by at the Memorial, he was sure of it. She took him to the closest Floo point, which happened to be the one in Lucius's study. He hadn't been in the room before, so he took a moment to look around. Even with over half its contents removed, it was the most impressive and imposing private room he had ever been in. It helped him begin to understand Lucius Malfoy a little better: to have gone through adult life with this enormous, ornate room as your very own personal study must have had a profound effect on the man.

But the moment was lost as lawyers came in and levitated filing cabinets out even as they stood there, and it went back to just being a room. A room with a Floo point, which Auror Dalben-Chun and he now used.

When they reached the Burrow, Glinda checked with Robin Banks that he would be alright to take over "looking after Mr Potter", which made Harry feel like a delinquent child; and then she returned to the Manor.

Molly Weasley rushed up to Harry, completely ignoring the Auror, and sat him down at once. "Harry, you look awful, dear," she said, in a consoling voice. Not that it helped; people who feel awful don't generally enjoy being told they look it. But Harry accepted the love behind the words; and also the steaming, sweet cup of tea that appeared moments later.

He sat and sighed. He hadn't realised how much he wanted to see Draco, how enticing the vision of a day spent in his company had been, until now that it had been ripped away from him. He stifled his tears.

* * *

He had not seen Draco. He wasn't going to any time soon. It hurt more than anything. He kept it inside for the rest of the day. That was what he did now, push his feelings down. Part of him didn't want to; wanted to yell or cry or have hysterics or stamp his feet in rage or _anything_ …. But he couldn't.

By the middle of the afternoon, he felt he had to do **something**. He was standing in the front room all by himself. He could hear Hermione and Molly chatting in the kitchen; the others must be outside. He suddenly, guiltily, remembered someone whom he had completely forgotten about since the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Kreacher!" he called softly. He didn't want Hermione to hear, he didn't need another rant about the Evils of House-Elf Slavery from the founder of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Kreacher, he knew, was perfectly happy in the Black house at Grimmauld Place; but Hermione wasn't entirely convinced and Harry didn't have the patience to try to explain again right now.

There was a pop, and the elderly house-elf apparated in front of him. "Master Harry be wanting Kreacher? Kreacher is being very happy to serve Master Harry!"

"How is Grimmauld Place since the War, Kreacher? Could I stay there now?"

"Oh, yes, Master Harry!" Kreacher beamed. "Kreacher is being cleaning all over ready for the Master!"

Harry smiled. How could anyone (by which he meant Hermione) say that house-elves were slaves when they were so grateful to be asked to serve? But then Kreacher looked at his feet and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Kreacher, what's wrong?"

"Kreacher is very sorry, Master Harry, but Kreacher cannot remove the spells of the Mad-Eye. And heavy repair spells are being beyond him." Then he brightened again. "But the house is being sparkling clean!"

Harry grinned. "I'm sure it is, Kreacher. If I come and stay tonight, do you think you could cook me some supper?"

Kreacher's eyes grew so round with delight that Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh yes, Master Harry! Kreacher is knowing the very thing!"

And with that the elf vanished in a pop.

Hermione came into the room, followed by Molly. "Harry, was that Kreacher I just heard?"

"Yes. I'm going to spend the night at Grimmauld Place."

They both eyed him critically, but said nothing. It was awkward, so rather than endure the silence he continued, "Molly, I'm sorry, I love being here but I just need a bit of space, all right?"

Molly looked at him severely. "All right, Harry," she said eventually. "But don't you go hiding away in that draughty place, all by yourself, for weeks on end, do you hear? I want you here every night but I can tell that won't happen. So I expect to see you here at least once a week for dinner, every week, do you hear? I make a point of having all my children here as often as possible. I hope I don't need to tell you again that that includes both of you," she said, gesturing to Hermione and him. Then she shook her head. "I really don't like to think of you rattling around in that cold, old place all alone."

"Thanks, Molly," he replied, "I won't be alone, I'll have Kreacher."

"You won't be alone because Ron and I will be there with you," Hermione responded, in a voice that made it clear that there was no room for argument.

* * *

Kreacher was absolutely delighted to have people to serve and cook for. Before dinner, there was a huge flurry of activity in one of the second-floor bedrooms, and Hermione gaped in amazement at the four-poster bed with beautiful white linen sheets and gold covers.

"Mister Weasley and Miss Granger be being very comfortable!" he chuckled. Hermione couldn't decide if he was having a sly dig at their unmarried status or not, but then remembered her own mantra: _"Kindness and Understanding"_ , so elected to give him the benefit of the doubt and simply thanked him. He seemed very pleased at this.

Harry was surprised when Hermione came up to him after this and proposed a truce. "I still don't like house-elves," she said, "but I can see that he's very happy here, and you're treating him with kindness, so we'll just leave it at that, all right?"

Harry beamed. "Agreed," he replied. And that was that.

The Ministry had insisted that a pair of Aurors go with them to stand on duty, even though Grimmauld Place was unplottable. After all, Yaxley had been there; who knew if he might be able to divulge the location, now that Dumbledore was dead and the Fidelius Charm probably unreliable? Or he might escape and threaten Harry himself.

Harry insisted that they weren't going to sit down and eat with two hungry men standing outside in the chilly night air. So in the end, five people sat down to supper. Kreacher produced a magnificent, and enormous, shepherd's pie; the five of them, even with Ron's huge appetite, couldn't manage to get outside more than half of it. And this was followed by a spotted dick smothered in custard, which made Ron's eyes go so round and huge that it reminded Harry of Kreacher's response when he had asked him to cook earlier that afternoon.

"Ron, your face –" he said, but it was all he could get out before collapsing into laughter. The thought that Ron and Kreacher had used the same expression was so unlikely and comic. The others were so mellowed by good food that they joined in, and the mood lightened perceptibly.

* * *

Ron and Hermione stopped him on the second-floor landing just before he went up to his bedroom.

"You all right mate?" Ron asked.

He'd known this was coming, but he still wasn't ready to talk yet. The thought that the next time he saw Draco he would be in the dock, and that it could be the last time, still weighed heavily upon him.

"Yeah," he said, as crap as ever at telling anyone, even his best friends, about his feelings.

"Liar!" Ron said, but with great affection.

And then Harry found himself surrounded by strong arms again. They weren't the ones he really needed; but the hugs of his friends, the feeling of being surrounded by two people who cared about him, was comforting, and he broke down, just a little. It wasn't yelling or crying or being hysterical, it was a sniffle and a muttered, "sorry", but it helped.

"You know you can talk to us about anything, right? We're here for you, OK?" Ron continued.

"Yeah. Sorry, but right now, I just can't."

"OK. But don't keep it in too long, OK? Or I'll get Hermione onto you." Ron threatened; but he rather blunted the threat with a chuckle.

This made Harry laugh, especially as she was standing right next to him. "Thanks, mate. Thanks, Hermione. Goodnight."

Harry didn't dream that night; but still wasn't properly rested when he woke up the next morning.

* * *

In the Ministry holding cells, Draco Malfoy wasn't getting a lot of sleep.

He was sharing a cell with his parents; he wasn't sure whether to think this was better than being with strangers, or mortifying to be confined so close to them. He'd spent the whole day being strong; Lucius had explained that with him being away from Harry, the bond should weaken, so he should be able to get free of it. They had both clearly assumed that this was the best thing, so he had fallen in with the idea.

But Narcissa and Lucius were now sleeping, and he had the chance to think about what he wanted. And that, he decided, was actually very simple. The bond be damned. He wanted Harry. He'd always wanted Harry. To be his friend, his lover, his …; he didn't know a word for what they were now, he just knew he wanted it back. Hades, he'd take whatever he could get!

He remembered the feeling as their home had been invaded by Aurors at nine o'clock that morning. He'd been up early, ready for Harry's visit; and then the whole thing had been blown to Hell and they'd been carted off without even the chance to get a note to Harry to tell him what was going on. The bastards wouldn't even let him leave a note with them. He'd had to be strong and calm all day; he wasn't going to give the Aurors at the Ministry the satisfaction of knowing they had made him angry. But now he was by himself, he could be himself, he could let his true feelings out.

Two large tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the pillow.

* * *

Draco wasn't the only prisoner not getting much sleep.

_She's here_ , he thought. _She's so close; but they've put that fool Proudfoot over her, I can't get to him. If it was Crockford …_ But it wasn't; no sense wasting time on maybes. He was annoyed that having the Malfoys so close physically did not make it easier to get to them; the irony that it was actually much harder did not escape him.

_Escape_. Yes, that was a good word. He could see that the Ministry had no stomach for this job; they would probably let them off with a caution, or perhaps five years in Azkaban. Less than they deserved; they all deserved to be Kissed, he thought, and that treacherous Narcissa, who had lied to his Lord, telling him that the brat Potter was dead when he was only foxing. The brat, he reminded himself, who had got them away from Crockford

He had lost everything; they would get off lightly. Well, let them. He would be waiting. He had his spies, his helpers, and here was Crockford and the other, Barnes, they would spring him now, he'd make them, and then let's see how the precious Malfoys like that!

_Treacherous scum!_ He spat into the straw at his feet as the door was unlocked. Not long now, and he would have to find alternative lodgings. The thought brought a hideous grin to his face.

* * *

_Monday, May 11 1998_

Like so many things in Grimmauld Place, the bedroom curtains needed replacing, but they still kept the light out well enough that no-one woke before ten o'clock. Ron got up first, largely because Pigwidgeon the owl was knocking on his window. Hermione had heard the knock, Ron was sure, but rolled over and completely ignored it.

Ron left his bed, with more grumble than grace, and took the letter and copy of the Daily Prophet that the owl had brought.

The letter was from Molly, warning them that Harry would be very upset by the article in the Prophet, suggesting that they should show it to him before anyone else could so that they could be there for him, and asking them to take good care of him when they did.

With fear and trepidation, Hermione opened the paper. Half the front page was taken up with a photograph of the three Malfoys, Lucius scowling, Draco looking shifty and Narcissa looking very uncomfortable in their presence. They were being led away by two Aurors. Hermione recognised Crockford, having had the displeasure of meeting him when she and Ron had visited the Manor the previous Wednesday; the other, the caption stated, was Auror Tombinias Barnes. In huge letters above the photograph ran the headline:

**DEATH EATER TRIALS!**

_The Prophet can exclusively reveal that Malfoy Manor was visited yesterday by the crack Wizengamot Forensics team, accompanied by a number of Aurors. We have been told that a vast amount of incriminating evidence was removed from the Manor and is now safely under spell, lock and key in the Ministry. The Malfoys will be facing trial this week, and surely our readers can be in no doubt of the fate awaiting Lucius Malfoy, the Doyen of Death Eaters, and his son and heir, Draco Malfoy. Surely the only questions we need ask are,_

' _How long will they spend in Azkaban?'_  


_and,_

' _Will they be Kissed by a Dementor?'_  


Hermione cast _Revelio_ on the photograph. "As I suspected," she said, "this photograph has been touched up."

Ron looked closer and he could see that it was a very clever job – the original expressions on the Malfoys' faces had been altered only very slightly, but they looked quite different. Whoever had done this was an expert in deception.

"The bastards!" he yelled.

"Who are bastards?" said Harry, knocking on the door and entering as Hermione told him to come in.

"Harry," Hermione said, concern etched on her face, "you need to sit down for this. Let's go to the kitchen and get a cup of tea."

* * *

Kreacher had not allowed them to get away with just a cup of tea: the three of them had feasted on bacon, sausages and eggs, and Harry was finishing off some toast and marmalade when Ron brought out the morning's _Prophet._

"I'm sorry, mate," he said, handing the paper to Harry, "it isn't pretty."

Harry took one look at the photograph and his face went black. His hands trembled with rage, and Hermione raced behind him to hold him, to somehow let him know that they were there, they loved him, they understood what it did to him that the _Daily Prophet_ could casually condemn these two people he had given back magic to.

"Remember, Harry, we're here for you," she said. "We understand how hurtful it is that these horrible reporters can be so callous about someone who means so much to you."

Harry stood up and turned to look at her with worried eyes, and she knew his thought even before he said it: "what if Draco gets kissed?"

As he said it, as the thought took hold, the thing he had been holding off for twenty-four hours finally happened. The brave Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Destroyer of Voldemort, dissolved into tears.

* * *

They were still standing at the kitchen table in their pyjamas half an hour later when Kingsley Shacklebolt came in.

"I'm sorry to intrude," he began; then took in the scene.

Harry was still sobbing, quietly now, on Hermione's shoulder as she stroked his hair. Ron had stood up, too, and clasped the two of them in a huge hug, nuzzling Harry's head with his own. At the sound of Kingsley's voice, Harry looked up.

"I'm sorry Minister – Kingsley," he amended, as Kingsley waved at him deprecatingly.

"You have no reason to be sorry, Harry," he said, with a sad smile. "I'm sorry that the _Prophet_ ran the story like that; if it's any comfort I can tell you that they made up the 'vast amount of incriminating evidence'; the lawyers do have a lot of material, more than they can handle properly, but I'm told that preliminary investigation has shown almost all of it to be irrelevant."

"Thank you," said Harry; "but it isn't much comfort."

"That's all right, Harry," said the Minister, looking at him kindly. "How about we move to the sitting room and discuss this further. Are you up for that?"

Harry was. He'd finished crying for the moment, he decided; now he had to be strong. The four of them walked to the sitting room together, and Harry sat between his earliest friends. Kingsley's tone had been friendly and kind; perhaps he had come to give them hope?

Whatever happened, Harry wasn't going to give up on his friend. _My almost-lover_ , he decided. That's what they were. More than friends; less than lovers, but nearly there. _If we ever get the chance_ , he thought, which very nearly set him off again.

Kingsley, seated opposite in the leather armchair that Sirius had always used – _No!_ Harry told himself, _I will not let that affect me now!_ – leaned over with a kind light in his eyes.

"I can't promise anything, Harry, but the Wizengamot is aware of everything that happened during the funerals, and they are taking what you said about a second chance for Draco Malfoy very seriously."

"Will I be able to speak for them?" Harry asked, tentatively.

Kingsley frowned a little. "For Draco and Narcissa, of course. Do you really want to speak for Lucius? Does he really deserve that?"

"Oh yes!" Harry said, all tentativeness gone, replaced by a fervent passion that made his eyes burn as green as the Avada Kedavra curse. "He may have been a bastard before, and made our lives Hell; but we don't get to choose who lives, Kingsley. Lucius has been spared, and maybe there are people we would prefer here instead, but we don't get that choice. We have to work with what we have. We need him, Kingsley. We need him to bring the pure-bloods to the table. He can influence them like no-one else, get them to see that the only way forward, the only future for all of us is to work together. Otherwise, how long will it be before another Tom Riddle turns up and exploits the divisions between us? Only things would be even worse because we would trust one another even less than we do now, and we would end up wishing for the days of Lord Voldemort rather than what we have then?"

Kingsley was very impressed. The future that Harry had outlined at the Lupins' funeral, one where Teddy could 'live a happier life', was what he had been arguing for all week. He had been quietly sounding people out, putting a word here and a nudge there, and felt he might just be making some headway. But his politicking needed a focus. Harry was no politician, that was obvious; he would never survive the machinations of diplomacy; but his straight-forward honesty might just be the weapon they needed to sway the Wizengamot.

"All right," he said, smiling. "I'll make sure that you get the chance. You're a very persuasive orator, Harry; I don't think anyone else could, or would, speak up for Lucius Malfoy, but you might just get him off being Kissed."

Harry smiled in reply, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What hope for Draco?"

"I'm sure he won't be Kissed, Harry, if that's your concern."

Harry relaxed visibly. "And Azkaban?"

"Not so certain, but I think we'll keep him out. Like I said, your words are being taken seriously. That's why I think, if you can be as passionate as you just were, at the trials, they will listen to you."

There was a knock at the window, and a Ministry owl came in as Harry opened it. Kingsley removed a letter from it, deftly avoiding the owl's attempt to bite him.

"Ah! A minister's work is never done, I'm afraid," he said, as he read it. "This is from Arthur; I do need to deal with something before the trial. Keep your pecker up, Harry. The Wizengamot will start deliberations at nine o'clock; they will probaby want to interview you at length before the trials actually begin. Come to the ministry at eight thirty and we'll make sure it's all arranged."

Harry flinched a little. He remembered the last trial he'd been involved in scheduled for nine a.m. – his own disciplinary hearing, which had been secretly moved to eight a.m. and the courtroom changed at the last minute by then-minister Cornelius Fudge to try to get him to miss it altogether.

Kingsley noticed the reaction, and laughed. "No, Harry, you have my personal promise that the trials themselves will begin in Courtroom Ten at nine a.m. at the very earliest."

Harry stood up. "Thank you, Minister," he said, with a very formal bow. Kingsley grinned, and held out his hand, which Harry took in a firm shake.

"May I use your Floo?" he asked the younger wizard.

"Please, be my guest," Harry replied, with a twinkle in his eye – after all, Kingsley had arrived unannounced and uninvited, so technically he had been trespassing the whole time. The strange thought that he was asking permission to leave, not be there, tickled Harry's sense of humour.

Kingsley was very glad to see it – the old Harry Potter was still there, underneath this sorrowful, serious boy. All they had to do now was get Draco free and he should be well on the way to recovery. _All they had to do_ , he thought to himself. _As though it were a little thing …_

* * *

That evening, Ginny and the twins came over, with Neville and Robin in tow. They all hugged Harry very tightly, and told him again that the whole family was there for him.

"Mum's really worried about you, Harry," Ginny told him. "She thought you'd probably want to go and pull the reporter's head off their body or something after that horrid article this morning."

Harry chuckled. It did help to have these lovely people come to comfort him, even if he couldn't have the person he really wanted. "A thought like that had crossed my mind," he admitted, "and I got a bit teary this morning; but you can tell Molly I'm OK now, just can't wait for tomorrow to be over." He pointed to Ron and Hermione as he continued, "these two have been wonderful, and Kingsley came by to reassure me that not everyone is spiteful and hateful."

Ginny's eyes went wide. She still wasn't used to the fact that Harry called the Minister of Magic "Kingsley" instead of "sir"; the thought that someone so important had come by to reassure Harry just reminded her again of how important he really was to the wizarding world. It was such an amazing thought that this lovely, sweet, shy seventeen-year-old man who she had grown up with, who had been like an annoying big brother, then a heavenly boyfriend, and now a really close friend and brother, was also the wizard who had destroyed the Dark Lord who had terrorized them for all of her life. Terrorized her, particularly, in the Chamber of Secrets where his diary Horcrux had tried to kill her. And would have succeeded but for the wonderful man in front of her.

She cuddled him tightly, and began to cry.

"Hush, Gin, what's wrong?" he asked, so soft and loving it broke her heart even more.

"Oh Harry," she replied, "you are just the most wonderful, amazing man, I can't bear it that these people are so stupid and hurt you so much."

Harry had a moment of panic – she didn't know about the Dursleys, surely? But then, realising that she was talking about the reporters, he relaxed.

"'S OK, Gin, the _Prophet_ has printed so much shit about me over the years, I can hardly complain when they publish shit about Draco, can I?"

"That's the spirit, little brother!" the twins said, coming around the two of them in a four-person hug which broke up almost immediately – Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air, howling with laughter under the onslaught of both Fred and George tickling him mercilessly.

"That's more like it, don't you think, Fred?" said one twin.

"Exactly so, George," the other replied.

"STOP IT!" Harry yelled, nearly breathless. "And don't think I don't know what you're playing at, using the wrong names like that!" Harry was pretty sure that the twins only ever called each other by name to use the wrong one and confuse people, like they were doing now. He never had any trouble telling them apart now he was used to them.

"All right, Harry," they said, pulling him into a hug with their arms over his shoulders, one of them on each side. "We came home to tell you all about our record sales last night / and mum wouldn't tell us where you were! And then of course we were at the shop today / without you, worse luck / and we had to PINCH and PINCH and PINCH her to tell us where you were!"

Harry giggled as the twins suited action to words, each PINCH being taken out on him. They were careful not to hurt him, it was all play and it was doing a wonderful job of cheering him up. In the back of his mind, he knew perfectly well that that was what they were up to, but he pushed the thought away. He could get depressed again tomorrow, but not now. Not with the twins around; they just wouldn't let him get away with it, he was sure.

"Liars!" Ginny laughed. "She practically pushed the pair of you into the Floo to come and see him the second you got home!"

At this point, with a pop, Kreacher apparated into the room to announce that dinner was ready. Once again Harry insisted on feeding the Aurors, and Kreacher was so delighted to be serving ten people tonight that his voice became a high-pitched squeak of joy, which made Hermione laugh and clap for joy herself and soon they were all laughing and heading for the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was a very happy affair indeed. By mutual, unspoken consent, discussion of the trials and the _Prophet_ article was off limits; but Fred and George regaled them with stories from the shop for the last two days – one lady had been foolish enough to try to steal from them, and found out the hard way about the jinxes that the two had set up to stop this. George assured them that the Beefy Bouncy Beating Batons didn't really hurt that much, though Fred seemed to think she'd remember them every time she sat down for a week.

The twins had stolen (their word was "liberated" but Harry suspected that they said this more for the Aurors) a bottle of elf-wine from their father, and Harry discovered he really liked it. He found that strange: he didn't like wine or fire-whiskey much, having not grown up drinking alcohol (or much else, other than water, as often as not from the garden hose, for that matter). The twins assured him that it was because elf-wine didn't work the same way as normal alcohol, and was much better for cheering you up.

Whether this was true or not, Harry did find the evening very heartening. He was seated between the twins, and Fred took care to keep him in the conversation the whole time, even when George was chatting with Neville on his left. Robin, on Neville's other side, also kept the banter going, and Harry was delighted to see how easily he and Neville fitted in with the family. Perhaps it was the wine, or the twins' presence, or the banter, but somehow Harry's mood had changed so much that instead of feeling down at missing Draco, he was feeling hope that soon he too would be sitting at a meal just like this, laughing and joking as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bicky Monster as always for betaing; and to all of you who leave kudos and comments!


	14. Return to Courtroom Ten

**14\. Return to Courtroom Ten**

_Tuesday, May 12 1998_

Harry Flooed to the Burrow just before six and was surprised and delighted to find that Arthur and Molly were up and busy in the kitchen already. Molly enveloped him in an enormous hug, then all but forced him to sit down and eat an enormous breakfast.

"I thought you might come over, dear, the twins told us you had a good night last night," she said, as he ate.

Harry was wondering about that. He had woken up in his pyjamas in his bed, but had no idea what had happened from about the middle of dinner the previous night onwards. The elf-wine had obviously been rather more potent than he thought. When he woke up, around five o'clock, he found on his desk a potion, labelled 'Weasley's All-Purpose Pepper-Up Potion', with a note under it in George's rather messy writing exhorting him to 'Get this down you straight-away / And your arse to the Burrow without delay!' Great poetry it was not, but he obeyed anyway. The potion had actually tasted quite sweet, making it about the first medicinal potion Harry remembered taking that didn't taste positively vile; once down, it had quite a kick to it and he'd come wide-awake with a bang, and got dressed for the day, then followed the second instruction.

Emerging from his reverie, he thanked Molly profusely and turned to Arthur.

"I thought I'd go with you to the Ministry, if I may."

Arthur chuckled. "I rather thought that might be why you were about so early in the morning. I believe, though, that you'll find that things really won't start until nine o'clock; there's no need to be three hours early like Albus was to your trial."

Harry grinned at him. It was nice, somehow, that Arthur had anticipated exactly how he felt, and why. "I'm sure there isn't," he replied, "but I just had to."

"Of course," Arthur replied, smiling at him, a father's love shining in his eyes. It made Harry's heart flip to know that he really was seen as part of this amazing family. "And you will want to prepare: the Chief Warlock has decided he wants to change the way things are done, and the whole Wizengamot will be sitting with you and deciding on new procedures."

Harry's eyes went wide in shock at the responsibility that it seemed was being thrust upon him, unasked and unlooked for. Before he could say anything, Arthur, noticing Harry had now finished breakfast, continued, "Coming?"

Harry followed him to the Floo, emerging, blinking, in Arthur's rather bright office.

* * *

Arthur's office was **huge**! You could have fitted the Weasley's kitchen and front room into it without trying, Harry thought; although perhaps it just looked like it because a fair amount of the room was still empty. Arthur had a very cluttered desk up at one end, with some tables and chairs scattered around to try to fill the rest of the place.

"Still haven't grown into this office, really," Arthur said, sadly. Harry looked at him, unbelieving: Arthur made a fantastic Deputy Minister, he was sure of it. But then he realized that Arthur had only meant the physical office: Arthur, so used to having no room at all to spare, must have unconsciously squashed everything into the smallest space possible.

Harry couldn't help thinking back to the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive. "I know the feeling," he said, remembering how bare his bed had looked in his first year at Hogwarts. Though that was more because he had had so little to put around it for months after he arrived. He had been very embarrassed that everyone else had posters of their favourite Quiddich players up and all sorts of other things scattered around: Neville had even had plants in pots all over his bed-head. It struck him suddenly that the first thing he had put up had been a photo of Galvin Gudgeon, the Seeker of the Chudley Cannons, which had been a gift from Ron; perhaps, he thought belatedly, Ron had actually always been a bit more sensitive than anyone had given him credit for.

Coming back to the present, he offered to help Mr. Weasley rearrange his office.

* * *

At half-past seven, Kingsley walked in.

"My goodness, Arthur," he said, looking around at the office, which was now much more spread out and organized, "this looks much more like you actually belong here! See, you do need all this space!"

Arthur grinned. "I had quite a bit of help from our friend Mr. Potter," he replied, smiling at Harry. "He turned up at the Burrow before six!"

Kingsley frowned at him. "Why so early? That's a full three hours before business starts – hang on," he finished up, having twigged; as a member of the Order he had of course heard all about Harry's hearing, and how Dumbledore had foiled the Ministry's crude attempts to keep them both out of the proceedings.

"Yeah, I kind of felt I had to do the same for him, somehow." Harry admitted. He was mostly speaking to himself, so didn't make it explicit that he meant Draco; but the Minister was no fool.

Kingsley looked at him, his eyes very pensive. "Do you love him that much?" he asked, softly.

Harry stopped to think for a second, then said, just as softly, "You know, I think perhaps I do…"

* * *

Kingsley's office was the same size as Arthur's; Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this was due to Kingsley's insistence, a feeling that was entirely confirmed when Arthur asked, "are you really sure you have enough space? I can always bunch things up again."

"Nonsense!" Kingsley said crisply, making it quite clear that the discussion was over. The three of them sat to discuss tactics.

"The first thing I have to tell you, Harry, is a piece of rather bad news," the Minister began. "Yaxley escaped during the early hours of yesterday morning."

"Is that what the owl you received at Grimmauld Place was about?" Harry asked, anxiously. This was disturbing news: Yaxley was not a wizard to be trifled with.

"Yes. The biggest concern at the moment is that we think he had inside help." Arthur replied.

"It's a very good thing you had your suspicions about Crockford," Kingsley added. "He and his partner Auror Barnes were in charge of Yaxley's cell the night before last. We are not yet certain that they were complicit …" He left the suggestion hanging in the air.

"As they were involved in guarding the Malfoys at the Manor," Arthur continued, "they will be testifying during their trials. So we'll all need to be keeping a very watchful eye on them."

"And stop looking all surprised and bashful, Harry. Your eyes are young and sharp, as watchful as our old ones. And, as Destroyer of Voldemort, you may find you have quite a lot of clout with the Wizengamot during these trials; you'll find yourself being invited to speak, and should have the refreshing experience of actually being listened to."

Harry was a bit panicked by this, asking "… so what am I supposed to say?"

"I think the only real answer to that," Kingsley replied, "is to tell them like it is, straight from the heart."

And though they spoke together at great length until just before nine, that was the piece of advice which stuck with Harry most.

* * *

They entered Courtroom Ten as the Wizengamot filed in, the members all wearing the traditional plum-coloured robes, most of them prominently displaying the silver 'W' which confirmed them as members of the Wizengamot-in-session. With Albus Dumbledore dead, a new Chief Warlock had been chosen. Harry was happy to see it was Albus's lifelong friend Elphias Doge. Harry noticed with interest that Doge was looking quite uncomfortable to be wearing such finery; certainly he wasn't vainly displaying the 'W' on his robe; it was in fact accidentally caught in a fold and looked more like a 'V' than a 'W'.

"Ah, Harry - Mr. Potter," he said softly, sounding more like a grandfather than a high official and only just remembering to use Harry's surname, "I'm so glad you could join us. I think we would all agree that the recent history of justice meted out by this court rather leaves something to be desired; particularly in your case."

"Very regrettable, I'm sure," a senior witch sitting to his left agreed. "And for that reason, Mr. Potter, given your experience from, so to speak, the other side of the bar, we had rather hoped for your assistance in framing a set of procedures that will enable us to conduct business in a –"

"—a less Fudged manner," Doge broke in, smiling at his own joke. Harry gave an answering grin; even though having been on the receiving end of Minister Fudge's machinations, he didn't find the jest particularly funny.

"I'm quite overwhelmed and I'm not sure what I have to offer," Harry began, affecting modesty, though after their conference he had worked out pretty well how he wanted things to end up. "I suppose the first thing is to make sure that we all agree what we are trying to achieve?"

Various members nodded sagely; but one rather cross-looking wizard said "I should have thought it was obvious!"

The witch who had spoken earlier replied, "Indeed, Libatius? Then perhaps you would be kind enough to expound it to us?" Her voice was quite sincere and earnest, but there was a twinkle in her eye and suddenly Harry was sure she was baiting him. _This might even be fun_ , he thought, _if only Draco's future didn't hang on it._

"Well Dalmatea, we're here to …" the wizard began, paused, then came out with, "… to establish the guilt of those tried, of course!"

"I see," Dalmatea continued, in an ominously soft voice, "not their innocence, if they are, then?"

"Well of course!"

"But mostly their guilt, I fear," said Elphias. "Surely this is exactly the point. We can't just presume guilt. Do we not need to look beyond this room, these trials, and ask how we might best build a world that, as Mr. Potter's friend Professor Lupin so eloquently put it, we can live a happier life?"

There was more nodding and murmuring; but Libatius wasn't having any of it. "And what is that going to mean in practice?" he demanded.

"Perhaps," Harry suggested, deferentially, "we should begin by trying to find the truth, rather than guilt or innocence?"

"An enchanting idea," said Libatius, coldly. It made Harry think of Snape; and then it suddenly dawned on him who he was talking to. Libatius Borage, author of ' _Advanced Potion-Making_ ', the school Potions textbook for N.E.W.T.-level classes.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you Libatius Borage?" he asked.

"We forget our manners," Elphias said, "yes, indeed, Mr. Potter, allow me to introduce our esteemed members Libatius Borage and Dalmatea Merrythought."

 _Merrythought?_ He wondered. "Professor Galatea Merrythought's daughter?" he asked. Galatea had taught Defense at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years; he remembered that Dumbledore had mentioned her as being one of his teachers.

Dalmatea beamed. "Yes indeed," she replied, "my mother has followed your career with great interest."

"She's still alive?"

"Oh yes; but she mostly stays at home these days. Can't be bothered with society any more. Which, at a hundred and thirty-eight, is probably forgivable."

"Enchanting as this discussion may be," Borage broke in, "perhaps we could continue with the matter at hand?"

 _What is it with Potions Masters and being a moody git?_ Harry wondered to himself.

"Which was about finding the truth, I think," a younger wizard interjected. "Do you have Veritaserum for us, Libatius?"

At this, Libatius puffed up a little. Harry just knew he was going to show off.

"As it happens, I have something better," he began. "My dear friend Severus Snape" – Harry suppressed a snort, he had read the notes in Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and knew exactly what Snape thought of the man – "has bequeathed me a large vat containing a most interesting potion he called 'Expositor Falsitas'. Apparently, even the spells and oaths the Death Eaters used are not proof against it. Instead of forcing those who take it to tell the truth, it makes it impossible to tell a lie."

Harry sat up. Borage went on about how it worked and theories about Death Eater potions, but he wasn't very interested in that. Snape had been a Death Eater himself, and a first-class Potions Master; if he had said that it worked, then Harry was certain that it would. And he was sure of it for another reason: he had a sense that the voice of his dreams was encouraging him that it was so, and somehow he knew that voice would never lie to him.

"So," the younger wizard replied, "we should make the accused take it?"

Harry saw his opening. "Why just the accused?" he asked. "How about, as a show of good faith, we all take it ourselves? And ask all witnesses to take it as well?"

There was a general hubbub, in which a few random pronouncements could be heard.

"What?" someone expostulated.

"Doesn't he trust us?" another witch asked.

"Ladies, gentlemen, magicals all" Doge began, calmly and softly, but his voice somehow had the power to calm everyone down. "I don't believe there's any suggestion of 'not trusting' here. As Mr. Potter has said, why not take the potion as a gesture of good faith? To show the world that we are concerned enough for the truth to ensure that no-one can give us anything else? Libatius, is there sufficient potion for the purpose? And are you convinced that it is safe?"

"Oh yes, Professor Snape left an alarmingly large amount, though perhaps he had anticipated this turn of events." Borage said and Harry wondered about that. Was Snape that clever? _Possibly_. "And yes, I have tested the potion and it certainly has no ill effects, and genuinely prevents those who take it from lying. Unfortunately, there appears to be no counter-potion; so one has to wait for the effects to wear off…"

"How long does that take?" the younger wizard asked, agitated.

"Twelve hours," came the reply.

"I think we should do it." Dalmatea said, daring them to disagree. Something in her face said that she didn't actually believe her colleagues could live without lying for twelve hours.

There was a discussion all round, and eventually it was decided to adopt Harry's rather unorthodox suggestion. Harry, for his part, took notice of those who were most put out by the suggestion; they, he decided, were the ones with something to hide. And if the Wizengamot was serious about getting to the truth, they were the ones of most interest.

* * *

At this point there was a short adjournment, the potion was fetched, and everyone had a cup of tea, then took the potion as they re-entered the chamber to take their seats.

The next issue was whether being Death Eater should automatically imply guilt. Harry was dismayed to find that there was a sizeable faction inside the Wizengamot that thought that it should. Where was the desire for truth if they were going to stick to simple prejudice to decide for them? And also, he admitted to himself a little bitterly, he had a personal angle, a less pure motivation: if having been a Death Eater was a ticket to Azkaban, Draco and Lucius were doomed before the trial started.

But in fact there was no need to worry. Doge proved himself quite masterly. He pointed out the same thought about prejudice in such a mild way, asking as if for the Wizengamot's help, that they didn't notice how much they had been lead when they concluded that it was, like blood status, a fact of interest, but not conclusive one way or the other as to guilt.

Harry was becoming very impressed with the Chief Warlock. He didn't seem to get ruffled, never raised his voice, and had the whole lot eating out of his hand.

* * *

At this point in the proceedings it was suggested that the members might like to break for a spot of lunch. The suggestion was received with alacrity and the chamber emptied with almost indecent speed. Harry found himself invited to lunch with Kingsley, Arthur, and, to his surprise, Elphias Doge himself.

It was a pleasant meal, with light, though not particularly light-hearted, conversation; but when they had finished eating, things naturally took a more serious turn.

"What about you, Harry?" Doge asked him. "What's in your future, do you think?"

"You know we would welcome you into the Auror programme in August with open arms," Kingsley added.

"Thank you, sir – Kingsley," Harry added, just managing not to be scolded. "But Headmistress McGonagall said something about a special study programme, and at Professor Snape's funeral I sort of decided I should sign up for it."

"Might one enquire why?" Doge asked, diffidently.

"Well, firstly, I got the message from the will that Professor Snape actually held out some hope for me, scholastically, which was more than he'd ever said at Hogwarts. But it's not just like I owe it to him. I want to be my own man, to achieve my own successes; I guess I feel like if I join up to Auror training without doing the N.E.W.T.s I'll always feel I got accepted because of my fame, not my ability."

"That's a very fair answer, Harry," Kingsley said, a rather thoughtful expression on his face. The truth is that Harry's maturity had taken him by surprise. The young wizard had acquitted himself magnificently before the Wizengamot this morning, and, between him and Doge, the Minister began to allow himself to hope that the trials wouldn't just give the knee-jerk "stick 'em in Azkaban and throw away the key" result that had been threatening a week ago. "The Headmistress and I are still consulting on the specifics, but at the moment the idea is to bring the starting date forward to the beginning of July, with special classes for the eighth-years, as they would be known. The idea will be that as hopefully you'll have a little more maturity than the other students, you'll be able to complete studies by the end of January, and then have a little space before the seventh-years graduate at the end of June."

Harry gasped. That made three months less in total than a normal school year for the hardest year of all – it was a bit of a tall order! But he could understand the reasoning – if both seventh and eighth years graduated at the same time, there would be no-one available for any graduate programme for a whole year, and then a double lot. The gap should ease the problem in both ways – eighth-year graduates would be available to start work or further study sooner, and not have to compete against the normal output which would come four months later.

"I shouldn't worry too much, Harry," Doge said, kindlily. "And for the moment, we have to get through these trials; I'm afraid it's time to begin."

With that, lunch was over.

* * *

The trial of the Wizengamot against Narcissa Malfoy began right after lunch, at one o'clock.

Narcissa was brought in, given the new serum, and made to sit on the rather plain uncomfortable-looking high-backed defendant's chair in the middle of the room. When she put her arms on the arms of the chair, they were bound by cords that came out of the armrests and snaked around her arms.

Several people gasped at that. The outrage, though silent, was palpable: _a pure-blood treated like a common criminal!_

Narcissa ignored the cords altogether.

There was no evidence that she had been a Death Eater, so she was charged with aiding and abetting other Death Eaters, and "providing succour to the enemy".

Elphias looked at Harry, who was silently going red. "Do you have something to say, Mr. Potter?" he asked, formally, but not unkindly.

Harry rose. "If I may," he answered, "Narcissa Malfoy is no criminal. If she aided and abetted, if she _succoured –"_ (he hissed the word scornfully) "- it was because her son and husband were hostage to perhaps the most evil wizard who ever lived. She knew he would have killed either of them without compuction, without a second thought, if it had suited his purpose to do so. And even under this provocation, she showed her true colours when she lied to Voldemort. She told him I was dead when she knew perfectly well I was alive."

Here he was interrupted by the very elderly but still sprightly former Professor Griselda Marchbanks who wanted to know how she had established this.

"She spoke to me, and I replied."

He was asked what had been said.

"She asked me if Draco was alive; I told her that he was safe in Hogwarts Castle."

"Perhaps, then," a stern-looking wizard opined, "she wasn't concerned for you at all, only her miserable son?"

"I don't think that's fair." Harry answered. "She is a mother; of course she was worried about her son. But I believe she looked at me then and remembered that I was someone else's son; and that my mother wasn't there to be concerned for me."

Kingsley, who had been silent throughout up until now, broke in at this point. "Whatever her motives may have been, her actions were surely foundational to the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Had he learnt Harry was alive, who knows what he would have done?"

The Wizengamot considered this for a while, conversation going to and fro. Elphias cleared his throat, and they suddenly quietened.

"I think we must all agree with the Minister," he said, quite mildly, "which would rather mean an acquittal; or am I mistaken?"

Harry continued to be very impressed by the man. He clearly had no interest in fripperies; but the way he had put it made the conclusion irresistable, and indeed the Wizengamot quickly agreed. And so, merely an hour after she had been arraigned, Narcissa was excused, the cords were removed, and she was given leave to go where she would. Of course, she didn't go anywhere; instead, she went over to Harry, thanked him for his assistance, and sat with him to see what would happen next.

* * *

"It pleases the Wizengamot to call to trial Draco Malfoy, son of the wizard Lucius, sometimes styled Lord, Malfoy, and the witch Narcissa née Black, for his actions in the Wizarding War," the clerk of summons read out. Draco was led into the room, and Harry was shocked to see the difference two days had made. He was always pale; but he was now looking quite ghastly, and his hair, while still much more presentable than Harry's, was a far cry from its usual immaculate state. As he entered, he looked around the room, ignoring everyone until his eyes fell on Harry. Then Draco's face changed. A simple smile transformed him, some of his old bravado returned, and he once again looked like the Prince of Slytherin House, a force to be reckoned with.

Even if his hair was still a bit messy.

He sat on the chair with arms crossed and avoided the cords by the simple device of refusing point-blank to uncross his arms. He glowered at Proudfoot, the Auror in charge, so fiercely that the latter simply sat back and allowed this unusual state of affairs.

Having taken the mark, Draco was tried as a Death Eater, and a full history of his deeds was discussed. He was asked in detail about them, and so the Wizengamot discovered that, though Voldemort had instructed him to kill Dumbledore, not only did he not do so, but he would not have done so even if Snape had not stepped in.

The discussion surprised Harry because they didn't approach things chronologically; after discussing Dumbledore's death, they returned to Draco's ancestry and the fact that he had been born into a Death Eater family (Harry was glad to see that this fact elicited some sympathy); but eventually the history came to points that Harry himself could touch on. He explained about how Draco had saved his life by not identifying him when he had been disguised by Hermione's stinging hex; how he had tried unsuccessfully to stop Crabbe from using Fiendfyre; and how generally incompetent he had been, Harry strongly hinting this being because he was following orders from Voldemort, not acting willingly.

Against this was set the fact that he had in fact taken the mark, though, it was argued persuasively by Narcissa, unwillingly; he had repaired the Vanishing Cabinet and thus allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts; and that he had poisoned Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. Ron was brought forward at this point, and testified that Draco's target had been Dumbledore, and that Draco couldn't really have been serious – Albus Dumbledore was too clever to be taken in by such a ruse. There was a general chuckle around the assembled wizards and witches; nearly all of them remembered Dumbledore from school days and obviously had formed more or less the same opinion.

Harry and Draco's relationship was also examined. And here Harry got a nasty shock. He had explained how they had been rivals at school, but that since the events just after the Battle of Hogwarts, the removal of the mark and the restoration of magic, their relationship had been mending, and Draco was showing an increased level of maturity.

Auror Crockford asked permission to speak. "Of course, Dandelus," Doge answered, though a little dubiously.

"Mr. Potter has told us of an increased maturity," he began. "How does he square that with a boy who has hidden himself away and pouted for most of the last week? How, especially, can we reconcile it with a boy who, on his first public outing, slapped the Destroyer of Voldemort and attracted vile curses on his second?"

 _Damn!_ Harry thought. He should have seen this coming. Of course the Aurors had witnessed the slap, and it would be Crockford who had been on duty at the time. And this little question was pure poison – he connected the slap to the other things that were irrelevant, but it looked like they added up to Draco being the same spoilt brat he'd been at school, and undid a lot of Harry's evidence as to his character. He could feel the goodwill towards Draco waning right in front of his face.

Harry took a deep breath before answering. He decided to attack the weakest point first.

"Thank you for bringing these matters up," he began – the legalese seemed to be soaking into him, he thought, but it did buy him a few more precious seconds to put his thoughts in order. "Let me start by pointing out that being cursed is not itself proof of anything. Indeed, I understand that Mr. Nott has been arraigned for casting Sectumsempra during peace time, and will face this court sometime soon?" There was general nodding at this, which was exactly what Harry wanted – they had heard about it, they knew about it, and they were starting to come back on his side. "Mr. Draco Malfoy had curses directed against him – and I protected him. He did slap me, yes, but you can see that I still thought, still think, he is worth protecting. Draco isn't a boy. He's an of-age wizard. His slap was not a boy fighting another boy, but a man who saw his friend – me – at the time despairing, needing a wake-up call. The slap wasn't to hurt me, it was to bring me back to my right mind. It wasn't the action of a pouting child, lashing out to wound, but of an adult seeking to help. And if Draco hid away in his bedroom, perhaps he found the atmosphere was not particularly friendly? Surely we can understand resenting the fact that he was in his own home but not allowed to do what he wanted, to go where and when he pleased?"

Harry sat down. He could feel that his words might, just might, have won support back. Time would tell.

* * *

This time, at the completion of evidence, which did not happen until six o'clock, Harry and all witnesses were asked to withdraw, the accused was returned to the holding cell, and the Wizengamot started a private session.

Harry sat outside the chamber, in the morning-tea room, anxiously awaiting the verdict. "How long do you think they will take?" he asked Auror Banks, who was on duty with them.

"I can't rightly say, sir," said Banks, in an official voice. No-one would have gathered that he and Harry were friends; he was being the professional, and Harry respected that greatly. The Auror continued, "but the Wizengamot has asked me to make sure you are available – they expect to call you in soon to discuss any points that are needed."

As though summoned by the words, the door opened, and Kingsley popped his head through.

"Harry, could you come in please?" he asked.

* * *

Harry had no idea what to expect. He hoped that Draco would be let off scot-free; he feared he would be sentenced to Azkaban. In the end, neither of these proved to be the case. The Wizengamot asked him a few questions, to which he replied briefly; they were more than satisfied with his answers, and called the accused back to the chamber.

Draco was not sent to Azkaban; but he was required to surrender his wand and reside at the Manor "or such other place as may be approved by the Minister" until the school year began. He would have to keep the Ministry informed of his whereabouts at all times, and not use the Floo network unless explicitly sanctioned. Once classes resumed, he was required to attend eighth year at Hogwarts, and during his time at the school he would be under the authority of Mr. Potter, who had accepted the responsibility gladly. He would not be allowed to apparate at any time for the next year, nor leave the country, nor attempt to conceal his whereabouts, nor perform any offensive magic other than as required for his schoolwork. It was impressed upon him that a breach of any of these probationary conditions would see him in front of the Wizengamot again, in which case a custodial sentence would probably prove inevitable.

At this point, Draco thanked the court most politely and returned into the custody of Aurors Proudfoot and Banks, who took him out into the adjacent tea-room.

The Wizengamot now stood adjourned for the day.

* * *

Banks had signaled to Harry to follow, and when he reached the room he found him talking to Narcissa. As he came in, Narcissa looked up and smiled at him.

"Harry, thank you so much for your assistance today," she said. "Our family owe you a great debt of gratitude."

"Please, Narcissa, I had to," he replied, his face turning red with embarrassment.

Narcissa thought at that moment that he looked impossibly cute, though she would not have dared tell him so. "We were wondering if you would do us the honour of dining with us at the Manor?"

Harry blinked. Here, unlooked for but most welcome, was an opportunity to visit the Manor without Lucius, who was still in one of the Ministry's holding cells, waiting to be tried tomorrow. He smiled.

"That would be lovely."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bicky Monster for being my beta.
> 
> Welcome to all who have suscribed; thanks to those who leave kudos, and especially to those who review!


	15. Returning the trust

**15\. Returning the trust**

_Wednesday, May 13 1998_

Harry dreamed …

* * *

" _Draco Malfoy, this court finds you guilty of the death of Albus Dumbledore and sentences you to the Dementor's Kiss …"_

" _NO!" He screamed, but the words came out muffled and indistinct. "NO! It wasn't Draco! It was Snape, following Dumbledore's orders! NO! YOU CAN'T! NOOOOO!"_

* * *

"Harry … Harry …. HARRY! WAKE UP!"

Harry woke up feeling very panicked, which faded as he found Draco's arms encircling him.

"What happened?" Harry asked, somewhat out of breath from fear, as he cast _Lumos_ wordlessly without even thinking and his wand-tip came alight.

"You were yelling in your sleep. Nightmare?"

Then he remembered. "I dreamt … Oh Draco, I dreamt they'd sentenced you to be Kissed!"

"Hush," Draco said soothingly, rubbing Harry's back. "They didn't, remember? I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"Will you stay with me now?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"Of course," Draco replied, letting go for a moment so he could lift the covers and snuggle in with his friend. Harry whimpered slightly at the loss of contact, but quietened when Draco put his arms around him again, and clasped him tight, his left hand coming over to gently stroke the raven tresses of the frightened man. Harry slowly relaxed into the embrace, and it wasn't long before they were both fast asleep.

* * *

Harry came back to consciousness slowly. He felt lovely and warm and comforted, and lay in bed for a moment, his eyes still closed as he moved to stretch a little. He ran over the events of the previous night in his mind.

After the trial, they had dined at the Manor, which had been very pleasant. Narcissa had been a charming hostess, and seemed very happy at how comfortable the two young men were with each other. They had discussed all sorts of topics, but Narcissa had managed to avoid any real contention. She had praised Hermione for her intellect, which Harry found very strange; but as Draco pointed out, they didn't have to be friends with people to admire their skill, and Hermione was a better student than most Ravenclaws, never mind Gryffindors!

They had talked until very late, and Narcissa had suggested that he stay the night. Draco objected that the guest rooms still bore signs of their recent occupants; Harry didn't want to think about that. But Narcissa had things in hand: she replied that a bed could easily be set up in Draco's study, which had of course never been slept in by anyone. Harry had accepted gratefully. He hadn't drunk much, but more than he was used to (that being none), and probably too much to Apparate safely, and he really didn't feel like risking the Floo network either. He wasn't fond of it when stone-cold sober, he could imagine the effect that it might have on him when tipsy, and staying where he was definitely seemed the better option.

He remembered the good-night kiss Draco had given him; he was growing addicted to his kisses, so gentle and loving, full of hope and promise for more to come.

He remembered the happy feeling of lying in bed with his almost-lover in the room next door. He'd listened to Draco's even breathing as he fell asleep; it kept him smiling long after he was fast asleep himself.

He remembered the incident in the middle of the night, the feeling of arms encircling him, comforting words, and Draco promising to stay. Remembered with a little feeling of shame at having a nightmare and a large feeling of delight for the comfort he had received.

But now he worried: what did Draco think? They had actually slept in the same bed; that had to change things, right? Were they ready for that?

He opened one sleepy brilliant-green eye. Draco was sitting up in the bed, looking down at him, a smile on his face and concern etched in his grey eyes.

"Good morning," he said, stroking Harry's hair. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," said Harry, and sat up himself, tentatively pulling Draco towards him.

But he found there was no reason for fear. Draco gripped him as before and soon they were cuddling happily. Draco was rather hoping that their "good morning" kiss might become something else when there was a knock on the door and the moment was lost.

"Excuse me, young masters," Dippy the house-elf sang out, "but Mistress Narcissa is asking you to be getting up now."

"All right, Dippy, all right," Draco moaned.

A quick _Tempus_ charm showed it was only quarter to seven and Harry wondered why they had to get up so early. He found out fairly soon: his own shower and change took him a quarter of an hour, but Draco then took nearly a whole hour to get ready. When he had finished, every hair in place, clothing immaculate, he came and looked Harry over critically. He had lent Harry some of his clothes; happily they were more or less of a size, though Draco had an inch or two on him; but some of his older clothes fit rather well, Harry thought.

Draco didn't agree. He spent nearly ten minutes fussing about every wrinkle, getting everything to sit just right, even rebuttoning the shirt to make everything sit perfectly. Harry found this rather endearing: he normally didn't care and just pulled clothes on, but he accepted that it was important to look good for the trials.

Draco showed him the result in a mirror, and Harry had to admit that it was a vast improvement on how he was usually turned out. At least, he admitted it to himself; he wasn't about to hand Draco ammunition like that! But he smiled at his almost-lover. And that title made him think that perhaps it was time they discussed what was going on between them.

"Draco," he asked, "how would you describe our, er, relationship?"

"Hmmm. Good question." the blond replied, thoughtfully. "Um, I guess we're more than just friends, right? I mean, you seemed to be really happy with me in your bed, yeah? You were, right?"

Now here was something rather wonderful – Draco Malfoy being all tentative! Harry felt rather delighted by this; it meant that the Malfoy Mask really was down; the walls Draco had built to keep people out were crumbling before him.

"Yeah," he said, with a brilliant smile, then on impulse captured Draco's lips into a kiss. "More than friends. But less than lovers. For the moment. I think of you as my almost-lover."

Draco chuckled. "Almost-lovers. I'm good with that," he replied. "For the moment." _Though maybe we could change it soon,_ he thought. It was a huge thing to him that Harry had trusted him enough to welcome him to his bed. He wanted to return that trust with love as interest.

At which point Dippy reappeared, sent by Narcissa to make sure they actually got to breakfast.

* * *

Draco was given leave to attend his father's trial, and of course Narcissa did not need leave, being free to go where she chose; so the three of them arrived together at Courtroom Ten at quarter to nine, just as the Wizengamot began to file in. After consultation with the Aurors about the business of the day, Narcissa explained to Harry that Lucius's trial would be rather different to Draco's or hers; he had been a Death Eater for such a long time, after all. The entirety of the first day was going to be taken up discussing events that Harry knew very little of, so she urged him to go away and have some fun somewhere else. He was unhappy about this; but Draco pointed out that they both really wanted to be together in private, so sitting together bored in public was going to be torture, and they owed him too much to put him through it.

Eventually, Harry capitulated, and asked leave to leave the courtroom. Elphias Doge smiled at him.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. You are a free wizard and welcome to come and go as you choose; we are indebted to you for your invaluable assistance yesterday, and I hope to see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"I understand the Minister is still concerned that Mr. Potter to be guarded at all times?"

"Quite so, sir," Kingsley answered, gravely. With Yaxley at large, it was even more important than before.

"Auror Banks, would you be kind enough to accompany Mr. Potter?"

Robin agreed, formally, and they left the Courtroom together as the 'Expositor Falsitas' potion was distributed. Harry grinned to himself, pleased that they were continuing with that idea. He wondered how the politicians on the Wizengamot felt about telling only the truth for twelve hours; but they probably just went into hiding. After all, the potion didn't force them to tell the truth; it just stopped them from lying. So they probably just said nothing. He wondered idly if they could make it compulsory for Ministry officials to take it every day; but he decided that that would be just as bad as all the old Ministry ways. People had to be free, and that included being free to tell lies, he supposed. But not during court cases.

Inside the courtroom Robin had given no hint that he and Harry were friends, but as soon as they left the room he gave Harry and huge hug and said that he was thinking too much for a man who'd been told to have fun.

"Right," he said, "where shall we go today?"

Now, of course, Harry had to decide what to do next. _It's all very well for the Malfoys to tell me to have fun_ , he thought, _but how am I going to do that?_

But the answer was rather obvious once he had asked himself the question, and he found his feet leading them to Diagon Alley and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to see how the twins were doing.

"Harry!" George yelled as soon as he saw him. "Hermioninny has been so worried about you! / You didn't come home last night apparently! / **OOOOOHHH! Naughty boy!** " they finished together, the whole speech being done in an astonishingly good imitation of a cross between Molly and Hermione at their most motherly.

Harry dissolved into laughter. "I had a lovely dinner at the Malfoys', and it got rather late, so they invited me to stay the night," he replied, when he got his voice back.

"'S all right," Fred said, with a wink, "we know you're a big boy now."

George continued, "Did you and Draco have fun?"

 _It would be George who asked that_ , Harry thought to himself, his face rather betraying how much fun he had had by turning rather red. Not, George thought to himself, as red as Neville had turned, but endearing nonetheless.

All he said was, "yes." And then, "um, do you think I could hang around with you guys today? I feel a bit down about things, and Draco is a bit busy with his father's trial…."

"Of course!" the twins yelled together at once. "A play day!"

And it was. They talked Harry through their latest ideas. They had just finished an Anti-Vanity Potion that you painted on mirrors; to begin with, it did nothing visible, but if you kept staring at yourself it would make your reflection look green and pimples would appear, growing bigger the longer you stood there. It was a typical, silly Weasley prank and Harry loved it.

Neville appeared and took Harry and George out to the greenhouse he had built at the back to show off a simple trick he had designed with some plants. They had large bell-like flowers which he had grown with a clever spell; as Harry watched, the flowers changed colour through the shades of the rainbow.

"Not a prank," Neville said apologetically, "but just something pretty and fun. You can get exactly the colour changes you want, and I'm working on a version which will even let you change them from time to time."

"You're too modest, Neville," George said, earning a shy smile from his boyfriend. "We love them, and so do our customers – we have hundreds of orders for them and Neville can't keep up with the demand! In fact, we're introducing colours into a lot of our range; it seems to be the in thing for the moment!"

Harry, impressed, explained that the Muggles had a similar sort of thing, done using electricity, which they called "fairy-lights". The fairies would not be amused, Neville decided.

Harry was wondering where the new confident Neville had gone; but as they started back for the shop, Neville winked at him and he suddenly realized what was going on. Neville had deliberately understated the case, just to let George praise him. He fell back to chat with him.

"Bit manipulative there, Nev; are you thinking of changing to Slytherin?" he asked, quietly.

"No," Neville said with a grin, "but George loves to praise my work, so why not give him the chance?"

"It's OK, I get it," Harry reassured him. It showed him something important: if he was going to be in a relationship with Draco, he would have to be prepared to give thought to how Draco worked and make sure he had space to do things his way. It was going to take a bit of work, Harry was sure, because they could both be rather – well, the polite word was _headstrong_ , but the more honest one would be _pig-headed_ …

As they entered the shop, they found things had started to get busy: apparently word had got around that Harry was there, and people were coming in for the chance to see him as well as for the twins' prank items. Harry still wasn't used to being a celebrity, and probably never would be; he was sure he'd never enjoy it. But for the moment, it was quite useful, as the people who came to see him all seemed quite happy to buy a few extra items that he recommended, and so once more when he was handed a cup of tea at eleven o'clock, he was told that about half the takings were because he was there. He disputed it this time; but Fred ran him through the figures and showed him that yes, based on their sales from the last few days, they had sold about twice as much as they had by eleven o'clock on the previous days.

Like Draco had been on Saturday, Harry was very impressed with how on top of business the two were. It was easy to dismiss them as pranksters and playful jokers; but in fact they made very good and trustworthy businessmen, with a keen eye for what would sell, and obviously a finger kept firmly on the pulse to make sure sales kept up. Harry was delighted to learn that his thousand galleon investment was taken so seriously and looked after so well – though really he had trusted the twins rather than the shop, and they had returned that trust in love a hundred times over, as far as Harry was concerned.

"Getting a bit serious there, little bro," Fred said, breaking in on his thoughts.

"How about some revelry instead of reverie?" George said, and, leaving Neville in charge of the shop, they went outside and proceeded to show off some of their products.

The Bouncing Balloon-Chairs had been refined a bit; the twins took one each, and threw them at him. When they hit, they surrounded him and he found himself tumbling around inside a ball that wouldn't ever let him stay upright. It managed to be infuriating and exhilarating at the same time, and Harry struggled to express himself, coming out with peals of laughter and shouts of frustration all at the same time.

The noise couldn't fail to attract more people who came to see what it was all about and stayed to watch the fun, and of course buy some for themselves; and by lunch-time Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had already done well: in half a day they had sold more than in a normal day's trading.

At lunchtime the twins suggested they go to the Burrow; they were sure that Molly would be delighted to have them all. Neville said he'd mind the shop and shooed the rest of them away, including Robin. Of course they were right: Molly bustled over very excited as soon as they came through the Floo, and wrapped Harry in a hug and told him she'd heard he hadn't gone home and she had missed him at breakfast-time; he apologized but the twins cut in straight away:

"Leave him alone mum, he's a big boy now; / and he spent the night at his –"

"The Malfoy's house," Harry cut in. He really did not want Molly to know how the twins would describe his relationship; he wasn't sure he wanted to know himself yet.

"Never mind, you're here now, that's the main thing." Spotting the Auror, Molly continued, "and Robin too! GINNY!"

"Coming mum!" her daughter shouted from her room, and she thundered downstairs to them. As soon as she saw Robin, her face lit up, and she crashed into him with a huge hug, which Harry noticed was fully reciprocated. He hoped that he and Draco could learn to be so openly excited about one another. That would probably be a challenge for his almost-lover, he decided; so Harry's challenge would be to get him to do it. _Challenge accepted,_ he decided, grinning to himself. But it was noticed.

"Little bro-o-ther," Fred trilled, coming to stand close to his right side and dropping his voice, "that's an evil grin. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry said, rather too quickly.

"And would this 'nothing'," said George from his left side, "be a sort of 'nothing' that didn't happen to involve someone not called 'Draco Malfoy'?"

This was a bit too hard to work out, Harry thought, but he was spared by Molly, who had lunch on the table. It never ceased to amaze him how there was always food available at the Weasleys: four guests had dropped in unannounced, and yet lunch was there ten minutes later, with no signs of effort or panic.

They all ate their fill, and Molly suggested Ginny might like to help at the shop for the afternoon. Gin agreed enthusiastically, and Harry was sure that the truth was that she wanted to see Robin. But they had a very pleasant afternoon nonetheless, punctuated by two visits to Fortescue's. There would have been more, but Harry was still feeling rather guilty about the amount he'd eaten on Wednesday.

He decided to invite them all to dinner at Grimmauld Place, and the other five were all very happy to accept.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, and the elderly elf appeared with a pop. "Do you think you could feed all of us this evening!"

"Of course Master Harry!" Kreacher burbled. "There is being Ron and Hermione, and two Aurors, and six more for dinner?"

"Yes, that's right," said Harry, "oh and I'm sorry I didn't tell you I wasn't coming home last night but I didn't know myself till it happened."

"Master Harry is not needing to apologize to Kreacher!" the elf insisted, with some heat. "Kreacher is not being Master Harry's mother that he has to tell him everywhere he goes!"

Harry laughed. "Then perhaps you'd better apologize to Ron and Hermione for me instead. But I'll come and do it myself soon enough. Thank you, Kreacher."

"Thank **you** , Master Potter sir," chortled the house-elf, disapparating with a pop.

Dinner was another wonderful meal; Ron and Hermione were overjoyed to see him again and, like Kreacher, insisted that he didn't have to tell them where he was. Once more, the twins surrounded him; this time there was no elf-wine, but Kreacher produced some very nice wine from the house's cellar, and there was fire-whiskey as well.

For the third night in a row, Harry found himself having drunk more than was entirely good for him. The main effect, though, was to make him grin like a loon; the twins were delighted to find their little brother being a happy drunk, and quickly discovered that pinching him when he was drunk with wine made him giggle, which they found irresistible. By ten o'clock he was covered in red pinch marks; he was also out of it, falling asleep at the dinner table. They laid him gently on his bed and surrounded him with pillows, putting cushions on the floor in case he fell off, with a glass of water handy in case he woke up thirsty, and a bowl in case he needed to throw up. Neville, who had been careful not to drink too much, went back to guard the shop; he felt it was his job, after all, as caretaker. The twins told him he didn't have to, the protection spells would be enough, but he insisted.

Robin, the twins and Ginny decided to stay the night at Grimmauld Place "just to be sure Harry's all right". The twins were given separate beds in one bedroom, and chatted to one another happily for a long time. Gin and Robin were given adjoining rooms; when Gin went into hers, she found that Kreacher had enlarged the bed to queensize, and there was a communicating door to Robin's room. "Kreacher promises not to tell **anyone** ," he said, with a wink.

So it's perhaps no surprise that Harry, the most drunk out of all of them, had the best sleep…

* * *

_Thursday, May 14 1998_

Thursday saw them all back in court again, this time including Ron and Hermione. The twins had come with them, but left for the shop soon afterwards, after making Harry promise to come and see them if he felt down again. Weasley's All-Purpose Pepper-Up Potion hadn't been quite up to getting rid of Harry's headache, but surprisingly Borage had obviously noticed the problem and quietly slipped him a phial of Hangover Cure, which worked instantly. Harry wondered if he had found another curmudgeonly Potions Master with a secret soft spot for him. He also wondered why the man carried Hangover Cure around with him; there was more to Mr Borage than met the eye, he decided.

Lucius's trial dragged on at great length, every point raised being discussed from many angles. Lucius, Harry noticed, was very clever: he stood up for himself when that was important, but occasionally would let the Wizengamot talk itself to a standstill, then add a few comments that turned the point around. It was a masterful reminder of just how good a politician the man was. Especially given that, like everyone else present, he had been given 'Expositor Falsitas' and so could not make any false statement.

Harry gave what evidence he could, again trying to convey a picture of a man whose family was held to ransom. He really had no idea what to expect from this trial – for Lucius, the Dementor's Kiss was a real possibility. His nightmare about Draco being Kissed came back to him and he realized that he didn't want that, not even for Lucius. Harry had freed Lucius's magic, he did feel something for him because of it, and he repeated what he had said to Kingsley on Monday: that Lucius may have been a bastard, and made his life uncomfortable; but that wasn't a crime. That Lucius had lived, and the Wizarding world couldn't decide who lived or died, but had to work with who was still alive. He talked about how they needed him to help the pure-bloods see that it wasn't about prejudice. He discussed how Lucius was respected by the other pure-bloods (he was a bit cagy about saying this; but he could see the pure-blooded members generally seemed to accept it) and could help them to see that the only way forward, the only future for all of them, was to work together.

When he sat down, Draco held his hand and whispered "thank you" in a voice full of emotion. Without thinking, Harry leant over and kissed him on the cheek. Draco took in a sharp breath, and looked around. But no-one had seen; and the reason why became clear when his eyes found Robin Banks, who gave him a little smile and mouthed 'notice-me-not'. The Auror had cast the charm to make sure that they had not been noticed. It was an incredible feeling to Draco to think that the Auror had actually gone out of his way to protect them like that.

In the end, Lucius was not sentenced to the Kiss. The Chief Warlock made it clear – without naming names – that this was largely due to Harry's testimony. Lucius was, however, sentence to five years in Azkaban.

Harry was stunned. He gasped, "oh no!" in such obvious distress that the whole courtroom looked at him.

"It's alright, Harry," Draco assured him; it wasn't really, but his father had been in Azkaban before, he would survive, Draco was sure.

"It's very touching that you care, Harry", Narcissa assured him; and he could see something of the same feeling in Lucius's eyes.

They had all accepted it; but Hermione Granger had other ideas. She jumped to her feet.

"May it please the court," she began, and Harry grinned just a little at how easily she used the pompous legal jargon, "I wonder if a suspended sentence might be suggested?"

There was a general hubbub and it became clear that this was a new thought for them.

"Thank you for the suggestion, my dear," Doge began, his tone polite, but giving nothing away, "but I wonder if you could explain its meaning?"

Asking Hermione Granger to explain a meaning was like asking Borage to brew you a potion or Snape to give you a detention, Harry thought, as she launched fearlessly into a long explanation of this new-to-them Muggle concept, and how it meant that Lucius would be out on license but if he committed any other crime in the five year period, the sentence would automatically be added to his new one.

"In a sense," Doge suggested, "it's allowing the defendant to show good faith, and work together with us as we rebuild our society after the ravages of the War – with a built-in punishment if he does not."

This suggestion seemed, rather begrudgingly, to be acceptable to the majority of the Wizengamot, and so a probation, like that for Draco, was instituted; but as his probation was of five years duration, it was agreed that, with certain spells and all dark magic explicitly prohibited, he would be allowed his wand from the start, while Draco would have to wait until Hogwarts resumed.

* * *

After the verdict, Lucius came up to Harry and shook his hand. But his face looked grim. He had schooled it to an impassive hardness, hiding the boiling pool of emotion that was inside him. He was about to attempt one of the hardest things he had ever done: he was going to try to beat the Debt of Magical Emancipation. No-one, he knew, had ever done it before; he suspected that in fact no-one had ever been foolish enough to attempt it. After all, how foolish was it to try to pull one over the man who had set him free from a – probably very short – life without magic?

But he felt he had to do something. Malfoys were not, would never be, slaves. He glossed over the little voice in his head that asked what he thought they had been under Voldemort, and spoke to Potter very quietly, making sure he was not overheard.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for your testimony on behalf of my family. But I feel that in the near future it would be better if we were not seen to be associated too closely. Accordingly, I must ask you not to continue to fraternize with my son."

Harry felt like his heart had just been ripped out. Not "fraternize" with Draco? When they were almost lovers?

And then it hit him, as anger rose through him: he had given Lucius his trust, and Lucius had played him like a maestro playing a violin. He had got exactly what he wanted – a clean slate, or as clean as they were going to achieve, for the Malfoys – and Harry was getting nothing.

An image came into his mind from his time living with the Dursleys, a memory of a Muggle game called tennis. If this were a tennis tournament, he thought, Lucius Malfoy would have won this set to love. But Harry was determined it would not be the match, as he apparated home with Ron and Hermione to Grimmauld Place to consider what to do next.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The title is from a quotation: "The people when rightly and fully trusted will return the trust" – Abraham Lincoln. Shame about Lucius, though! But of course Lincoln meant the people in general, not everyone in particular._
> 
> _As ever, my grateful thanks to Bicky Monster for doing a sterling job as my beta. And to all who subscribe, give kudos, and comment! I **love** comments!_


	16. Returning to Reason

**16\. Returning to Reason**

_Friday, May 15 1998_

Harry had been so angry and frustrated after the trial that he had gone to bed early on Thursday night, but even so did not wake up until ten o'clock on Friday morning. He still felt tired and groggy; the only good points being that he didn't have a hangover, having gone to bed straight after an alcohol-free dinner, and he hadn't had a nightmare. But he would rather have had a hundred nightmares if Draco could be there; he missed the feel of the blond's arms, missed waking up with him next to him in the bed.

He decided he simply didn't feel like getting up. His reason told him that he would have to sooner or later, but that would mean having to face his anger at Lucius, his longing for Draco, and his complete failure to tell Ron and Hermione anything last night. It was so much easier to be completely unreasonable, stay in bed and ignore it all.

"Kreacher," he called.

The house-elf appeared with the usual loud pop. "How can Kreacher be helping Master Harry?"

"Could you bring me some tea and toast, please?"

"Of course, Master Harry!" said Kreacher happily as he disapparated away. A minute later there was another 'Pop!' and a tray with tea and toast on it appeared next to Harry. He wolfed them down, put the tray on his bedside table, and sank back into his bed.

* * *

At the Manor, Lucius Malfoy wasn't being any more reasonable. It did not help his temper at all to have returned exhausted after the trial to find that while the papers and exhibits that had been taken by the lawyers had been returned, they had just been dumped in the entry hall in an appalling mess. It was going to take days to restore the order he had built up over the years.

The only consolation he had was the thought that at least the Aurors had failed to find the secret chamber where the really incriminating books and dark objects were stored; but then, Malfoy magic had kept them safe from inquisitive eyes for thirteen hundred years, it was hardly surprising that these pathetic fools had not managed to find them.

Rather than face Narcissa and discuss things, he had got out of bed early and sought the sanctuary of his study, where he was now trying to restore some semblance of order to his scattered belongings. The mess and the thought of the work ahead of him made his head hurt; so he sat down in an armchair and demanded tea and toast from a house-elf while he gathered his thoughts.

It had been a lucky break with Potter yesterday. Lucius could feel he had been at the extreme edge of his control. If Harry had said anything, anything at all, Lucius would probably have broken down and confessed that the Debt almost certainly meant that they could never deny him anything. And then what? What would have become of him? How could he hold his head high in diplomatic circles if he was known to be Potter's puppet? And even worse, what would happen to Draco? That was the thought that kept him determined to beat the Debt: he had known slavery under an evil Lord, he would not see his son become Potter's slave. Or even worse, his whore.

He got up and paced up and down. Was Potter really like that? A terrified part of him insisted he was; but the rational part said no, he was only thinking so because Potter was a convenient scapegoat. All the Death Eaters had bad-mouthed the boy his whole life, and it was easier to keep thinking ill of him than to admit that they had been completely wrong about him. But the fact was becoming inescapable: the boy they had loved to sneer at had killed their Lord, and was fast becoming a force to be reckoned with in the wizarding world.

It was becoming harder and harder for Lucius to think ill of him. Even without the Debt, it was hard to be angry with a man who had certainly saved him from the Dementor's Kiss, and whose friend, surely for love of Harry, not Lucius, had saved him from Azkaban with that Muggle nonsense about "suspended sentences". He had a sneaking suspicion that half the Wizengamot had imagined him hanging from the ceiling by chains at this point; it would perhaps explain why they had taken so long to cotton on to a different meaning of "suspended" …

It went against all of his prejudices and upbringing: he had been saved from the wrath of the largely pure-blood Wizengamot through the words of the half-blood Harry Potter and the mud- - no, better stop using that word, the _Muggleborn_ Hermione Granger.

It was galling. It offended his pride and his reason. But nonetheless, it was the case. He would have to learn to live with it. He stopped pacing and sank back into his arm-chair. He decided he needed some fire-whiskey in his tea.

Live with it, yes. Like it, probably not.

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

"Harry!" Hermione called. "Are you getting up for lunch?"

But there was no answer. Harry didn't hear; he was fast asleep again.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had sat in his suite all day, completely pissed off with his father. They had been whisked home straight after the trial, with no opportunity for him to talk to Harry; and the moment they had arrived back at the Manor, Lucius had closed the Floo and insisted that Draco have nothing to do with Potter for at least the next week.

 _How dare he?!_ He ranted to himself. And the worst of it was, with no wand, there was no chance of disobeying his father. Even sending an owl was denied him; Lucius had obviously thought of that because as the house-elves had put it in their usual ridiculous way, "oh, no, no, young Master Draco may not be wanting to use the owls now." Then, of course, they had started punishing themselves for disobeying him. _So they should,_ he had thought viciously; it was only because he knew Harry wouldn't want them to that he had commanded them to stop.

Obviously his father thought that being apart for a week would cool them down or something. What had he said while they were in the holding cell? That the bond would weaken if he and Harry were apart? Draco was determined to prove him wrong. Or, even if the bond weakened, he was determined that his resolve would not. He just hoped that Harry would understand; that their feelings for each other could last …

* * *

Ron and Hermione were getting worried. They hadn't seen Harry all day; it wasn't like him to not get up at all. What exactly had Lucius Malfoy said after the trial? Harry had refused point-blank to discuss it last night, which made Hermione think it must be something really awful.

Ron hammered on the door.

"OI! You getting up at all today, mate? It's nearly dinner time!" he shouted.

"Murr – gnarr – frrrr – what?" came a muffled voice from inside as Harry slowly came back to consciousness.

"It's nearly dinner time! Are you coming out?" Hermione shouted.

Harry thought about it. But if he came out and had dinner, they were sure to want to know what Lucius had said. And he just wasn't ready to discuss it. He was still too angry, and too hurt; and he had a horrible feeling that they would not take it well at all.

"I don't think so," he said back, "see you tomorrow, all right?"

And then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

_Saturday, May 16 1998_

Harry woke soon after eight o'clock, feeling less sorry for himself and more than a little ashamed for abandoning his friends the previous day. He decided he had to make an effort, so got up, washed, dressed, and went to sit in the library. Pigwidgeon was sitting on a perch Ron had found him; he had taken up residence there while Ron was staying at Grimmauld Place, so Harry found him some owl treats, which the tiny owl accepted happily.

A little while later, Kreacher appeared. He took one look at his master and went away, coming back just a few minutes later with a bacon sandwich and a large mug of steaming-hot tea.

Harry looked up, enticed by the delicious smell of bacon. He hadn't asked for this; but how could he refuse?

"Thank you, Kreacher, just set them on the coffee-table please."

Kreacher did, and vanished.

Five minutes later, Hermione entered. She was pleased to see that Harry was up and about, and more so to see he had eaten half the sandwich. A small smile played on her lips, but she decided she wasn't going to coddle Harry in his misery: he deserved better than that.

"Are you going to eat the rest of that?" she asked, belligerently.

He looked up, surprised at her tone. "Why, do you want it?"

"No," she said, with a smile at the thought, "though I bet Ron wouldn't say no."

"Wouldn't say no to what?" said Ron, coming in as if on cue. Then he spotted the sandwich. "Ooh, if you don't want that, can I have it?"

Harry laughed. What else could he do? He made a decision. There was no point in moping around in self-pity; he had to get on, make a plan, and sort things out.

"No, you jolly well can't," he answered. "If you want one, go and make it yourself." And saying this, he picked up the remaining half of the sandwich. To his surprise, he found he was actually quite hungry, and it disappeared very quickly.

Ron sat down grumpily, apparently miffed to have missed out food. Hermione, however, sat with a secret smile. Now that she had stirred Harry up, perhaps they might get some answers out of him…

But in fact it was Harry who got in first. He decided he would break down if they talked about Draco, so took the chance to steer the conversation onto less emotional ground. "So, Hermione," he said, as he finished his sandwich and licked his fingers, "have you found out anything more about Haussmann Shields or Debts of Magical Whatsit?"

"That's 'Magical Emancipation', but I suspect you knew that perfectly well," she replied, having noticed the faint grin he had asked with. "Frankly, there's not a lot of material that isn't heavily classified. Even with Kingsley's help, I only found about three books that were really any use."

"Kingsley's help?" Harry said. "Hang on, he's had escaping Death Eaters, Wizengamot trials, babysitting me and he's helped you find material? Does the man never sleep?"

"Apparently not," answered Hermione. "His secretary was complaining about something similar to me. However, all he did for me in fact was sign permissions; the actual work was done by the Ministry librarian, and Madam Pince at Hogwarts. Oh and of course Ron was very helpful fetching books and so on."

"All right, Hermione," said Ron, who was fit to burst by this time. "But for Merlin's sake, never mind who found things for you, what did you find?"

"Oh, right. Well, as you know, Haussmann Shields are very rare, and generally only work with very closely linked people – married or similar."

"Yeah, I get that," said Harry. "Though Draco and I aren't."

"But you are friends, right?" said Ron, in a voice that suggested this was still something of a seismic shift in the Universe as far as he was concerned. "Is that enough, Hermione?"

"If you want to hear what I learnt, you'd do better not to interrupt," she said, sniffily. "And the answer seems to be, no-one knows. The books are very old and not very clear. But I think what they are saying is that the Debt creates a linkage of its own, which is strong enough for the Shield."

"That makes sense," Harry said, thoughtfully. "After all, Lucius told me that the Debt is stronger than a Life Debt, it seems logical that it implies a closeness between the two people…"

Ron looked puzzled, and asked the same question as Harry had days ago: "How can anything be stronger than a Life Debt?" he asked.

"Draco told me that," Harry replied. "It's because of honour. He said you can die with honour; but you can't live without magic with honour."

"He would say that; that's typical pure-blood thinking," Ron concurred.

"ANYWAY," said Hermione, and Harry hid his smirk at having got under her skin, "the Shield can be temporary or endurant, and yours is obviously endurant since it was still there five days after the first time it appeared."

"Does that mean it will always be there?"

"Hmm. Good question. The books were a bit vague about that. There was something I couldn't quite follow about something else, some extra ingredient called a 'mordant'. It seems something extra is needed to make the Shield permanent, but it wasn't at all clear what it was."

"All right," said Harry, deciding to summarize. "So, we know the Shield protects Draco and me when we are together. Do we have to be together?"

"I think so; but that wasn't clear," Hermione admitted.

"Alright." Harry continued. "We know it's quite strong: it deflected the Sectumsempra curse. We know it's endurant, but we don't know how long it will last. We think it's probably based on the Debt between Draco and me, rather than being partners. Though we have become close friends over the last ten days …"

Ron shuddered at this. Harry ignored him.

"And that's about it for the Shield," he continued.

"Hang on," Ron asked, "what about the colours? Do you think they're important?"

"That was one of the strange things," Hermione said. "The books didn't say anything about the Shield being coloured, or even visible."

"Hmm." Harry mused. "So, we'll have to put that in the 'more research needed' column. Now, the Debt. It's stronger than a Life Debt and it's very important to pure-bloods. Draco told me that if a Debt becomes established, which ours now is, there are certain consequences that are permanent."

"What sort of consequences?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

"Um… He didn't say, really, only something about being in my power" said Harry, blushing as he remembered exactly why they hadn't spoken any more. "Oh, hang on, Lucius did say something else: apparently, every wizard who loses his magic goes mad and kills himself."

"Phew," exclaimed Ron. "You mean what you did actually saved their lives as well? Blimey!"

"I did find out a bit more, Harry," Hermione chipped in. "Possibly the 'consequences' Draco was talking about – from what I gather they won't be able to actually deceive you, and they have a duty to protect you. But again, the books were rather sketchy on detail."

"What about the bond?" Ron asked. "Dad did say that all the cases of the Shield he'd heard of ended up with the participants being bonded."

"Um," Harry demurred, not quite sure he wanted to talk about his love life. He'd managed to keep his emotions in check, could he keep doing so? But then, he decided, they were his best friends and had done all this research for him; the least he could do was to be honest with them. "Well, Draco said that he wants to be with me – and I've been missing him a lot, even since Wednesday; so I guess maybe we are being pulled together." Deciding that was quite enough candour, and closer to tears than he liked, he burted out, "but I don't like the thought that I'm forcing him into something; that we're being forced into something."

Hermione looked at him kindly. "Harry, I don't believe that. You've had a thing for each other since you met – it's just expressed itself as rivalry and bickering because you couldn't be friends. Now that's gone, I think you're just finding a new relationship, one that hopefully will be a lot more pleasant …"

Harry was extraordinarily grateful to her for saying this, and the emotion started to rise again. The simple love and affection pouring out from her overwhelmed him, and he pulled her to him in a hug to stop himself from bursting into tears.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said. "I needed to hear that."

"Right," said Ron. "Any chance of some food?"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was getting fed up with her husband. His childish behaviour was hurting Draco very badly, and she decided it had to stop. So, for the first time in her married life, she plucked up the courage to knock angrily on his study door.

To her surprise, rather than just yelling "come in!", he opened the door himself. One look at his face and all her anger evaporated. She had assumed he was avoiding them because he was being a stroppy so-and-so but now she knew the truth: he was hurting. She had never seen him look so anguished, so uncertain, so fearful.

Without a word, he drew her into his arms, into the room, and shut the door behind them. They stood clasped together for a long time.

* * *

After a very long and late breakfast, which didn't finish till after lunchtime, Harry declared that they'd done enough talking for one day and he wanted to get out of the house. In truth, he still wasn't ready to discuss what Lucius had said to him, and until he was, he feared that talking to them would just rile everybody up and they'd all get angry to no purpose.

Ron and Hermione accepted this, and suggested they all go to the Burrow to see what Gin was up to. Privately, they both knew that Harry was stalling; but they knew their friend, he would share what was really on his mind when he was ready, and forcing him generally did no good.

When they reached the Burrow, they found the twins there. After a heavy week of trading, this Saturday was, unusually, a rather slow day at the shop; Seamus had turned up, and they'd decided that he and Neville could handle things on their own, so they'd come to the Burrow to see what Gin was doing. They found her and Robin Banks having morning tea together, so the four of them had started an odd version of Quidditch which seemed to involve the twins trying to stop Gin from getting the snitch, and Gin and Robin trying to thump the twins.

Ron and Harry grabbed two spare brooms, and joined in the fun. The game quickly deteriorated into a schoolyard fight: the twins took great delight in sending bludgers at Ron, who proved surprisingly adept at dodging them, and managed to get his own back after about an hour of playing when George wasn't quick enough to evade one that Ron had enticed to curve around him.

George, winded, came down and went into the house while the other five kept flying. He found Hermione helping Molly prepare dinner; which, of course, really meant that Molly was getting food ready while filling Hermione with tea and chatting away merrily. George wondered how it was that women always found something to chat about.

He sat next to them and a cup of tea levitated over to him, sent by Molly.

"Thanks, Mum," he said, happily drinking the strong brew. "How's he doing?" he asked Hermione. There was no need to say who 'he' was.

"Not well," she replied bluntly. "He hasn't told us what Lucius said yet, but it must have been pretty awful; he spent all of yesterday in bed, and managed to avoid the subject all morning. We talked about Haussmann Shields and Debts of Magical Emancipation instead."

"Ooh," said Molly, "what have you learnt?"

Hermione repeated the conclusions of the morning, including, to George's amusement, Harry's rather unguarded comments about his relationship with Draco Malfoy. Not that Harry had said much; but George had always been good at reading between the lines, and he could tell Harry was smitten. _And he_ _probably hasn't even worked it out himself yet, poor bugger,_ he thought.

* * *

The Quidditch match lasted until dark, and then Molly called them all in. Clearly, Saturday night was family dinner night: Bill and Fleur came over, and Arthur, who had been working an extra day at the Ministry to keep abreast of all the trial developments, came home from the Ministry, bringing Percy with him.

Arthur beamed when he saw Harry was there. "Ah, I'm glad you're here," he said, shaking his adopted son's hand rather vigorously, "the Minister is very concerned about you. Mind you, we're all very grateful for your testimonies during the trials – the Wizengamot had a special session today, and they are framing a new official code of procedure, which is to be called the Potter Code."

"Ooh, fame at last," George said, mockingly.

"Yeah, hooray," Harry replied. "At last, people won't be saying 'Harry Who?' to me any more."

"But 'Arry," Fleur said, looking confused, "everybody knows 'oo you are?"

This made most of them roar with laughter. Bill checked himself, a bit embarrased at having laughed at his wife's bewilderment, and quietly explained to Fleur that Harry was making a peculiarly English sort of joke, and that they weren't really laughing at her, just that the way she'd said it worked particularly well.

"You mustn't mind us, dear," Molly said, coming over to her, "but you know how the twins are and I'm afraid Harry seems to be developing the same silly sense of humour."

Fleur smiled at them. She was privately delighted to have been part cause of the merriment; her own family was always rather serious, and she adored the fact that conversations at the Weasleys veered from serious to comic and back to serious all the time. Even when she didn't understand the lightning-fast banter, she could feel that they really loved one another, and fully accepted her into the family too.

"It's quite all right, Molly, it's lovely to 'ear such 'appy people," she reassured her mother-in-law, then pulled Bill to her side in a loving embrace.

Molly smiled at her, delighted to see her at such ease in what was still a strange house for her.

"Well," she declared, "I believe dinner is ready."

* * *

They sat stony-faced at the dinner table. Draco was still very angry with his father, and so returned his silence, refusing even to look at him. Once the main course had been cleared, Narcissa decided she had to do **something** ; the silence was becoming acutely painful. It simply Would Not Do.

But what to do? "My love…" she began. Both men looked at her; and then she saw her way forward. "You see? You are both my loves. And you both love me. And you are hurting each other very badly, and it is hurting me. So please, for your sakes, for my sake, go into the library and sort this thing out between you!"

They sat there, stunned. Narcissa had started quietly, but ended up yelling at them. With all the force of character that came from being born into the Black family, she continued:

"Go on!" she said. "Shoo!"

Rather shame-facedly, they got up and went to the library together.

* * *

_Sunday, May 17 1998_

Harry woke up and wondered where he was for a minute.

"Morning, sleepy-head," a familiar voice called out, and he sat up in bed and looked round. It all came back to him in a rush: he had slept in Ron's room at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur had left early, but dinner had lasted till very late for the rest of them, and Molly had pointed out that there was no need for them to go Flooing around the countryside at horrible hours of the morning when there were perfectly serviceable beds at their disposal right there. They hadn't taken much convincing; after all the exercise of the mock-Quidditch game earlier, they were very happy to just roll into beds at the Burrow and fall asleep.

"Morning," he replied to the rather-too-cheerful redhead sitting on his bed opposite. "What's the plan for today?"

"George and Fred have gone back to the shop; they've suggested we meet them in the Leaky for lunch. Hermione and I want to go to Diagon Alley anyway; there are some things we want to start getting organized. And I'm betting you're not ready to talk about what's going on between you and the Malfoys, so I reckon you should come with us, or Mum will be pumping you for information."

"It's a deal. I suppose I have to get up and dressed then?"

"Yeah, works for me," Ron said with a wink. "See you at the breakfast table then. Come quick or go hungry!"

Harry knew the words were just playful, there was never any danger of going hungry at the Burrow; but the memories of starvation at the Dursleys' got stirred up as always at even the thought of missing food, and Harry had a very quick – even for him – shower, cast a Scourgify on his clothes, decided that would do, and made his way downstairs.

"Blimey!" said Ron, munching his way through a stack of pancakes. "That was quick!"

"I wasn't going to miss out on Molly's pancakes!" he said, which earnt him a big smile from Mrs. Weasley as she carefully levitated a large stack of pancakes in front of him. It was easily enough for two people by his reckoning, but he could see that in fact his stack wasn't quite as large as Ron's; perhaps Molly had clocked that he might be an honorary Weasley but he didn't have the Weasley appetite.

He proceeded to drown a pancake in maple syrup, just how he liked them, and had got half of it down him when a cup of tea was levitated over to him, with the honey-pot following. It was just as hilarious as last time, and he broke into giggles as he watched the graceful ballet of the honey seeming to pour itself into his tea.

As he giggled, he felt some of the angst and emotional turmoil of the last two days begin to melt away. He was going to be all right. He could face this; and he had the Weasleys and Hermione with him, helping him, being there for him, giving him space to be himself, and courage to come back to reason.

He loved the Weasleys so much.

* * *

Draco rolled out of bed. It was nearly lunch-time; he never got up early on a Sunday if he could help it. He was feeling a lot happier after his chat with his father; he now understood that much of what his father had done had been for his sake. He still didn't agree with him: Harry wasn't a danger or a monster; he wasn't going to turn Draco into his slave or his whore. Merlin, Harry had said they were 'almost-lovers' and Draco had a sneaking suspicion that if they weren't actually lovers yet, it wouldn't take long. If, that is, well-meaning parents didn't keep trying to derail them.

He smiled to himself. His father might be making a complete hash of things, but Lucius did actually love him. Even if he didn't have a clue how to show it. They'd have to work on that; but at least they were now both willing to. He felt that a huge burden had lifted from him, one he hadn't even known was there.

* * *

Lunch was a whole new experience. For the first time in days they chatted to one another politely, discussing the weather, latest fashions, and what subjects Draco might be studying when he went back to Hogwarts.

Lucius proved to be surprisingly well-informed on the last subject. Apparently while in the holding cells he had used the ready source of information that the Aurors guarding him provided. He told them that the idea was that most students would be required to repeat their year in the normal school year, the thinking being that education under the Carrows had been poor to non-existent; but to avoid a gap of a whole year before students could graduate, the returning final-year students – the "eighth-years" as they would be known – would start in July and finish in January, with the seventh-years finishing the following June as normal.

But of course in order to decide what to study, Draco had to think about what he would do. His heart had been set on becoming a Potions Master; he still wanted it, but he would need to be apprenticed to a master; as a former Death Eater now on probation, who would want him?

 _Harry,_ he thought. _Harry wants me._ Until that very moment, he couldn't have said he was certain of it; some of Harry's doubts about what was him and what was the Debt or the Bond had got to him; but now he pushed those thoughts aside. Harry wanted him, and his family were behaving like reasonable human beings again; somehow they would get through life together.

He smiled as he passed his mother the carrots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster.


	17. To Return Those Hidden Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I don't really believe J K Rowling's exchange rate of 1 galleon ˜ £5; that would value the twin's shop and starting stock at about £5,000 which seems ridiculously small, even though prices in the Wizarding world are probably quite different to the Muggle one. So I'm using a rate of 1 galleon ˜ £25, which values a knut at about 5p and a sickle at £1-47._

**17\. To Return Those Hidden Away**

_Monday, May 18 1998_

Harry had spent most of the Sunday at the shop, so it was not until breakfast on Monday that he learnt what Ron had been talking about when he had said that he and Hermione had something to organize: they were planning a trip to Australia to bring Hermione's parents back to England.

Ron had taken quite a while to get it out; apparently he had been very worried that Harry would think they were abandoning him. Harry, for his part, was embarrassed to think that if he'd been more sensible and not hidden away in his bedroom, he could have been part of the planning.

"I'm really sorry, guys, I should have been around to help," he started.

"You're apologizing again, Harry," Hermione said, in a warning tone. "We've told you about that. Not your fault. And you do have a lot on your mind, even if you won't talk to us about it."

"I'm sor—" he began, but she cut him off again.

"No you don't! You discuss it when you're ready, and not before. Now, what do you think of our idea?" she asked, a playful, teasing tone coming into her voice. "After all, we're planning to abandon you for nearly four weeks; do you think you can cope without us?"

"I think it's great, guys," he said, with entirely real enthusiasm. "I really think you should go, you'll have a great time. And don't worry about me; you know perfectly well Molly'll be on my case the whole time you're away. Your parents deserve to remember you, Hermione," for she had modified their memories; they currently believed they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, a childless couple who had moved to Australia for the climate, "and you deserve to have them around you." There was a very short pause before he added, "How can I help?"

Ron looked very embarrassed to be asked this question. "There is one really big thing you could do, mate," he answered. "We hesitate to ask, but as you know, we haven't much money and we were hoping to use the Muggle airyplanes to get there and back …"

Harry got it instantly. They wanted to borrow money off him for the airfares. He thought about that for all of half a second before making the obvious and simple decision.

No chance.

"No way am I lending you two any money, mate," he replied, and their faces fell. "No, I'm giving you your Christmas present five months late – how about two tickets to Australia?"

Ron didn't like it, but Hermione's face shone, so he swallowed his pride and accepted the offer. They spent the rest of the day plotting and planning the trip. They had a trip to Diagon Alley where Harry visited Gringotts and extracted two hundred galleons which he converted into Muggle money. Hermione's research said that the resulting nearly five thousand pounds would well and truly cover the tickets, including single tickets for the Grangers to come back with; and Harry insisted they were to have anything left over as well.

There was a bit of a stumbling block when they discovered that they needed passports and visas, and that these would take weeks to get. They had hoped to fly out as soon as possible: they needed to be back in good time for the school term, which made for tight timing as school was starting early this year, at the beginning of July rather than September.

They had been rather down the whole afternoon, as it looked like they weren't going to have time for their plan to work now. So when Ron suggested they go to the Burrow for dinner, Harry agreed – he decided that it wasn't the night to sit all maudlin together by themselves at Grimmauld Place; the Weasleys would want to know what was bugging them.

The conversation around the table began with Arthur asking them if they had any plans for the next month.

"Headmistress McGonagall has asked for as much help as we can give her getting Hogwarts Castle back into service," he informed them.

Ginny perked up at this, but her father looked at her apologetically.

"Sorry, Gin, they only want witches and wizard who are of age. So, you three, how about it?" he asked Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"I'd love to help," Harry answered, enthusiastically, "but I think Ron and Hermione have other plans…"

"I was hoping to go to Australia and bring back my parents," Hermione said, sorrowfully. "It seems the least I could do, since they're only there because I made them go, to keep them safe while Voldemort was around."

"That sounds wonderful," Ginny replied, "but why do you sound so sad?"

"We wanted to travel on a Muggle airyplane," Ron said. "But it's complicated because we have to have some Muggle paperwork – passports and vizals or something."

"Visas," Hermione corrected him. "And they take weeks to get! It'll be term-time before we can go!"

"Well I think it's a wonderful idea, of course you must bring them back," Molly said. "But this visa business sounds silly." She turned to her husband. "Isn't there something you can do?" she asked.

Arthur smiled. "Of course. Come to the Ministry at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, I'm sure we can sort things out. We wizards have never understood what takes the Muggles so long, so we have our own procedures. There won't be any problem. Pass the gravy please, Gin."

There were, apparently, some perks of having your father be the Deputy Minister for Magic!

* * *

Draco had really wanted to visit Diagon Alley, but Lucius was still convinced that meeting Harry was a very bad idea, and there was a much lesser chance of it happening here in Hogsmeade than there. After all, he argued, Potter's visits to that Wheezes place were notorious and well-documented in the Prophet, as was his penchant for eating obscene amounts of Fortescue's ice-cream.

So here they were in the Scottish Wizarding village. Lucius had opened the Floo again, and the Aurors had given permission for them to travel to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley whenever they liked; it irked Draco that they had had to ask, but such were the terms of their probations. At least they were out of the house, which made Draco feel a hundred times better, even if they did have to wear glamours to make sure they weren't recognized and attacked.

Draco had even been allowed to send owls again; Lucius had asked him not to contact Harry yet, and he had reluctantly agreed, happy that at least his father was prepared to trust him not to. He had used his new freedom to owl Blaise to set up a meeting in the Three Broomsticks at eleven. He hadn't talked to Blaise for too long; it was like he'd been hidden away. He felt he'd been in a sort of darkness, not seeing anyone much; he wanted to come back into light again.

Reveling in their freedom, the three Malfoys had come to the village at nine o'clock, and started their visit by walking around for an hour before entering the Hog's Head where they had had bread and cheese with some butterbeer. It wasn't at all their sort of food; but somehow that added to the feeling of freedom, and they actually managed to chat with some gaiety. There was a strange new Muggle game called 'darts' being played in the pub; Draco couldn't remember such a thing ever happening ever before; obviously people were feeling much freer now that the threat of attack from the Dark Lord was gone. It struck him again how much Voldemort had cost them: even such simple and innocent pleasures had been forgone; people had kept quiet, kept themselves to themselves; until now.

They were drawn into the game, and Draco was surprised to discover that his father was a very good darts player. So, in fact, was Lucius; but he laughed it off as 'beginner's luck'. Someone accused of charming the darts; but Aberforth Dumbledore, the landlord, told him off:

"Now Blad, I told you, the darts had been charmed against magic; and it's not sporting to accuse strangers of cheating with no evidence."

Blad immediately apologized very handsomely to Lucius, and insisted on buying him another pint. They stayed in the Hog's Head until nearly eleven, finding themselves generally welcomed by the company; it made an incredible contrast with before the war.

As Draco was meeting Blaise at eleven, his parents went over to Tomes and Scrolls to browse the bookshop. As they were leaving, Aberforth drew Draco aside.

"I know who you are," he said, in a low voice, "and I'm guessing that most of what's said about you is lies; but watch your step. The glamours are a good idea, but they can be seen through by people who are looking. You want to watch getting too friendly with folk just yet; if Blad knew who he'd been playing at darts I reckon he'd have slit your father's throat before buying him a drink."

Draco was rather shaken by this, but thanked Aberforth for the hint, and for not throwing them out as soon as he recognized them.

"Nah, wouldn't do that. Like I said, no accusing without evidence. Anyway, my brother had a bit of a soft spot for you, reckoned you had it tough being surrounded by that lot; least I can do is look out for you a bit."

If he'd been shaken before, Draco was stunned now. Albus Dumbledore had had a soft spot for him? He'd certainly hidden it well! But then, he had offered Draco forgiveness and sanctuary just before Snape had killed him …

By the time Draco got to the Three Broomsticks, Blaise was already seated in a quiet corner by himself. He was a bit surprised when an apparent total stranger plonked a Butterbeer in front of him. But when he looked closely, he recognized Draco, and relaxed a bit.

"I'm glad you had the sense to use a glamour," he said, softly. "Your family is not exactly flavour of the month, you know."

"It's lovely to see you too, Blaise," Draco said, "and no, I didn't know, because we've been cooped up at the Manor since the Battle of Hogwarts, then the Ministry cells, and then the Manor again since the trial. I haven't seen a Prophet since the Battle and this is the first time I've been out since the trial; I've been cooped up with my parents and sometimes some Aurors, though they come and go now that we're on probation rather than house arrest. I'm going crazy!"

Blaise looked at him closely for a few moments. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he exhaled and relaxed a bit.

"OK. So there's been a whole lot of shite in the Prophet about your trials. It started last Monday with a hideous photo of you and they made it very plain they were expecting you to get a long sentence in Azkaban; the front page asked something about 'How long will they spend in Azkaban?' and 'Will they be Kissed by a Dementor?'"

"Nice," said Draco. The press had been nice enough when the Malfoy name had been powerful, but clearly they had no loyalty. Or rather, he thought darkly, they were loyal to winners. He had to get used to a world in which they were losers. The idea hurt, badly.

"Yes, so you can imagine that they were not very pleased after Tuesday's verdicts. There was a rumour going around that Potter went to the Manor with you for dinner, but it didn't get printed – I think the Ministry pressed on them pretty heavily. Wednesday's Prophet just had a whole load of guff about you having received leniency to help rebuild the world and that you would be expected to step up and show the wizarding world that purebloods still have a role to play, you can imagine the sort of thing. Oh, and of course Potter was the knight in shining armour who rode in and saved your sorry arse again."

Draco snorted at this. "They didn't say that, surely?"

"No, I was just reading between the lines. Anyway, I'm glad you got off as lightly as you did. You didn't deserve to go to Azkaban, whatever they said. And the plans for 'Eighth Year' are all official now; I received an owl from Hogwarts this morning."

"Oh," said Draco. He had not received one, but they had been out early. "Will you be going?"

"I think so. You have to, right?"

"Yes, it's part of my probation."

"OK, well I will then. Like I said, you're not liked any more. You're going to need all the friends you can get."

"Thanks," Draco said, humbly. He was touched that Blaise still openly identified himself as Draco's friend. But the topic was a little too painful for further conversation, so he picked up on something Blaise had said before. "As it happens, Harry did come to dinner …"

Blaise did not miss the use of the first name. "'Harry'?" he asked. "So, are the rumours of something between you two true? They can't be, surely, that really would be all over The Prophet!"

"Um, well, it's complicated. You have to keep this quiet, Blaise, because you're right, if they find out, it'll be on the front page for a week, but the Dark Lord had a last trick which would have killed father and me, and Harry saved us from it. Since then, yes, we have been getting closer." He wanted to know more, so continued: "And what did they say about father's trial?"

"Well, they were still a bit – what's the word? Ah, circum-something, I think …"

"Circumspect," Draco supplied. Blaise spoke extraordinarily good English for an Italian, but every now and then a complicated word would elude him. Draco had always just come out with them, and Blaise had always seemed very happy to be helped.

"Yes, that's it. They obviously thought he should have been Kissed; and then he got off altogether."

"There are conditions, you know."

"Oh yes," Blaise said, waving them aside. "But he's not dead, or Kissed, or in Azkaban; a few conditions aren't going to slow him down very much. And the Prophet obviously hated it, but weren't game to say so; that's 'circumspect', right?"

"Right," Draco confirmed.

"OK. So, the editorial was all about the 'extraordinary generosity of our esteemed Wizengamot' and 'society will be watching Lucius Malfoy to see if he deserves the trust that has been placed in him'."

"Meaning he didn't get justice and doesn't deserve the trust," Draco surmised.

"Yes, that was obviously what they meant. Since then, there's been very little about you. Potter – Harry, as you call him – was seen in Diagon Alley yesterday, at that silly shop; there was some guff this morning about 'our Saviour taking a well-earned break from his cares and playing with his good friends, the Weasley twins'. But they didn't say anything about you."

"I'm not surprised," Draco said, a touch of bitterness coming into his voice. "We haven't seen him at all since the trials. Father said something to him after his – warned him off, somehow."

Blaise looked very surprised. "Why would he do that? What do you have to fear from Potter?"

Draco looked at him. _Should I tell him?_ He wondered. But Blaise had said he was Draco's friend; what sort of friend would Draco be, if he didn't trust him?

"To answer that, I'm going to have to explain more about what Harry did at the Battle. You were there at the Memorial Service, right? You saw the Shield?"

"That funny coloured thing around you and Potter? Yeah, I saw it. And I saw Theo Nott with his arm sliced off. He came up before the Wizengamot on Friday for that attack, by the way. He got sentenced to Azkaban for ten years. Apparently attacking the Destroyer of Voldemort under the noses of four Aurors is not a good idea."

"Who knew?" Draco replied, ironically. "Bastard deserved it; he wasn't attacking Harry, he was attacking me, though Harry would have got hurt as well. OK, so that 'funny coloured thing' is called a 'Haussmann Shield'. Did the Prophet say anything about that, by the way?"

"Nothing very interesting. They made it sound like Nott was attacking Potter, and you were just in the way, and Potter cast a shield that saved you as well as him."

"Harry did cast a Protego, but the Shield is something else. It's a very old and very powerful piece of magic. Before he died, the Dark Lord had cursed father and me so that if we rebelled against him, our magic would get locked up. Harry gave me my wand back after the battle, but I couldn't use it because of the curse. Harry was so incensed by this that he did some incredible piece of magic that broke the Dark Lord's curse entirely, and created something called a Debt of Magical Emancipation."

Blaise had never heard of this, of course, and his face said so; but he was a Slytherin, so he could imagine it was not good. "A debt, eh? A strong one?"

"The very strongest."

"Stronger than a Life Debt?" Blaise asked, aghast.

"Stronger than a Life Debt," Draco confirmed. "We owe Potter our magic as well as our lives. We're still trying to work out what it means, but we can't lie to him or hurt him, or not tell him something he should know, or not do something that would avoid him harm."

Blaise whistled softly. "I can see why that would scare your father. What has that to do with this Shield?"

"A Haussmann Shield basically can only be constructed on a very deep relationship, such as marriage. Apparently, the Debt counts. And the Shield sort of proves the extent of the Debt, so it's a package deal. Father thinks that it draws us together, so I'm coming under Harry's control. He's worried that I'll wind up as Harry's slave, forced to do whatever he wants."

"And what do you think?" Blaise asked, his voice full of concern, for which Draco was more grateful than he could have said.

"You mustn't tell any of this, OK?" Draco replied. Blaise nodded. "OK, you know I've had a thing for Harry for a long time."

Blaise smiled. He had twitted Draco about this for years; at last his friend seemed to have accepted it.

"I don't know if it's the Debt or not, but that feeling is getting stronger every time we meet. And he has something for me, too. But it's not slavery, Blaise; Harry Potter is not Lord Voldemort!"

"True," Blaise acknowledged. "No, he is noble, that one. I can see that if he got together with you, he could never be a Master like Voldemort was. And you think that is happening?"

"I hope so!" Draco answered, with shining eyes.

Blaise was content to hear this. He could see that if the Debt was behind this, there was nothing to be done; but he could also see that, Potter being Potter, there was no need to be concerned. And he would be there for Draco to make sure his friend ended up all right. He was delighted that Draco had come out of the seclusion he had been in involuntarily; he made a promise to himself not to let Draco hide away again.

They turned to discuss other matters; Blaise regaled stories of his mother's latest husband – her ninth. Draco was amazed that people wanted to marry her, even though she was still stunningly beautiful, she had buried eight husbands; marrying her was not especially promising for longevity …

* * *

_Tuesday, May 19 1998_

Ron and Hermione left the Ministry at ten o'clock armed with passports and visas; by midday they were the proud possessors of airline tickets to Australia, departing London Heathrow on Sunday. They were going to be there for four weeks, which would mean they would get back to Britain with just over a week to spare before the beginning of Eighth Year.

Hermione was beside herself with excitement. She insisted on going to Diagon Alley to buy them new clothes for the trip; at which point, Harry, who had very happily accompanied them to the Ministry and the Travel Agent's office decided that he'd had enough, and went to the shop, planning to Floo-call Headmistress McGonagall and discuss helping at Hogwarts.

Ron begged Harry not to leave him shopping alone with Hermione; but Harry just laughed.

"She's your girlfriend, mate, it's your duty to be dragged round all the shops she can find," he said, and left with very little compunction.

As Harry had prophesied, Hermione proceeded to drag Ron around half a dozen shops; which was largely a waste of time as they didn't really know what they wanted anyway, so came away with very few purchases.

They went to pick up Harry from the shop, and discovered that he had gone on to Hogwarts; McGonagall had been delighted with his offer of help, and taken him up on it straight away. So the two of them decided to have lunch together. Ron suggested that they might even go and find a Muggle café to eat in, just for a change from the usual Magical venues. Hermione loved the idea, so half an hour later they were sitting in a small Muggle restaurant around the corner from the British Museum. Ron discreetly cast a Muffliato over them so that their conversation would not be overheard.

"Thank you for letting me take you shopping," Hermione said.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't do it for anyone else, you know that, right?"

Hermione smiled. But there was no answer to that. "So, we're really going!"

"Yep." Ron agreed. He couldn't remember seeing Hermione more excited. "And we'll bring them back, Hermione. Just think, I'll have some in-laws!"

"Do you really want that?" Hermione asked him, a little jokingly.

"Oh yes," he replied, quite seriously. "I'm not about to hide away from them, and we can't keep them hidden away either. We need to forge stronger ties with the Muggles, after all; how perfect is having some in the family of the Deputy Minister?"

At this point their lunch arrived. Hermione continued, "Harry seems to be taking it well. Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Course he will." Ron said, a little derisively. Harry was a bloke, he didn't need worrying about. "Anyway, like he said, he's got Mum to look after him, and now he's helping at Hogwarts you can bet the staff there will be keeping a good eye on him."

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, a trifle reluctantly. "But I worry about him and Malfoy."

"Yeah, that's a bit strange, isn't it? But I reckon they are actually falling for each other – at the Memorial, Malfoy did look scared for Harry as well as himself."

Hermione was a bit stunned at this. "How can you tell that?"

"Hey, I've watched Malfoy too, you know. 'Know your enemy' and all that. He just had more on his face than his usual selfish-git look. He does care, I'm sure of it."

Hermione wasn't convinced; but then, they were both blokes, perhaps Ron would pick something like that up. And he had spoken to Malfoy at the Manor; he'd told her before that there was something there. Ron Weasley wasn't the insensitive oik most people took him for.

"All right," she said. "What do you think the thing with Lucius is about?"

"I reckon he must have told Harry to leave them alone."

"But why?"

"He's shit-scared about the Debt, Hermione. He's used to the Dark Lord. He probably thinks that's what Harry would be like if he had any control."

Hermione thought about this. "You're probably right. But we need to get Harry to open up. He's hurting himself by sitting on it, you know that, right?"

"Mmm," said Ron, finishing his lunch and looking round to see if there was anything else to eat. Hermione passed him her bread roll, and he smiled his thanks.

"What were you and George talking about when we were at the shop?" Hermione asked. "You seemed to be out the back with him for quite a while."

"George was saying that he thinks that he and Neville might have to go and have 'the chat'," Ron replied.

"'The chat'?" Hermione asked. "What's that?"

"Oh, sorry," Ron said, "it's a pure-blood thing. When you get serious with someone, you go and announce your intentions to their parents."

"Oh," broke in Hermione, "should I have done that with Arthur and Molly?"

"Nah, it only matters if both parties are pure-blood. Or if you're one of the up-themselves families."

"So," Hermione said, cottoning on, having been taken by surprise before, "they're serious then?"

"By the sound of it, very much so. Neville will need to chat with mum and dad, and George will have to go and sound out Augusta."

"That sounds pretty scary for George!"

"Neville, too, I suspect. You've always been on Mum's good side, but she can be a real terror if she thinks someone might hurt her kids."

Hermione laughed at this. "How does Fred feel about this?"

"Oh, he's been encouraging them from the very beginning. And I do hear that Angelina Johnson has quietly been spending a bit of time at the shop whenever Fred is there …"

"Ooh, how exciting! So, do you think anything will happen while we're away?"

"Between George and Neville? I don't think so. They do sound serious, but. I did make George promise they wouldn't do anything while we're not here. And I'm sure that Robin and Ginny won't announce anything till Gin is of age."

"Robin and Ginny?" Hermione asked, her eyes going very wide.

"Don't tell me you hadn't worked that out!"

"Um … well, they're friends, obviously, but I didn't know they were an item …"

Ron laughed. "You're a very smart witch, Hermione Granger, but it's wonderful to know you don't know everything!"

* * *

_Wednesday, May 20 1998_

On Wednesday Harry finally caved in and told them exactly what Lucius Malfoy had said to him at the end of the trial. And all his misgivings proved well-founded: Ron looked ready to punch the man, and even Hermione was livid with rage.

"Right, that does it," she said. "We're going to go and make him explain himself!"

"Do you really think that's wise?" Harry asked.

"Definitely not," Ron replied, "but that's not going to stop us."

And with that, Ron and Hermione entered the Floo together, and the 'Malfoy Manor' they said as they did so sounded more like a blood-curdling oath than just their destination. Harry almost pitied Lucius, unsuspecting at the other end of the Floo connection.

Harry sat for a while, rather at a loss for what to do next. He looked around the library, and spotted a forgotten book underneath one of the armchairs. When he fished it out, he realized it was the book he had seen Hermione reading in the Burrow, the one she'd said wasn't very helpful.

For lack of anything better to do, he opened and began reading. It seemed that every mention of either 'Haußmann Shield' or 'Dette of Magickal Emanschipation' referred him to the second Appendix; so, abandoning the main text, he turned to the back of the book, found the appendices, and began reading Appendix Two.

An hour or so later, he put the book down on the floor by his side, his green eyes glowing in the room which was getting darker as it lost the morning sunlight. He now had the answers to so many questions. He now knew who Haussmann was, and why no-one else did. He now knew, he was sure, as much about the Shield as any wizard living. He knew what the mordant was, and why it was required. He had a faint suspicion as to what might have happened in their case; if he was right, it might even explain the colours. And he knew things about the Debt that Lucius Malfoy certainly knew, but would be horrified to learn that Harry did too…

And, incidentally, he now knew who had written the book. He knew why Hermione had not been able to find the answers in it. He had a guilty feeling of delight at the thought that finally he had learnt something from a book that Hermione hadn't been able to. Though his delight was tempered by the knowledge that it was because she did not share his special skill.

But all of this was nothing compared to the thought that he would soon see Draco again. He so desperately wanted to bring him back out of the exile he was in at the Manor. He was a real person, not a dirty little secret to be hidden away. That was why Harry had readily agreed to be responsible for him: he wanted to give Draco as much freedom as he could. He didn't trust anyone else to do that.

But, thinking of Draco, he worried: what if the blond no longer wanted him? Best to be sure, he decided, and Summoned a quill, ink, and a piece of parchment to himself, and sat at the desk to write.

Once he had finished the letter, he whistled for Pigwidgeon. As always, the little owl was ecstatic to be trusted with a letter to deliver, and willingly took the parchment to Malfoy Manor.

Harry decided it was morning tea time, and called for Kreacher, who apparated with a pop. The house-elf had anticipated the summons; he was holding a tray on which were placed a cup of tea laced with honey and some of Harry's favourite biscuits. He put the tray on the coffee-table, bowed, and vanished with another pop.

Harry smiled. He drank his tea, waiting for the return owl.

He had played his hand. Now it was over to Draco to respond.

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _My grateful thanks to Bicky Monster, my beta, whose help is invaluable._
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> _Thanks and welcome to all who now follow the story - please do leave a comment to let me know what you think!_
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> _I was asked on fanfiction.net who would be the carrier if we did have MPREG; Draco seems to be the popular choice so far; please comment and let me know what you think, both in general and in the context of this story._


	18. Return Owls

**18\. Return Owls**

Draco Malfoy was sitting in his own study. He was officially reading, but mostly trying to avoid thinking about Harry. It was a week since he'd had him in his arms, and Harry had kissed him at the end of his evidence at Lucius's trial; and then nothing. Draco wanted to believe that Harry still wanted him, that they would still get on; but he was not one of Nature's optimists and he was finding it very hard to maintain a positive attitude without positive reinforcement.

Simply put, he was worried. Worried that his father had ruined things for them. Worried that Harry would interpret the gap as rejection. And worried that he had no idea what to do about it, how he could fix things. It was eating him up. Even the Potions book he was reading was proving a poor distraction; and that was saying something, given his love for the subject.

In the midst of his melancholy came the familiar pop of a house-elf apparating.

"Yes, Dippy?" he asked lazily, as she appeared in front of him. He had not summoned her, so he reasoned that one of his parents must have sent her with a message.

"Dippy is coming to tell Master Draco that we's is having visitors," she said, looking slightly abashed. Draco suddenly realized that she hadn't said she'd been sent; had she come entirely on her own initiative?

"I see," he said, not sure how he felt about that idea. House-elves rarely showed initiative, and it wasn't generally encouraged. "And who might these visitors be?"

"Mister Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger, sir. They is arriving in the Master's study!" Dippy said, in a very high-pitched and excited voice.

Draco choked a little. He had never dared enter his father's study without an explicit invitation; it was his father's _sanctus sanctorum_ , his very private retreat. To have entered it directly through the Floo showed amazing courage. Or complete ignorance. Or, most likely, a touch of both.

But at least he could understand both why the house-elf had to tell someone, and why she thought he should know. He could forgive her that. She was standing there, looking a bit afraid; perhaps she had realized that she was out of line. She did have that look they got before they started punishing themselves; he didn't want that.

There was one certain way to stop it; it was a little early for morning tea, but that wouldn't matter.

"Thank you, Dippy," he said. "I'm a bit thirsty; could you get me a cup of tea?"

Dippy's eyes went large and round with delight at being asked to serve. "Of course Master Draco! Is young Master wanting some cakes as well?"

Draco laughed. His sweet tooth was notorious. "That would be lovely," he said, and Dippy apparated away happily.

Draco sat for a bit and thought about what had just happened. He actually had not wanted Dippy to punish herself. Before, it had been because he had known that Harry wouldn't have wanted it; now, it was his own want. What was happening to him? Was he becoming more like Harry?

Whatever it was, he decided, he wasn't going to add it to his worries. There simply was no point in trying to work out what was the Debt and what was his own wishes. He was not concerned, really: he trusted Harry. Harry and he getting together might have a compulsion at the base; but even if so, whatever their relationship became, it would still be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

A tea-tray appeared on his desk, with the usual cup, pot, milk-jug, and bowl full of cubes of sugar; next to it was a plate piled high with cupcakes, beautifully iced. There were so many that, what with the potions book he was reading and making notes on, it was nearly an hour later before he had managed to finish them all …

* * *

"What do you mean by it?" Hermione demanded, for what must have been the tenth time.

Lucius was getting a headache. He wasn't used to having to deal with people like this any more. They had invaded his study and demanded answers, and somehow he couldn't just throw them out. It wasn't just politeness – after all, politeness demanded that you didn't just Floo into a man's house and demand answers from him – no, it had something to do with the Debt, he was sure of it. These were Potter's friends; they had some claim to speak for him, and that was enough to ensure that Lucius could not hurt them, or even invite them to leave. He hated it; he had always hated feeling powerless. He had thought the Dark Lord would make an end to that; how wrong he had been! The truth was, he had been far more powerless when the man was in this house than he was now. The only reason it hadn't rankled then was because of the stark terror he felt with Voldemort there. Hermione's intellect and fierce determination might intimidate him, but she would never terrify him. She just didn't do terror, that was obvious.

Still, the question, the whole issue, hung in the air between them. He had warned Potter off, it was undeniable. What **had** he meant by it?

"You must understand, at the time," he answered, finally deciding to give a considered answer, "I was very afraid, Miss Granger."

"Yeah, right," Weasley interjected. "Harry had just saved your miserable arse from Azkaban, I can see why you'd be afraid of him."

Lucius kept his temper. With difficulty. "That's rather the point," he replied, putting on the patient-parent-to-stupid-child voice that fathers around the world know only too well. "To you, he's a friend, you understand him. But to me, I saw a boy who had got me into Azkaban who had become a man who destroyed the careful, long-laid plans of a master Wizard and wrapped the Wizengamot around his little finger. A man who holds a Debt over me that could destroy this family, make slaves of both Draco and myself. How could I trust him? It's not that I wasn't grateful to him – and to you," he added, turning to Hermione, "for keeping me out of Azkaban – I was just afraid that the price would be too high …"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "OK, I can understand that," she responded, her voice becoming calmer. "Hang on, you said you 'were afraid'. Has that changed?"

Lucius thought for a minute, seeking the best words to help them understand. At least she had stopped hectoring him; that made thinking much easier.

"Yes, I think it might have, a little. Draco is convinced that we can trust Mr Potter. I'm not sure, still, but if Draco does then that gives me just a little hope that somehow we might be able to make the Debt work."

"Work for you, you mean?" Ron asked, scornfully.

Lucius winced. He had said that badly; he deserved to be misunderstood. "I don't think there's any such thing any more, Mr. Weasley," he answered, his voice grave. "There's no way anything can 'work for me' as you put it, without 'working for Harry', as I'm sure you'd say. The Debt will make sure of that."

"He's right, Ron," Hermione broke in, sensing that Ron was going to argue the point. "It has to work for everyone. Isn't that what Harry's been arguing for all along? That we stop this 'them' and 'us' thing and work out a solution that means everyone is looked after?"

If anyone else had said this but Potter or his friends, Lucius would have scowled. But he had seen the man at close quarters. He really believed this rhetoric; and more, somehow he managed to take it from unrealistic trite platitude to a working manifesto. He had convinced the Wizengamot to let them off; no-one else could have stopped them getting Kissed after that Prophet headline, Lucius was sure of it.

He made a decision. Now was not the time for caution. They needed to know everything; it was the only way they were going to be able to work together. Because he knew now he had to promote that: it was what Potter wanted, and he was too close to him still to avoid the pull of the Debt.

"There are some other books I didn't show you last time," he confessed. "Would you like to take a look at them?"

Would Hermione Granger like to look at old books? That was one of Nature's rhetorical questions, really …

* * *

Dippy reappeared in Draco's study. "Would Master Draco be liking more tea?"

Draco cast a quick Tempus and discovered it was indeed morning tea time.

"Yes, that would be satisfactory," he answered. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard any more about Weasley and Granger. "Are our visitors still here?"

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf replied. "They is all being in the Library with Master Lucius now."

 _The Library? He must be showing them the other books,_ Draco thought. His father was definitely coming to terms with the Debt, then. It was a bit strange, given how much effort he'd been through to make sure they hadn't learnt anything much about the dark magic involved when they'd been here two weeks ago; but a lot had happened in that fortnight! He wondered if he should go and see what they were up to.

Just then there was a knock at the window. Dippy opened it, and a tiny owl flew in, holding an envelope nearly as big as it was. Draco was taken aback for a moment, then it seemed to him he had seen the owl before … But where?

Then he placed it: he'd seen it delivering mail at Hogwarts. It was Weasley's owl. They called it 'Pig', he remembered. Trust the Weasleys to find the stupidest possible name for an owl. But if this was Weasley's owl, and Weasley was here … it must have been sent by Harry.

Harry had owled him! His heart leapt, and he reached out and managed to grab the stupid bird, which was fluttering about in great agitation. He removed the envelope, with some difficulty; most owls had the sense to be still when you took the letter, but not this one.

"Dippy, could you find some treats for this owl, please?" he asked. Dippy nodded, and disapparated as Draco opened the letter.

 _Dear Draco,_ he read. His heart started beating faster. He'd never dreamt that that silly word 'Dear' starting a letter, or the use of the first name with it, could actually mean anything to anyone; but if Harry was pushing him away, he would have started 'Malfoy', surely.

Draco was a bit annoyed with himself. Just two words, and he was coming over all emotional. He forced himself to calm down, and read the letter in its entirity.

_Dear Draco_

_I hope you are well._

_I write to ask a favour of you._

_I am living in my house, Grimmauld Place. At the moment, Ron and Hermione are with me, but they are going to Australia on Sunday for four weeks, and I would be grateful for some company, at least for some of the time while they are away. Also, the house needs quite a lot of work, and I think you might be able to help me, as you no doubt have experience with repairs at the Manor._

_Your father told me not to fraternize with you, but I can't stop thinking about how happy I am when I am with you. Please write by reply and let me know your thoughts._

_Hoping to hear from you very soon_

_Harry_

Draco could hardly keep the tears from his eyes as he dashed off a reply and then ran to the library.

* * *

Harry was obviously distracted, and Kreacher didn't like it. "Would Master Harry be liking more tea?" he asked, hoping to get his master into a better mood.

"What? Oh, sorry, Kreacher, no, if I have any more tea I'll be going to the loo every half hour."

"Very good Master Harry. Would Master Harry be wanting anything special for dinner?"

"Oh not really; though I am hoping we will have a guest. I would love a treacle tart, though, if it's not too much trouble."

"Kreacher is always delighted to make Master Harry's favourite for him. Master Harry is always so kind to Kreacher!"

Harry was saved from his embarrassment by a knock at the window. With excitement, and some trepidation, he let Pigwidgeon in. The little owl looked exhausted, so once he had retrieved the message, he turned to Kreacher and asked him if they had anything to feed the owl.

"Of course, Master Harry!" the elf said, happily, and popped away.

Harry sat in his chair and opened the envelope. He felt butterflies in his stomach, just like he had when asking Cho to the Ball. _This is stupid,_ he said, and pulled out the letter as Kreacher popped back with food for Pig.

The reply was very short. But, he decided once he had read it, it didn't need to be any longer.

_Harry,_

_I will come as soon as I can. I will stay as long as you want me._

_Draco._

Harry smiled. The only obstacle, the only thing that could have stopped him, had been overcome. He picked up the book from the floor, shrank it so it would fit in his pocket, put it there, and headed for the Floo. Kreacher, hearing him get up, looked over at his master as he stepped into the Floo, said "Malfoy Manor!" in a happier voice than the elf had heard for days, and disappeared, leaving the letter on the side table that had been at his elbow.

Kreacher read it, and a smile came to his lips. Draco! Narcissa Black's son! A son of the Blacks was coming back to Grimmauld Place! He went to prepare the bedroom opposite Master Harry's.

* * *

Draco found them in the library, looking very much like they had two weeks ago: Hermione and his father pulling out old books, discussing fine points of detail, and Ron sitting at the chess table in the alcove, looking bored. He cast a Notice-me-not charm on himself and quietly sidled over to the red-head, and sat opposite him before he had been seen.

"Would you like a game?" he asked softly, dropping the charm.

Ron, a little startled, looked at him, his face blank. Then, after a moment that seemed to Draco to last for hours, his face relaxed.

"Yeah," he said, "I would like that."

* * *

Narcissa was sitting at her desk when the Floo came to life, with the familiar sound of someone coming in through it. She looked up and saw Harry coming out, wiping a bit of soot off himself. She made a mental note to have the chimneys seen to, and the Floo connection itself. It would not do to have visitors to Malfoy Manor covered in soot!

"Harry!" she said, warmly. "It's been too long since we've seen you."

"Oh," he said, surprised; he'd rather forgotten that of course the Malfoys were here, and the room would probably be used. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barged in on you like this."

Narcissa looked at him, patient but a little pained. "Harry, my husband has told you to come when you like, do you think he didn't mean it?"

"Well, given what he said to me last Thursday, I have wondered …"

 _Ah,_ Narcissa thought. Lucius still hadn't told her exactly what had been said; but he did now seem to have come to terms with the situation rather better. "And what was it he said?" she enquired.

Harry looked at her for a moment. _If Lucius hasn't told her, should I?_ He wondered. But then his new-found confidence came back again. Though she herself was not bound by it, Narcissa was affected by the Debt as much as Draco and Lucius; she deserved to know where things stood.

"He asked me not to 'continue to fraternize' with Draco," he said, baldly.

"I see," said Narcissa, in an icy tone that boded no good for her husband. "And you have decided to ignore this request?"

"Let's say that I've realized it is negotiable," Harry answered.

Narcissa looked at him. Lucius had explained something of the Debt to her and she suddenly understood: Harry now knew as well. Using words like 'negotiable' was entirely unnecessary; he could, if he want to, simply insist.

She bowed her head to him. "You are very kind, Harry."

Harry had no idea how to reply to this. Fortunately, he didn't have to; Narcissa looked him in the eye again, and said, as she led him out of her study, "I believe the others are in the library. Shall we join them?"

* * *

"What a happy gathering!" Narcissa announced as she entered the library, just ahead of Harry. Then she addressed Hermione and Ron: "I do hope you will stay for lunch?"

As they considered this turn of events, Harry walked over to the Malfoy patriarch.

"Lucius," he said in salute, extending his hand.

Lucius put his lips together, but he knew he couldn't really fight. Harry looked at him for a long minute. A mutual understanding flashed between their eyes, as Lucius suddenly realized: Harry _knew_. He became very tense as he shook the outstretched hand.

"What are your plans?" he asked. If it had been Voldemort, he knew, he would have asked 'what are your orders, Master?' instead. The Debt, and Potter himself, at least allowed him the dignity of pretending to agree with whatever was suggested, instead of acknowledging that he had no choice in the matter.

"I know what you said when last we met," Harry began, "but Ron and Hermione are going away and I was rather hoping Draco would come and stay with me."

Lucius let out his breath. It wasn't a command; Harry was taking care not to use force.

"And for me?" he asked.

"As you please, of course. I shall leave you be."

Lucius stared at Harry, taking in exactly what the words meant. Harry was giving him as much freedom as he possibly could. He bowed his head slightly to the younger man. "You are very gracious, Mr. Potter. Thank you."

"Please, Lucius, call me Harry."

"Very well, Harry," Lucius replied. He wondered if the man realized he had given an order, leaving Lucius little choice; but it was kindly meant, he could see that. There was no point in worrying any more, in trying to fight it. Potter – Harry, he had to call him now, even in his thoughts, it seemed – Harry knew about the Debt and what it meant for them; they just had to get on with life. If this exchange was any indication, Draco was right: Harry was trustworthy, and things really were going to be a whole lot better than they might have been had Voldemort won.

On his part, Draco was perturbed. He had committed himself in the owl to Harry; on the other hand, it had always been assumed that his father, as head of the family, had a right to be consulted on matters of family importance, and where the heir lived was definitely one of those.

"So I may go with him?" he asked.

Lucius turned, his eyes filled with a tenderness Draco hadn't seen in them for a long time.

"My son, you are of age; I won't stop you. But tell me this: do you **have** to go?"

Draco felt the urge to give the correct, Malfoy answer: that a Malfoy goes where he pleases, he doesn't have to answer any man's call. But it wasn't true, and he could see that his father knew it wasn't true.

"Yes, I think perhaps I do," Draco said, looking down to avoid anyone's eyes.

"I see. And do you **want** to go?"

Draco lifted his eyes to meet his father's. The look of tenderness was still there. He heart fluttered just a little. He went over to Harry and hugged him.

"With all my heart," he answered, so softly that only Lucius and Harry could hear him.

"Then go, with my blessing." Lucius said, just as softly.

* * *

Ron and Draco finished up their chess game while the others watched. Harry wasn't a great Wizard chess player and didn't really appreciate the subtleties of the game; but he could tell that they were playing at a very high standard. Draco, as the host, allowed his guest to win; but both players knew he'd done it, so Ron said, "We'll call it a draw, shall we?" Draco did not object.

Lunch was a much friendlier affair than the guests might have expected. Lucius seemed to go out of his way to put them at ease, and there was more laughter round the table than Draco could remember since … well, ever, if he was honest.

Once they had finished, and were filling any empty corners from the cheese board, it suddenly occurred to Hermione to wonder something. She turned to Harry.

"Harry," she asked, "why did you come when you did?"

Harry looked around the table and smiled at them all. Yes, they all deserved to hear this.

"Do you remember the book that Lucius lent you?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione, and turned to Lucius, "sorry, I meant to bring it with me, I'll look for it later and give it back to you."

"No matter," said Lucius, waving the thought away. "I know where it is."

"Yes, it's right here," Harry continued, pulling it out of his pocket and enlarging it. "I saw it this morning, just after you left, and picked it up. It was very interesting reading."

"Really?" said Hermione and Lucius together, then Lucius waved at Hermione to indicate that she should continue.

"But there wasn't much in it!" she objected.

"Not in the text, no, but the second appendix was most enlightening."

Hermione looked baffled. "Harry, there wasn't a second appendix; just blank pages at the end."

Harry smiled at her. It wasn't often that he could be the teacher and she the pupil, and he was enjoying the moment.

"Ah, but look," he said, placing the book carefully on the table and opening it at the back. The others crowded round him.

"What are those strange squiggles?" Hermione asked. "They weren't there before."

But Lucius had worked it out. "They're Parseltongue!" he exclaimed.

"Exactly!" Harry said, beaming at him like the Professors did to their star pupil. "The Appendix is written out in Parseltongue in long-hand, and charmed so that only a Parselmouth can make it visible."

"But, Harry, how did you know it was Parseltongue? I mean, you can't tell when you're speaking it, right? So can you tell when you're reading it?"

"No, actually," Harry answered. "I only realized when I'd been reading for half an hour and it struck me that the rest of the book was written in that hard-to-read script with weird spellings, but the Appendix was really straightforward. Of course, that was because I was reading it directly from Parseltongue and interpreting it into modern English."

"Wow," Draco said. "So, you can actually read that gibberish?"

"Oh, yes," said Harry. "And it told me lots of things. Firstly, if the signature is correct, and there's no reason to think it isn't, the book was written by Haussmann, and the Appendix was completed by …"

He paused, to see if they could guess.

"Salazar Slytherin?" Lucius asked. "There was a rumour he'd written the book, but I ignored it." He got some strange looks for saying this, so he explained, "every pureblood library has books supposedly written by the founders; but I tend to discount them. If every book that was claimed to have been written by Slytherin actually was, he wouldn't have had time to do anything else but write books!"

"Slytherin it was," Harry admitted. "This one, at least, would seem to be the genuine article. And it makes clear exactly who Haussmann was."

Hermione was getting a bit annoyed at all this leading and hinting; they weren't at school any more! So she asked, a little petulantly, "And who was he?"

"Hermione Granger, I am surprised at you," said Harry, in mock indignation. Hermione looked very confused at this. "You, of all people," he continued, "should know better than to assume the book was written by a man."

"Haussmann was a woman?" Ron asked.

"Yes! She was Slytherin's mother," Harry explained. "That's how he knew so much about the Shield. His father Salazin had been subject to a Magic-Binding Curse, and she managed to lift it. So of course, there was a Debt of Magical Emancipation between them. Salazar explains all about the debt at length. Because of it, he tells us, his father could never lie to his mother till his dying day. And he had to protect her from any threat. She was unmarried when she lifted the curse, and desired to marry him. As Salazar puts it, his father said it was 'by most happy chance that I wanted to do the very thing that I must do by her command; my desire and my duty pulling strongly in double-harness together'."

"So this is how you knew Lucius's – ah – _request_ was – ah – 'negotiable' as you put it?"

Narcissa looked straight at her husband as she said 'request' and Lucius looked a bit shamefaced as he realized that Harry must have told her what he had said after the trial.

"Negotiable?" he asked. "You could simply command me to let you see him."

"I could," said Harry, "but I'm not going to." Lucius looked like he didn't believe it, so Harry went on, "I need you to understand this. I don't want to be in command. I don't want to be another Dark Lord. The Debt is there, it constrains all three of us, but I won't let it rule our lives."

Lucius looked at him, really looked. He had suspected as much in the library, but Harry saying it out loud brought a whole new respect for this young man, mature beyond his years. "Thank you," he said, heart-felt.

"You're welcome," said Harry, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, Salazin Slytherin and Haussmann were married. When Salazar was two years old, his father's attackers came upon the family at night. The three of them were attacked again while in bed, and the shield came into being then."

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"It was rather like the scene at the Memorial," Harry answered. "The Shield flared up, a white, green and gold barrier, and the curses bounced off it and went back to the attackers. Apparently, they didn't survive them."

"How horrible for a two-year-old to witness!" exclaimed Narcissa.

"Oh, he says he was really pleased that these evil people got what was coming to them," said Harry. "He was a strange child, apparently. Anyway, it also says that, while it had been known for a long time even then that a Shield might be formed, it had always been a one-shot thing, so no-one had really studied it much. But this was different: later on, if anyone ever attacked his parents, it would flare up again. He says … Hang on, I'll read this bit," and Harry scanned the book for the right place, "here it is: _the Shield has proved to be endurant in my parents' case. They cannot be attacked with impunity while they are together; and this serves them well, as those who hate us either peris in attacking us or back away and leave us alone. We believe the Shield endures because it was fixed by some mordant, most likely my presence. They were protecting not just each other, but me as well; and the three-stranded cord of protection wove together in some way that two will not._ "

"But that won't do to explain the Shield being endurant for us," Draco objected. "Or what this 'mordant' might be."

"No," Harry answered. "We'll have to puzzle that out later. Meanwhile, I would like to get home, if you don't mind. I promised Professor McGonagall I would help at Hogwarts whenever I could, so I'd like to get Draco settled and go over if I can."

"Do you think I could help, too?" Draco asked, rather tentatively, and Harry knew he really meant: 'do you think they would accept a Death Eater?'

"I'll ask," he promised. "I'll tell them I'll keep an eye on you."

"You may have to do that anyway," Lucius pointed out. "Draco can't go anywhere without Ministry permission, it's part of the probation. And he doesn't have a wand"

"Damn – sorry, Narcissa," said Harry, but she waved away the apology. If Harry thought that was cursing, he was going to have his eyes opened with Draco around, she thought to herself with some amusement. "I had forgotten about that."

"You can always send an owl to the Minister from here," Lucius pointed out. "Then if he gives permission, Draco can Floo over to Grimmauld Place."

"Are you sure you're all right about this?" Harry asked. He was taking their son away from them, after all.

"Harry, quite apart from the fact that you can order me to, I've seen how Draco is about you now; you are happy together, and I think he's right: you are not Lord Voldemort; as I said before, he goes with my blessing." Lucius replied. "Now, come to my study and we'll get that owl away."

* * *

Harry sent off an owl to Kingsley, asking if Draco could Floo to and stay at Grimmauld Place, and if there was any way for him to help with the Hogwarts restoration. Hermione and Ron told Harry they would stay at the Manor to await Kingsley's reply, so he was free to go to Hogwarts for the afternoon to help out, as he had promised.

It is certainly true in politics that it's not what you know, it's who you know. And sometimes, who knows you. When it came, the reply was not the permission they had hoped for from the Minister; rather, they received a note sealed with the Great Wizengamot Seal and signed by Elphias Doge as Chief Warlock, stating that if Harry wanted to take over responsibility for Draco before term started, that would be quite all right; in which case, Draco's probation now really boiled down to, 'no apparition, but otherwise, whatever Harry says, goes'. Accordingly, he was free to travel to and live at Grimmauld Place until term started.

So Draco packed the clothes and books he wanted to take, Narcissa packed a large hamper of goodies for them to share, and Lucius found half a case of elf-wine for Harry. Just before they left, the mention of 'elf-wine' suggested to Hermione that she should tell Draco about Harry's house-elf; he could be difficult to work with after all, so she stressed the need for kindness and understanding.

"Of course," said Draco, with earnestness in his voice. He knew all about Hermione's efforts in S.P.E.W., after all, and he didn't want to get on the wrong side of her. And he was grateful for the forewarning; he was used to house-elves around the Manor, but strange ones could still spook him.

As Draco couldn't apparate, the three of them Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. "Kreacher!" Hermione called as she came out of the Floo, after the other two.

The house-elf appeared with the usual pop. "Yes, Mistress Granger? How can Kreacher be helping?"

 _Kreacher?_ Draco thought. _She didn't say it was him! He's still alive?_

"Oh, Kreacher, this is Draco Malfoy." Hermione replied. "He will be staying here for a while. Um, is there a room he could have?"

"Kreacher is already knowing about Master Draco being here," Kreacher replied. "Master Draco is Mistress Cissa's son, and has been here before. Kreacher is very happy to be having another son of the Black House staying here," he continued, with a low bow to Draco.

Draco smiled. Kreacher wasn't going to be any trouble at all.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he replied, with the slight bow that befitted a guest acknowledging his host's servant's welcome when the host is absent. "I am delighted to be here, and to learn that you are well. I do remember you from my previous visits; are your Spotted Dicks as amazing as ever?"

Kreacher looked delighted at such blatant flattery. "Master Draco will have to be deciding for himself!"

"And don't think you're getting them all to yourself, Malfoy!" Ron interjected.

"Master Draco is having the room opposite Master Harry," Kreacher continued.

With that, the elf easily levitated Draco's trunk, and showed him up to his room.

* * *

In the event, Draco decided that Kreacher's cooking was every bit as good as he remembered it.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Grateful thanks to Bicky Monster for being my beta!_
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> _lets_shine_forever, ruth_lily, EmoPumpkin: thank you so much for your comments!_


	19. Returned Feelings

**19\. Returned Feelings**

Harry Flooed home from Hogwarts to find Ron and Hermione reading in the drawing room.

"How was Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Coming on amazingly," Harry answered. "It's all incredibly organized – Flitwick is in charge and has everything mapped out. There's a huge board up in the Great Hall, with everything written onto a six-week timeline. If things go to plan, the repairs will be completely finished in another five weeks, which gives the five last days of June for any extras and refurbishments."

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "What are the plans for the Eighth Years? Surely we won't all fit in the current dorms if there's an extra year of students?"

"I'm not sure yet." Harry replied. "They're up to something, I know that. McGonagall said they wanted to keep it a surprise, but there was something on the board about 'Tower Eight'."

Harry was looking just a bit edgy, and Hermione guessed why. She decided to have a little fun.

"Kingsley didn't reply," she said, affecting a conversational tone.

"Oh," said Harry, and he put so much sadness into a single syllable that Hermione relented.

"No, Elphias Doge did, instead. It's all sorted. Here, here's his owl."

She handed him the letter, and he read it, his face lighting up. _Whatever Harry says, goes._ He thought on this for a moment.

"Ron," he asked, "could I use Pig?"

"Of course, mate, you don't have to ask."

"Thanks," Harry said. As he turned, a piece of parchment, Summoned wordlessly, spread itself out on the desk, and the quill wrote on it. By the time Harry had walked over, the letter was ready; he signed his name, blew on it to dry the ink, popped it in an envelope, and turned to the owl who was sitting on his stand.

"Will you take this to Elphias Doge for me, please, Pig? There should be a reply," he asked.

The owl hooted happily, and let him fasten the envelope to his leg; then Harry opened the window for him, and he flew off; a trifle erratically, but Harry knew the message would get there. Well, hoped, anyway.

Hermione thought about continuing to sport with him, but decided that would be cruel, so she told him, "Draco's upstairs. Kreacher put him up on the third floor in the room opposite yours. Go on, off you go and welcome him."

"Thanks!" Harry said, and all but ran out of the room and up the stairs.

"George is right," Ron observed after he'd gone. "Besotted, and oblivious."

* * *

"Come in!" Draco said, before Harry even knocked. _Must have heard me coming up the stairs,_ Harry thought as he came in and looked around. The room had been completely reorganized – Draco was obviously settling in and putting things his way. Harry was glad that his friend felt so at home.

"Welcome!" he said. "I'm sorry you don't have as much room as at the Ma—"

But further conversation was impossible; Draco had winded him as he ran into his chest, wrapped his arms around him, and covered his lips with his own.

"Please, Harry," he said, "less talking, more kissing and hugging."

Harry wrapped his arms around the blond and clasped him tight. He was surprised to find that Draco was shaking; he started rubbing his back and making soothing noises. In response, Draco burst into tears.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, worried.

Draco had held his emotion back for a week; now he had Harry in his arms, all his famous self-control fell away.

"I've missed you so much. I thought Father might have scared you off altogether, or you wouldn't want me or …"

"Hush," Harry said soothingly, continuing to rub Draco's back. "He didn't, and I do. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Draco looked into his eyes, remembering the words from a week ago, and responding with Harry's question: "Will you stay with me now?"

Harry smiled, and led him over to a couch Draco had put in a corner. He sat down, pulling Draco onto his lap, and kissed his forehead.

"Of course," he replied.

They sat together, holding each other, until Draco's sobs subsided.

Draco could do with a little teasing, Harry decided. "How did you know I was there? I didn't even knock!" Harry asked, though he had guessed the answer.

"But you made a lot of noise coming up the stairs," said Draco, smiling at last.

"That's better," Harry said, "I like it when you smile."

"I'll try and do a lot of it while I'm here, then," Draco replied. "How was Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said, answering the question Draco was really asking, "McGonagall said of course all old students are welcome to help, and they'd be able to find you a school wand you could use. We're working in pairs, so I suggested you could work with me, just to avoid animosity from anyone else."

"And 'cos you don't want to share me," Draco said, teasingly. He stood up. "I'm going to have to clean myself up before dinner, I suppose."

"Right. Um, Kreacher showed you where everything was?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. You'd better go and talk to Weasley and Granger, I'll be down soon."

"OK," Harry said, making a mental note to work on getting Draco to call his friends by their first names. He could probably order him to, he thought; but that wasn't the point, really. He'd need to rope the others in to solve this one, he decided.

* * *

A bottle of elf-wine went surprisingly well with the thick beef and vegetable stew that Kreacher had prepared for dinner. The Aurors on duty had excused themselves, saying that the Minister had had a little word about eating inside not really going with maintaining constant vigilance. Harry grimaced at the words, remembering Alastor Moody saying them rather too well. Even if most of the memories he had weren't actually Mad-Eye at all, but Barty Crouch Junior polyjuiced as him … It was all rather confusing, really.

So it was just the four of them, seated at the kitchen table. Harry noticed that, while the conversation wasn't exactly free-flowing, the other three were at least trying to be friendly. He knew they were doing it for his sake, and he appreciated their effort.

"So, how do you rate Draco as an opponent, Ron?" Harry asked. A very strange expression came over Ron's face before Harry added, "At chess, I mean."

"Oh," said Ron, as the sickle dropped. "A damn sight better than you, I'm afraid!"

Harry and Hermione both laughed.

"That wouldn't be hard," Harry admitted.

"How do you rate Ron, Draco?" Hermione asked the blond.

"Weasley is a formidable opponent," Draco said, politely. "We seem to be quite evenly matched. It made for a most entertaining game."

Ron looked a bit shocked to be complimented by a Malfoy, and even forgot to tell him off for using his surname, like Harry had asked them to.

But Hermione didn't.

"You know you can use our first names, Draco?" she reminded him. "After all, we are all Harry's friends; I hope we'll all be friends too!"

Draco stared at her. _Could she really mean it?_ He asked himself.

"That's very kind," he began.

"It really isn't," Ron interrupted. "It's just what being a friend is."

"But – I nearly poisoned you;" he turned to Hermione, saying "my family tortured you;" then to both of them. "Can you really forgive me for that?"

Ron folded his arms and stared at Draco for a moment, a stern look on his face. Then he opened his hands.

"Yep," he said, grinning, and extended his hand to Draco.

Draco looked at it, stunned, and then shook the hand vigorously. Hermione got out of her chair, came over to him, and squeezed him in a tight hug.

Harry thought it must be the light getting to him; his eyes were suddenly watering a lot …

Kreacher's voice broke in on the scene. "Would young masters and mistress be wanting some Spotted Dick and custard?"

* * *

They sat in the drawing room after dinner, all feeling rather full after two helpings of pudding each. Pig arrived back, carrying a small parcel in reply from Doge, which Harry quietly pocketed without comment.

Draco had brought some books on house restoration spells from the Manor, and Harry and he were poring over them, discussing what needed to be done to Grimmauld Place, with Ron adding suggestions from time to time and Hermione being their scribe, writing a list of what they intended to do. As Kreacher appeared with coffee and chocolates, Harry suddenly remembered their discussion from the morning.

"Kreacher," he asked, "I thought we were going to have treacle tart this evening?"

"Kreacher is very sorry Master Harry!" the elf wept. "Kreacher is forgetting!"

"No, no," said Draco, "it's my fault. I asked Kreacher if his Spotted Dick was as amazing as ever, and he told me I'd have to decide for myself. And may I say, Kreacher, that it certainly was; your cooking has only improved over time."

"Thank you, Master Draco!" Kreacher said, his eyes shining.

"And thank you, Kreacher," Harry said. "We can always have treacle tart another time; but I'm very pleased that you made Spotted Dick to help Draco feel at home. I hope he will be staying here for a long while."

"As long as you want me, Harry," Draco replied.

"That's good," Hermione said. "We've promised Molly to spend some time at the Burrow before we fly out, so we thought we'd go over first thing tomorrow for the day, and stay there tomorrow and Friday nights."

"Fine," said Harry, "Draco and I can make a start on the renovations here, and then go over to Hogwarts in the afternoons."

"Is Draco going to help then?" Ron asked.

"Yes, apparently I'm welcome," the blond replied.

"That's brilliant!" Ron said, grinning widely, and then looking a little taken aback at Draco's rather surprised expression. "I mean, it is, right?"

"Yes," said Draco, breaking into a smile. "I just didn't ever imagine you would think so."

"Of course!" Ron replied. "It's just what being a friend is, remember."

It was Draco's turn to wonder if perhaps the light had suddenly become a little brighter …

* * *

_Thursday, 21 May 1998_

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily wondering where he was, as one does when waking up in a strange bed. The room was pitch black; casting Lumos and Tempus he found that it was two o'clock in the morning.

Why had he woken up?

And then he heard it: a very faint moan.

He remembered that sound. It was Harry. Much fainter than last time, but definitely Harry. _He must be having another nightmare_ , Draco thought, and leapt out of bed. Gathering a dressing-gown around him, he wandered over to the other man's bedroom.

"Harry?" he asked, tentatively. There was no reply, so he tried the door. It wasn't locked; so he opened it quietly and slipped in. As he did so, he could feel a Silencing charm that Harry must have put up; as he went through it, he found that in fact Harry wasn't moaning, he was yelling. Anything less would never have made it through the charm.

"HARRY!" he yelled, racing over to the bed. There was no point being subtle in the face of the other's screaming. Harry was thrashing and getting caught up in the bedclothes, which was obviously distressing him even further. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around the raven-head, who seemed unconsciously to accept this as a friendly gesture; he began to calm down, and the screams became mumbles and pants, and then sobs as Harry nestled against Draco's chest.

"Shhhh," Draco said, softly. "It's all right. Shhhh."

After a while, the sobs subsided, and Harry's breathing returned to normal. Draco kissed the forehead of the, amazingly, still sleeping man.

"Let's get you sorted out," he said, speaking mostly to reassure Harry that he was there, he hadn't gone anywhere, and Harry needn't worry about him moving away.

He unwound the sheets and blankets from Harry and laid him carefully down on the bed, then pulled the covers over him again. Remembering how Harry had wanted him last time, he got in next to him and cuddled him tight. Harry unconsciously rolled over and mirrored the gesture, and it was not long before they were fast asleep in each other's arms. The rest of the night passed in restful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up quite early. He looked around; there was no-one else there. Had he only dreamt the feeling of Draco in bed with him then?

He got up, put on dressing gown and slippers, and descended to the kitchen to see if there was a cup of tea to be had. On the way he paused at Ron and Hermione's door; he was greeted by the sounds of gentle breathing and not-so-gentle snoring; his friends were obviously still fast asleep.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs he could see the back of Draco's head. The blond was sitting there, happily chatting to Kreacher about the times he had visited Grimmauld Place before. Harry hung back at the door, watching. He was tickled pink to think that here was the pure-blood Draco Malfoy having a natter with a house-elf. He couldn't imagine Draco's parents doing such a thing!

It wasn't long before Kreacher noticed him.

"Master Harry!" he greeted, "Master will be wanting some tea!"

With which, he jumped up and began to rustle around in the kitchen.

Harry sat opposite Draco and looked at him closely. The blond had washed his face, and his eyes shone from the water; but he was tired underneath.

"I didn't imagine it, did I?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Draco asked, a bit stumped; most people tended to start the day with 'Good morning'; 'I didn't imagine it' was, to say the least, an unconventional opening.

"You came in. I was having a nightmare, and you came to me."

Draco's face fell a little. "I didn't know if you'd want me there when you woke up. We didn't discuss your friends or anything …"

"Oh Draco, you don't have to be ashamed here. I'm so thankful you came in last night, I was getting terrified …"

"What was it about?" Draco asked, and then mentally kicked himself for being so insensitive, as Harry's face fell as he remembered the scenes that the Auror's innocent words had set off in his head.

"Mad-Eye Moody. I'd rather not discuss it, if that's all right," he said.

"Of course," Draco agreed.

They sat for a minute in silence. Harry's tea floated across to him, and he added a spoonful of honey before continuing, "You know, Draco, I think you're the first person who's ever been there for me like you were last night. Until that night in the Manor, I can't remember anyone seeking me out and comforting me at all, never mind cuddles in bed."

Draco went rigid, visibly shocked. "What? But you grew up with Muggle relatives, didn't you?"

"My aunt and her family," Harry agreed.

"And she didn't comfort you when you hurt?" he asked, scandalized at the thought. His mother would still check up on him even now if he made any noise at night, he was sure of it.

"Not once. Often enough, she caused the hurt. It would have been hard to have cuddles in bed, though. I didn't even have a bedroom before I went to Hogwarts; I slept in a cupboard."

Draco was outraged to hear such things; he'd always assumed that the Boy-Who-Lived would have been treated like a king; he certainly would have been in wizarding circles as the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, and the presumed cause of Voldemort's disappearance for over ten years.

Who put a child in a cupboard? Who treated their own flesh-and-blood with such coldness? It chilled his blood, and he couldn't bear to hear more just now; and while Harry looked like he was holding it together, Draco, who had watched him closely for years, could tell he was ready to burst into tears. The blond stood up, walked around the table to Harry, and circled him with his arms, holding his head close to his own chest, brushing the hair with his hand.

"Oh, Harry," he said, "I'm so sorry …"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Harry said, though it came out rather muffled. He pulled Draco onto his lap.

"Yes, I do," Draco replied, looking at him seriously. "I left your bed because I was afraid of what the others might think. I didn't think at all about what _you_ would think. I'm sorry, Harry," he said, kissing the other's forehead, and then moving to sit on the chair beside him.

"Forgiven," Harry, sniffling, assured him.

Two plates of bacon and egg floated over from the cooker, one plate settling gently in front of each of them.

"Thank you, Kreacher, this looks magnificent!" Draco said.

"Than' 'oo, Kreacher," agreed Harry, the words having some difficulty forcing themselves around the mouthful of breakfast he had taken.

* * *

They had finished breakfast and Draco had even had time to shower and dress before there was any sign of the other two. Ron poked his head into the drawing room and found them consulting over the list Hermione had made, discussing exactly where to start.

"Morning!" he called to them. "Hermione will be down in a minute. Um, any chance of breakfast?"

"There _was_ plenty before we started," Draco answered. "We did save you a little," he dead-panned.

"WHAT? A little?" Ron squeaked, and rushed to the kitchen.

Harry dissolved into a fit of giggles. "You've got his number!" he said, as soon as he got his breath back.

"Oh, it's always been clear that Mr. Weasley is fond of his victuals," said Draco, in his best upper-class pure-blood voice, rather ruining the effect by then bursting into giggles himself.

They heard Hermione going down. After a minute, silence descended, so the two of them wandered down to the kitchen to see what was going on. Ron was sitting in front of an enormous plate filled with bacon, eggs, sausage, tomato and beans; Kreacher was obviously well-used to his appetite as well.

Hermione, who had decided she didn't particularly want a big breakfast, had a plate of toast and marmalade in front of her. "Thank you, Kreacher," she said with a brilliant smile.

Kreacher gave the other two some more tea, and, as the two late-comers finished their breakfast, they all sat together in a companionable silence which lasted until Hermione had emptied her plate.

"How did you sleep?" she asked Draco, as Ron was finishing his breakfast.

"Oh, quite well, thank you, once I managed to fall soundly asleep," he replied, truthfully if rather careful to be exact.

"Oh, sorry you had trouble falling asleep," Hermione continued, her voice concerned and motherly.

"Oh, strange house and all, you know," Draco said, wanting desperately to avoid the topic altogether. "You mentioned something about flying out? I think Harry said you were going to Australia?"

They discussed the whole going-to-Australia plan with him. Draco was very impressed to learn that Hermione was capable of putting such a powerful memory charm on her parents; and he was amazed to learn that they were flying, not on a broom or through magical means, but in a Muggle aeroplane. Privately, he thought this was a truly insane idea; but, in the interest of being friends, he kept that opinion to himself and expressed an appropriate polite interest.

Not that it would have mattered much to Ron what he said. The red-head burbled away happily about the plane they would be travelling on – he seemed to have found out everything: its weight, number of passengers, range … Harry mused that the Weasley's youngest son had definitely inherited some of his father's fascination with all things Muggle.

But Hermione noticed that Draco wasn't really interested. "Now, Ron, we must get over to the Burrow; you know what Molly's like, she'll be wondering where we are."

"Don't be silly, 'Mione," Ron said. "She's not expecting us till lunchtime."

"Yes, but Harry and Draco wanted to make a start on renovations, and they don't need us under their feet while they do that."

Ron could see there was no arguing with the witch, so he caved in and they Flooed to the Burrow just before ten o'clock.

* * *

Harry and Draco had a very happy and profitable couple of hours, and by lunchtime the basic spellwork they had planned out had been laid. Harry could feel that the house was somehow more stable than before; it felt more solid, in a way he could not identify. Draco explained that it was more his magic settling down and tuning to the house; he was becoming truly its owner.

After lunch, they consulted with the Aurors, who confirmed that they were quite safe at Hogwarts without an Auror guard, and that under the terms of Draco's probation, Harry could take Draco with him wherever he wished; they would even turn a blind eye to side-along apparition if Harry preferred. But, while he definitely would have preferred, Harry did not want to take any risks, so they Flooed to the Headmistress's study.

"Ah, Potter! Malfoy! Welcome!" Minerva said. "Right on time, too, I see. You must be having a good influence on Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy; he was never on time under his own steam that I recall…"

"Oh come now, Professor," said Harry, deliberately using her former title to bring back memories of schooldays, "I did get to class on time once or twice …"

"Yes, Potter," she replied, with mock severity. "But that was largely Miss Granger's doing I suspect."

Harry laughed, and gave up. He wasn't going to win; he had not expected to get the better of Minerva McGonagall, anyway.

"What will we be doing today, Headmistress?" Draco asked, a little hesitantly. He didn't have the relationship that Harry had with his former head of house; so felt rather left out of the banter, and somewhat awkward.

The Headmistress must have sensed this, because she smiled at him kindly before saying, "You'll need to report to Professor Flitwick in the Great Hall; we're all working under his guidance. He will brief you."

They thanked her, taking this as a cue to leave, and turned to the door.

"Oh, and Malfoy?" she called after them.

The blond turned back towards her. His face was blank, but he couldn't read her at all, and it made him very nervous. Without showing it, inwardly he was concerned to learn what she would say now.

But she just smiled. "Welcome back," she said, warmly.

* * *

In the Great Hall, several helpers were just finishing lunch, and Professor Flitwick was seated on an enormous stool that managed to bring the tiny wizard almost up to Draco's shoulder.

"Ah! Potter! Malfoy! Welcome!" he twittered in an excited voice. "Now! I have been waiting for you two to turn up! I want you to start work on a very special project! Come with me!"

With that he leapt from his stool; for a moment, Draco was afraid he would hit the ground and break something. But Filius Flitwick was not Charms Professor at Hogwarts for no reason! His Levitation charm, wordless and wandless, kept him well off the ground, and he floated out through the entrance hall. He was fast! Harry thought, as the two of them struggled to keep up with him. They went up the Grand Staircase and through corridors, passing many wizards, witches and house-elves at work: rebuilding walls, patching the curtains, mending the paintings; everywhere there was work to do, and work being done.

Eventually they stopped in front of a portrait of a phoenix. As they arrived, the phoenix turned its head to scrutinize him; then, with what might have been a look of recognition, flew into the right-hand edge and vanished; it must have gone to some other painting. Harry was sure he'd never seen the painting before, though he thought he might recognize the phoenix; Flitwick confirmed both of these: "a new painting, in honour of Professor Dumbledore and Fawkes, his phoenix!" he exclaimed. A few moments later the former headmaster appeared in the frame.

"Welcome, Harry!" he cried, "welcome Draco!"

"Hello, sir," they both said, nearly in unison.

Their old headmaster beamed at them. "I'm not usually here, you know, this is more Fawkes's painting than mine; but I couldn't resist coming and greeting you, so I asked him to let me know as soon as you arrived. How are you getting on with the Debt?"

Harry and Draco both gulped at being asked such a question. What did the old wizard know, and how did he find it out? Draco wondered. Dumbledore turned a twinkling eye on him.

"I have many sources of information, Mr. Malfoy. Not to mention my own eyes, which tell me that you two are finally becoming friends. About time too. And I'm pleased to see you two setting such an excellent example of togetherness for the Wizarding world."

Harry was a little shocked. "Are you really happy for us to be together, sir? I mean, I thought you might think…"

"Harry," the headmaster interrupted, "I think that Mr. Malfoy is very special, as are you, and together you will help each other get over the past. And then you can help others to do the same. It doesn't matter a bit to me that you're both male; and anyone who says otherwise doesn't understand real love, my boy."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, choking over the words. Draco looked at him. Harry was so afraid of being judged for their relationship. Why? He wondered. What had happened to Harry that made him so lack self-confidence? Was it something to do with the Muggles?

The headmaster, who Draco was beginning to believe could read minds, looked at him, and nodded slightly, as if to say _yes, follow that thought._ But he didn't say anything to the blond, rather addressing the three of them:

"Very good. Now, I do _enjoy_ your company, Mr. Potter, _amongst other things,_ but now I must leave you in Professor Flitwick's most excellently capable hands." With that, he walked out of the painting, and Fawkes, for Harry could now plainly see it was him, reappeared.

"These are some old rooms we're going to start renovating as the Eighth Year Tower!" Flitwick squeaked. He looked sideways at Harry, his face suddenly very mischievous. "Do you think you can guess the password, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

Harry thought for a minute. Dumbledore had put an odd stress on _enjoy_ and _other things_ … what else did he enjoy? And then he remembered a note from his former headmaster, telling him he enjoyed …

"Acid pops!" Harry said.

Flitwick chortled, the painting swung open, and the three of them entered the new Tower.

* * *

They walked into a poorly-lit, dusty space. It was obvious that no-one had been here for years; Flitwick looked around and tut-tutted audibly.

"The house-elves were supposed to have made a start this morning," he said. "But perhaps they were busy with all their other duties. Never mind." Out came his wand and in about twenty seconds all of the dust was gone, and many of the interior walls. He then turned to the windows; soon they were standing in a huge octagonal space with a large window on each of the eight walls; through them, now that they were cleaned, sunlight streamed into the room, catching stray particles of dust as rays of light do. Harry and Draco were amazed; the room had gone from dark and dingy to light and spacious within minutes.

"Now we can begin!" Flitwick chortled happily.

"Um, well, I can't," Draco reminded them, "I haven't got a wand."

"Oh yes!" Harry said, pulling the parcel he had received from Doge out of his pocket. "I have this for you!"

He cast an Engorgio on the box, and handed it to Draco. It was a familiar shape and size ... _Could it be?_

Draco opened the box. It was. Inside was nestled his wand.

"I hope you'll get to keep it a lot longer this time!" Harry chuckled. "Doge agreed that if what I say goes, you can have your wand if I say so; and I do! So, now I'm giving it back to you again. For good, this time, I hope."

Draco looked at him, speechless, his eyes showing his gratitude and thanks.

They spent the afternoon happily cleaning out the rooms. Flitwick had cast some stupendous enlargement charms and then left them to it; they had never realized during school just how powerful the tiny wizard was, but seeing his levitation and enlargement charms today, they agreed that his charmwork really was second to none.

By six o'clock they had the new quarters actually looking like a dwelling place, rather than untidy space. The large common room, at the base of the Tower, was coming into shape nicely; they had chosen to decorate it in rather muted colours, weaving together the colours of the four houses, and were about to start work on the rooms above when Flitwick reappeared.

"Excellent! Excellent!" he said, clapping his hands. "Lovely charms to make the colours! Time to finish for today! Come for lunch tomorrow, please, and we will discuss the upper floors then."

They happily agreed and returned to the Headmistress's office to Floo back to Grimmauld Place for dinner. McGonagall was there, having returned from her own meal.

"Ah, there you are. It's nice to see you two looking happy," she said to them as they came in. "Did you have a productive day, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco still felt he didn't quite know how to deal with the Headmistress, so answered politely, "yes thank you, ma'am."

McGonagall looked at him rather sternly, then her face relaxed a little, and she said, in the gentlest voice he had ever heard her use, "Draco, you don't have to be afraid of me; I don't bite, you know. Here, have a cookie."

She levitated her cookie jar to him.

"Take one," Harry whispered at him. "It's a sign she's pleased with you."

Draco did, and said "thank you. Um, yes, we did work together well, I think. We worked together repairing Harry's house this morning; I think we make a good team."

Harry smiled in agreement. McGonagall, watching them, compressed her lips in the slightest of smiles. _In more ways than one, I suspect,_ she thought.

"Well, enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Oh yes," Draco said, "Professor Flitwick invited us to come for lunch first."

"Excellent!" McGonagall replied, with real warmth. "So, we shall see you around midday then."

* * *

Kreacher produced a lovely steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, and then at last, with many an apology from the old elf, the promised treacle tart. Draco proclaimed it to be excellent; Harry didn't have to, his opinion was obvious from the fact that he only turned down a third helping because he was afraid he would burst.

They sat reading together in the drawing room after dinner; but it was not long before the effort of all the spellwork they'd done during the day caught up with them, and they went off to bed.

As they got to their landing, Draco took his courage in both hands. He so wanted to move their relationship on; but was Harry ready to go further?

"How about you don't use a Silencing charm tonight?" he asked.

Harry looked dubious. "But that's not fair; if I have a nightmare, I'll disturb you."

"Harry," Draco said, looking at him earnestly, "if you have a nightmare, I want you to disturb me. I want to help. You've always been the saviour, our knight in shining armour; can't I be yours in this? You deserve so much comfort, let me give you some?"

"You care that much about me?"

Draco looked at him; he just couldn't quite find the courage to say the words …

Harry smiled. How could he resist that face, that devotion? "All right. I won't use a Charm."

Draco felt his courage ebbing away, so dug his fingernails into his palms to make himself go on. _Say it!_ He told himself. "Unless of course we just start off together …"

In the middle of the night, Harry had another nightmare about Remus. But it never got going; the arms that surrounded him immediately, the voice that soothed him, calmed him back to sleep before he even fully woke up …

In the middle of the night, Draco at last found courage to say the words.

"I love you, Harry."

"Mmm," Harry said, but he was only responding to the voice, not the words. The raven-head didn't hear; he was fast asleep. But it didn't matter; the words had been said, and they were true, and Draco astonished himself to have been able to say them out loud.

* * *

_Friday, 22 May 1998_

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He was still being held by the arms of the man he –

Did he? Really?

_Yes, I do,_ he thought.

He loved Draco Malfoy.

He must have disturbed Draco; for as he watched, the grey eyes fluttered open.

"Morning," the blond said, slowly, lazily.

Harry didn't speak at first. He captured those lovely lips in a warm kiss; Draco quickly responded, clutching Harry tighter, and as Harry nipped Draco's bottom lip he opened his mouth and their tongues came together, slowly and sweetly tasting each other, saying so much with no words.

As they broke apart, needing air, Harry finally replied.

"Morning, lover."

"Really?" said Draco, his eyes ablaze with excitement.

"Well, I love you. And you love me. Don't you?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't bother saying anything in reply; instead he tipped Harry onto his back and plastered his face, his neck, his chest, everywhere he could reach, with kisses. In truth, he probably couldn't have answered with words. All the doubt, the uncertainty, the fear, the waiting, it was all over, gone.

He loved Harry.

Harry loved him.

What was there to be said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As always, my grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster._
> 
> _And to all who have newly subscribed, welcome!_
> 
> _And to all my lovely readers, please, please leave comments._
> 
> _**ruth_lily** : No problems yet, but then Flitwick has kept them by themselves ..._
> 
> _**lets_shine_forever :** Sorry, no smut yet, but I don't think you'll have long to wait! :^) _


	20. Pledges Given and Returned

**20\. Pledges given and returned**

_Friday, 22 May 1998_

For breakfast that morning, Kreacher made pancakes, and Harry happily drowned them in maple syrup as always. But before he could eat any, Draco cheekily reached out his fork and sliced off a piece. Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Draco took advantage of this to feed the sliver of pancake to his lover.

Now, Harry loved pancakes, especially with maple syrup; before today, he would, if pressed, probably have said that they rated as his favourite breakfast. But now he knew better. Only now did he discover that his favourite breakfast was being fed pancakes in maple syrup by his lover. Of course he couldn't resist returning the favour, and they continued happily feeding each other all through breakfast.

And as it is hard enough to navigate drowned pancake into one's own mouth without dripping syrup everywhere, neither was surprised that they had made rather a mess of each other's faces by the time they had finished.

"Ugh, my lips are all sticky now," Draco complained.

"I can help you with that," Harry said, sidling up to him.

"Go on, then," said Draco with a smirk.

Harry didn't need any more encouragement; he kissed his lover, and licked away all the stickiness. Draco returned the favour happily, and they sat together embracing one another and kissing long after all the syrup was gone.

Kreacher, looking on, smiled happily to himself. He hid it well, but he had a sentimental streak in him; the sight of the Black heir and the Black descendent enjoying one another's company so intimately, completely oblivious of his presence, gladdened his heart, and he snuck quietly away to his den in the boiler room so as not to disturb them.

* * *

Harry's house-repair spells came on faster and stronger than before; by lunchtime, the whole of the ground floor was starting to feel much more solid. Kreacher came out of his den and cast an appraising, and appreciative, eye over the restoration. He joined in the work, madly polishing and cleaning, until the whole ground floor was almost unrecognizable as the same house. There were still Mad-Eye's protective spells and the portrait of Walburga Black to deal with; though Harry realized that the old Black matriarch hadn't yelled at them since Draco had arrived. When he mentioned this, Draco told him he had had a quiet chat with her when he arrived, and assured her that he would keep a good eye on the house while he was there. This seemed to have calmed her considerably, which made life a lot more pleasant for all of them.

As well as things were progressing, the spells and portrait would have to wait for another day. As agreed with Professor Flitwick, they Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch. As they arrived in the Headmistress's office, a thought occurred to Draco; and, emboldened by her kindness from yesterday, he plucked up the courage to ask,

"Forgive me, Headmistress, but Blaise said he received a letter from Hogwarts and I was wondering …"

"Why you did not receive one?" she finished for him.

"Exactly," he agreed.

She smiled at him. "Mr Zabini only received a letter asking him if he intended to return; we have not yet made formal offers. There was no need to send either of you such a letter; you are required to attend by the Ministry, and Mr Potter has confirmed his interest verbally. You will each, of course, receive a formal offer, in due course." As she said this, she looked kindly at both of them; but, as her eyes fell on Harry, her expression changed to a knowing smile.

"Something to tell me, Potter?" she asked, in the closest thing to a casual voice Harry had ever heard her use.

"Um…" Harry said, looking blank. "No?"

Draco smirked. "You mean, apart from having a lover?" he prompted.

Harry went very red. It simply hadn't occurred to him to discuss his love-life with his old housemistress! But apparently there was something that made it very obvious that he and Draco were now together.

"Quite," said the headmistress, giving Draco an appreciative look, a look that said, 'he's such a duffer; you and I need to take good care of him'.

It was the first time Draco had ever felt any kind of warmth specifically directed at him from his former Transfigurations professor; it was an amazing feeling for a former Death Eater who was, to tell the truth, still a bit surprised that people weren't spitting at him openly, rather than enlisting his help and taking him to their hearts (and, in Harry's case, his bed).

He gave her a look back, which said, 'I promise'.

"Very good," she said to him, accepting the unspoken pledge. "Enjoy your lunch!"

* * *

There were only two long tables set out in the Great Hall, instead of the usual four; to make the point that they weren't in houses, Draco supposed. Harry sat down at once opposite Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas; after a tiny hesitation Draco sat next to him. He was the only Slytherin present, and felt it.

He schooled his face to the slightly disdainful look that had served him so well during school, and greeted them with a curt nod each. "Longbottom; Thomas," he said, something of his old bravado coming through.

But Neville obviously didn't believe the self-assured tone for a minute. "Don't worry, Draco," he told the blond, winking as he passed the blond a basket of bread rolls, "we won't bite!"

"Not hard, anyway!" Dean added.

"Dean!" Neville said, admonishingly. "Don't be like that, we're all friends here. Did you get that red mark removed from the blue tapestry?"

Neville and Dean went on to discuss the restoration work they had obviously been doing together. Draco, glad to have been relieved of the duty to converse, withdrew into himself just a little. He was a bit stunned. Was this really Longbottom? Where was the nervous, anxious, gangly boy? Where did this self-assured, attractive young man come from?

Harry must have picked up on his thoughts because he leaned over and whispered into his ear, "you know Neville killed Nagini, right, Draco?"

Draco turned to look at him with slightly widened eyes; he hadn't known. Just as quietly, he asked, "Is that why he's … um ..." He couldn't find words to articulate his surprise, but Harry understood.

"Yes. What with that, and he and George Weasley getting together, his confidence has been boosted no end."

_Wow,_ Draco thought. _George Weasley and Neville Longbottom? Never saw that one coming!_

"There you are! There you are!" Flitwick twittered, coming over to them. "I hope you are enjoying your lunch!"

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Draco answered. The Professor was floating along again, which put him at head-height with the seated workers. Draco was rather ashamed to think that he had found the tiny wizard comical, now that he had seen him duel during the War, and his charmwork yesterday. Small, he may be; but there were few wizards who could match him for magic, Draco suspected, and he certainly wouldn't want to try himself.

"Come, come, Mr. Malfoy, your face is too serious. I won't have my workers frowning! We must set you to work!" Flitwick said.

Draco smiled in spite of himself. The enthusiasm was infectious, and he was looking forward to spending the afternoon working with Harry in any case.

* * *

Once they were back in the Eighth Year Tower, Flitwick swore them to secrecy before revealing his plans for the accommodation.

"Here it is! Here is my baby!" he said, conjuring a table and unrolling a huge blueprint showing his very intricate and ingenious idea. "And I can't think of anyone better to bring it to life than you two!"

The staff had decided that, since the students were that much older than the others, and all of age, it would not be appropriate to house them dormitory-style, but rather in two-person rooms. Flitwick had planned four towers, each containing four bedrooms, arranged with two bedrooms and a shared bathroom on each of two floors. This provided convenient accommodation for thirty-two students; and each tower could easily be doubled in height if necessary, or even whole extra towers added if required; but as they only expected nineteen students to return, the proposal would comfortably house all of them and provide an extra tower of accommodation for visiting students. Flitwick explained that ever since since the Triwizard Tournament there had been considerable interest from both the Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in establishing a reciprocal programme of student exchanges; and the interest had only increased since Voldemort's defeat. Privately, he admitted, he thought that having the Destroyer of Voldemort at the school was definitely a huge draw-card. But nothing had as yet been finalised.

Draco gasped as he pored over the design. It was sheer brilliance. The spellwork had all been plotted out and calculated precisely; all they had to do was follow the instructions.

"You really want me to be part of making this?" he said.

"Oh yes, Mr. Malfoy! I have great faith in your charmwork! And think of the message that you and Harry creating this place in concert will send to our society – that even former enemies really can work together, and achieve wonderful results!"

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said with difficulty, barely holding back tears. He found the trust the man was showing in him almost overwhelming.

Flitwick looked at him carefully. "Yes, well, I think you are well able to do the job, so I'll leave you to it." He levitated the blueprint over to the wall, where he placed it with a Sticking charm so that it would be readily available as a handy reference without the risk of anyone spilling anything onto it. As he was leaving, he pulled Harry down to his mouth and whispered into his ear, "take care of him, won't you."

"Oh yes, Professor, I promise," Harry replied.

* * *

At four o'clock, they were busy working on the top rooms when they heard a small voice from the common room two floors below.

"Young masters is wanting some tea?" it called.

"Yes, please!" Harry yelled back, and they both raced down to the common room. There they found Winky the house-elf laden with a huge tea-tray, replete with fruit tarts and scones with jam and cream, which she placed on the table Flitwick had conjured. She was looking around, blinking huge and obviously astonished eyes.

"Young masters is doing miracles!" she said, with great warmth. "Professor Flitwick is being very pleased with young masters, Winky being certain!"

"Thank you!" said Draco. Harry was a bit busy to say anything; he was ravenously hungry, he had discovered, and was already halfway through his second scone as he stirred his tea with one hand, the other holding the other half-scone.

"OI!" Draco twitted him, "leave some for me!"

"You'll have to be quick!" said Harry, placing the half-eaten scone into his mouth and reaching for his third. But he didn't get it; Draco levitated the plate away from him and grabbed it himself.

"Hah!" he said, taking a bite from his prize; but then softened the moment as he reached over to feed his lover the remainder.

Harry decided that being fed scones by Draco for afternoon tea was every bit as good as being fed pancakes for breakfast by him.

Winky smiled at them. "Young masters is being very happy!" she squealed. "Winky is pleased! Headmistress McGonagall is asking Winky to make sure young masters is all right!"

Then the elf started, and put her hand over her mouth. Harry guessed she wasn't supposed to say anything, and he knew he couldn't let her punish herself; especially as he thought it was really quite sweet that McGonagall was concerned about them.

"It's all right, Winky," he reassured her. She had been the Crouch's house-elf and dismissed from service, which had hit her hard; she had become addicted to butter-beer, he remembered, but she seemed to be getting over it. "And how are you? You look like you're doing better than before."

"Thank you Master Harry Potter!" she answered. "Winky be happy to be being of service! Winky fought in the Battle, and killed a werewolf, and even Kreacher be saying how well Winky be doing to do so, and how it making Winky be a proper house-elf again." She puffed out her chest in pride. "So now Winky showing everyone she being a good elf!"

"You are an excellent house-elf," Draco confirmed, "and if you promise us more scones and pastries, I'll let everyone know!"

Winky nodded, ecstatic at such praise, and vanished with a pop. She didn't come back herself, but an enormous plate of sweet treats appeared, which they munched on during the rest of the afternoon.

Harry looked at his lover, shaking his head. "Shameless," he said.

"Oh absolutely," Draco replied with a wink as he picked up an apple turnover, "but it works!"

* * *

By six o'clock they were sitting, exhausted, in armchairs they had conjured. The first of the four towers was structurally complete, and they had made a start on the magic foundations for the second. Flitwick came in, and they started up guiltily. He waved them down.

"Please, don't get up; everyone knows you have been very busy, Winky has been extolling your praises to us all for the last two hours! You sit and rest while I go and see how you have done, and what the design looks like."

He looked around, making noises of delight at everything he saw. He came to the staircase up to the first tower, and examined it closely.

"Excellent! Beautiful work!" they heard him exclaim to himself before he floated up the staircase into the completed tower. Harry decided they must have dozed for a few minutes, for it only seemed seconds later that Flitwick returned, clapping his hands with glee.

"Magnificent!" he said. "It is every bit as good as I had hoped! Perhaps even more special! And your progress is astonishing, truly astonishing! You will have all the towers finished in a week at this rate, and I had allowed four weeks to build them! Now, you must tell me, which rooms will you have?"

"We get to choose our own room?" Harry asked, taken aback.

"But certainly!" the older wizard answered. "It is only a fitting reward for such excellent work as this!"

"Can we be together?" Draco asked. It wasn't clear if he was asking Flitwick or Harry; possibly both.

"Yes, please, Professor, could we have the top room facing over the lake?" Harry asked.

"Of course!" Flitwick answered, smiling, making the one answer do for both questions. He swished his wand, and on his blueprint a legend appeared in an ornate box drawn beside the corresponding room:

_* Mr Harry James Potter  
* Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy_

"Now, we can finish here for the day. And for the week as well!" Flitwick continued. "I hope you will have a most pleasant weekend, gentlemen! We will see you on Monday, yes?"

"Of course, Professor," they both said, together.

* * *

That night, as they lay in bed, Harry was concerned at how tense Draco seemed to be.

"Turn over, love," he said, as he undid the blond's pyjama buttons and removed his top. Draco, surprised, wondered what was going on, but complied nevertheless; Harry Accioed some oil from his bedside cabinet, and rubbed his lover's back, using his thumbs to massage deeply up and down his spine. Draco began to moan softly as his muscles unknotted and the tension he was feeling began to melt away.

"Oh, Harry" he murmured, "feels so good …"

"What's worrying you, love?"

Draco looked round at him. "You're really OK with all this?"

"All what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Working with me, being seen at Hogwarts with me, committing to spend the whole school year sharing a room with me. Can you imagine what the _Daily Prophet_ will have to say when they find out about it?"

_Oh_ , Harry thought. It just hadn't occurred to him that any of this was a big deal; he didn't really care what anyone else thought. But of course Draco had been schooled his whole life to consider how everything he did would look to other people, so it was second nature for him to be worried about what others would say about their relationship. And, of course, to worry about how Harry would react, and whether he would want to continue.

But Harry Potter had never walked away from anything yet. People had accused him of lying about Voldemort; hell, he still had the scars from Umbridge's quill telling him _I must not tell lies_ , when in fact he never had. Well, not about Voldemort, anyway. He hadn't given up when they were all against him then, and he certainly wasn't going to now when his heart was on the line. And he knew Draco needed to hear that.

"I'm not going to give up on you, Draco," he assured the blond. "I love you. I wasn't sure before, and I'm still worried about keeping our relationship honest and not being dictated by the Debt; but I am sure now. Having you in my life is something I want, and I don't care two knuts what anybody says about it. And having you in my bed is one of the most wonderful things that's ever happened, and I want you here. Always."

Draco looked at him, unable to speak for emotion, his eyes glistening with tears. He rolled over onto his back and drew his lover down into a deep kiss, as his hands ranged down the broad back. He broke the kiss, his tongue ranging down Harry's cheek and neck, happily sucking and kissing as the other wizard drew sharp breaths of pleasure, while his fingers found, and quickly undid, the buttons of Harry's shirt. Once they were all undone, Harry took his shirt off and threw it to the floor, then put his glasses on the bedside cabinet out of harm's way for good measure.

They lay together, skin to skin, kissing and rubbing each other. Harry found every scar on his beloved, and smoothed it over with his oily hands. Last of all, he kissed all the way down the Sectumsempra scar.

"You remember I forgave you, right?" Draco said when he had finished.

"Yes," said Harry, but Draco, staring into his eyes, didn't quite believe him.

"Let me show you," he pleaded, slipping his hands inside Harry's shorts. Harry didn't resist, so Draco slipped them off him altogether. He took a little of the oil onto his own hands, and then began to stroke Harry’s cock gently with his right hand, his left hand tickling his balls. 

Harry tried to reciprocate, but Draco wasn't having it.

"Just lie back," he insisted. "This is about you, Harry. You need to know how much I forgive you, how much I just want to bring you pleasure …"

As he spoke, Harry did as he was commanded, lying back and closing his eyes. In his turn, he began to moan at the feeling of being touched so gently, so lovingly. His cock quickly grew rigid under Draco’s tender ministry, and the blond picked up the pace until Harry groaned aloud in warning, then came. As he did, Draco bent down and kissed him, long and lovingly, and Harry, overcome by the moment and the love being shown him, drifted off to sleep.

Draco smiled. He found his wand and whispered a Tergeo to banish the evidence of their love-making, and then cuddled the sleeping Gryffindor in his arms.

* * *

_He was standing in the new Tower, in their new room, when he heard an all-too familiar voice._

" _So, freak!" the hateful voice broke into his sleepy mind. "You think you deserve a room of your own, hey? Why would anybody, even one of those other freaks, waste a nice space like this on you? Get back in your cupboard! That's all you deserve!"_

" _No!" Harry cried. "I don't have to! I have my own house and my own lover! You can't control me any more!"_

_But the pig-eyed man just laughed at him. "Yes, and your lover is a man! You queer! We'll have to beat that out of you!" he said, raising the riding-crop in his hand._

" _NO!" Harry yelled "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

"HARRY!" he heard, as warm hands shook him awake.

"Wha'?" he said, still groggy with sleep. "Where am I?" And then, with surprise, "I'm naked!"

"Hush, Harry, you're here, we're in bed together, I love you, you love me, and you had a nightmare." Draco assured him. "What was it this time?"

"Vernon," Harry said, shuddering at the memory of his uncle.

It was obvious that Harry didn't want to talk about it. Draco decided they would have to, soon, but not now. And since Harry was concerned about being naked, he slipped his own shorts off so they were both nude together, and held Harry tight.

By now, Harry had remembered where he was and what had happened, and he smiled at his lover. "Thank you for waking me," he said; the 'and stopping the nightmare' wasn't said, but Draco heard it anyway. Draco kissed him, a silent promise to be there for him, always.

"I seem to remember I owe you something," Harry continued, caressing Draco's cock.

"Mmmm…" Draco said. Harry kissed and licked his nipples while continuing to stroke, and Draco quickly became rock-hard. "Oooh, that's nice. Oh … Oh ..." Wanking had never felt this good; the warmth and strength of another's loving hand round his member made him see stars, and he came in Harry's hand.

"Thank you," he whispered. And then Harry, without wand or word, cast Tergeo himself. Draco gasped. There was none of the rough feeling he'd known whenever people had cast cleansing charms on him before; Harry's charm was like being wiped with silk. It was yet more proof of how much he loved him.

"Oh Harry," he moaned in ecstasy, clasping his lover tightly to his chest, and they both fell at last into deep sleep untouched by memories of the past.

* * *

_Saturday, 23 May 1998_

Kreacher's voice rang out, far too early as far as Harry was concerned. A Tempus told him it was seven o'clock. On a Saturday morning. Why did he have to get up?

"Master Harry! Master Draco! Masters must come quickly! The Muggle-born mistress has being Floo-called to say she is coming in an hour! Masters must get up!"

"WHAT!" Draco yelped, leaping out of bed, obviously heading for the bathroom to bathe and dress.

"Stop!" Harry yelled just before he left the room. Draco turned to him, and he looked Draco up and down, "I didn't get a proper look at you last night."

Draco reddened a little, feeling a bit like a specimen on display.

"You're gorgeous," Harry cooed, "and also, you didn't give me a 'Good Morning' kiss."

Draco's heart melted. He went back to his lover and kissed him, nipping him gently, licking those sweet, lovely lips. Harry's mouth opened and their tongues meshed as their arms wrapped around each other.

But sadly, there was the business of the day to attend to; and Draco had always been brought up with 'business before pleasure', so reluctantly he pulled away from the embrace.

"Best not let Granger see us like this," he said.

"Hermione," Harry reminded him. But he did have a point: they were both naked, and if his expression was anything like Draco's, it was all too obvious what they had been doing.

"Hermione," Draco agreed, accepting the correction, then left the room.

* * *

They just made it. As they sat down to ham and eggs, bang on eight o'clock, the Floo in the drawing room two floors above them gave that familiar in-coming noise, and they heard voices calling them.

"Hermione, Ron, George, and Neville!" said Harry, surprised at so many visitors so early.

"It's an invasion!" Draco answered, mock-serious.

Harry smiled at him, and then yelled up the stairs to the others, "We're in the kitchen!"

They heard stomp, stomp, stomp down the stairs and suddenly they were surrounded by the noise and laughter of four very happy people.

"Now why are you four here, and so happy this early in the morning?" Harry asked; though he suspected he could guess.

"WE'RE ENGAGED!" all four of them yelled excitedly at the same time.

"What, all four of you together? Two brothers and two others?" Draco asked.

George burst out laughing as Ron went bright red. "NO, NO!" He yelled. "Hermione and I are engaged to each other!"

"And George and me," Neville continued; George was laughing so hard at the expression on Ron's face that he was unable to speak.

The noise level increased as Harry and Draco rose to congratulate them all, with hugs and kisses for Hermione, and hugs with manly handshakes for Ron, George and Neville.

Hermione proudly showed off an exquisite ring. Draco looked at it appreciatively. "White gold, with topaz," he said, approvingly, "it tones with your hair beautifully. An excellent choice, if I may say so."

Ron beamed at this praise. They asked to see his ring; he blushed and said he didn't have one, being a boy; Hermione pointed out that he was a bit traditional like that.

"He proposed to me in the arbour at the Burrow last night," she said, with a dreamy, soppy look in her eyes that Draco managed, with difficulty, not to giggle at. "Said that he'd always wanted me and would I be his forever?"

"'Course she said no," George said. He got murderous looks from Ron and Hermione, but unrepentantly added, "he can only have her till death, remember? _Forever_ is a bit long…"

"Do you like our rings?" Neville asked, sensing that things were going a little awry. George was a great prankster, but his sense of humour wasn't always a good thing. It wasn't really the time to talk about death …

"Let's see them," Harry answered, and the two men happily showed off two very simple, classic pieces. George had rose-gold, toning with his skin and hair, with a single ruby; Neville's ring was silver with a sapphire, matching George's stone in cut and setting.

"Beautiful," Draco pronounced.

"We're very happy for all four of you," Harry said.

George looked at him fixedly.

" _We_?" He said. "Speaking for both of you, then, little brother? Is there something you want to tell us?" And then, as Harry didn't answer but just went redder, "are you two boy-friends now?"

Harry giggled. "I can't imagine calling Draco my boy-friend," he said, and indeed Draco looked scandalised at the thought. "But yes, we've decided we are lovers."

"Oooh!" Hermione squealed, and now it was Harry and Draco's turn to be engulfed in congratulatory hugs, kisses, and handshakes.

* * *

It turned out that Hermione and Neville had not breakfasted yet, and Ron and George, being Weasleys, were very happy to keep them company while eating, so Kreacher was made very happy preparing mountains more ham and eggs for the men, toast for Hermione, and a seemingly endless supply of tea for all of them. Once they were comfortably fed, Ron and George began a discussion about the upcoming Quidditch match between Norway and Bulgaria. Harry was surprised that such things were still going on, but on reflection was glad that the War hadn't stopped other countries from enjoying themselves.

"Do you think Britain will be competing next year?" he asked.

"Don't see why not, the preliminaries aren't for another few months," Neville answered, and with that the discussion got going in earnest.

Quiddltch really wasn't Hermione's thing, and it was obvious that she felt a bit left out of the conversation; so Draco suggested that the two of them resume reading the books he had brought from the Manor. But when they got to the drawing room, they sat in settees opposite each other and he confessed he really wanted to talk about something else.

"I'm glad I've got you alone," he said. "I want to know how you've been coping with Harry's nightmares and if there's anything I should know to help him with them."

Hermione looked at him blankly. "Nightmares?" she asked. "The last I heard about was one he had on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Has he been having more?"

"Every night I've been here," Draco answered, becoming worried. If Harry hadn't had nightmares until he got there, did that mean that Draco was causing them? Was his presence at night somehow upsetting his lover?

Hermione's face echoed his concern. "What have they been about?" she asked.

"Let's think." Draco answered. "Wednesday was about Moody; Thursday … we didn't talk about, but I think he mentioned something about Remus … last night, Vernon. Who is Vernon?" he asked.

"His uncle, Vernon Dursley," Hermione replied. "He treated Harry something shocking; but he never talks about it."

Remembering the vision he had had on the morning of Snape's funeral, Draco asked, "Is he an obscenely fat man with little eyes like pigs'?"

"Yes," said Hermione, surprised. "Have you met him? Or did Harry describe him to you?"

"No to the first, and definitely not the second," Draco said. "He hasn't said very much about the past to me, either; but I think that has to change."

"Oh Draco," she said, "if you can get him to tell you about that, that would be amazing. He doesn't tell anyone about it. He thinks it will hurt us so he keeps it all bottled up inside, causing him pain."

But then she shut up like a trap; and turning, Draco saw why, as Harry came into the room.

"Here you are!" he said brightly. "We've finished discussing Quidditch; sorry to be so dull." He looked at them in turn and asked, "am I interrupting something?"

"No, no," Hermione said, but too quickly.

"I am, aren't I?" He looked at Draco. "What's wrong? You're not thinking of leaving are you?"

_Why did he ask that?_ Draco thought to himself. In fact, he had wondered if he should go, to save Harry from having further nightmares. Best to be honest, he decided.

"I'm concerned about your nightmares, Harry. Apparently you only have them when I'm with you."

Harry grabbed him, hugging him tightly. "Don't you dare leave!" he said, his voice tinged with fear. "I couldn't bear not having you here!"

_This is new_ , Draco thought. "I told you, Harry, I'm here as long as you want me."

"Then you'll never leave," Harry said, decisively, forcing a smile onto his face. Draco smiled in return.

"Hm-hm," came Ron's voice behind them, and it occurred to them that perhaps they were being a little too intimate for company. Harry let go of Draco and sat beside him on the settee.

"Mum's having a big party tonight," Ron said, obviously making an effort to avoid being embarrassed. "To celebrate two engagements and one mission of mercy."

Harry and Draco looked blank at this, so Hermione added, "that's our going to fetch mum and dad."

"Will you both please come?" Ron continued.

Harry looked happy, but Draco was rather unsure. "Um, do you really think I'd be welcome?" he asked.

"Mum had some invitations made up last night when we told her about the engagements," George said, pushing Ron into the room as the red-head had been inadvertently blocking the door. "When we told her you and Harry were here together, she specially made this one for you," he continued, handing Draco a card of very stiff, formal white parchment, beautifully engraved in the deep crimson ink customarily used by pure-blood families to invite people they respected to share happy occasions.

  
_Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley_  
 _Have great delight in requesting_  
 _the pleasure of the company of_  
 _their cousin-in-blood and companion-in-magic_  
  
 _Draco Lucius Malfoy_  
  
 _At a party to celebrate_  
 _the engagements of their sons_

_Ronald Bilius Weasley, to Hermione Jean Granger,_  
 _And_  
 _George Fabian Weasley, to Neville Francis Longbottom_  
  
 _6pm, Saturday, 23 May 1998, at The Burrow_  


Draco was stunned. In this simple act, the Weasleys had told him that he was welcome in their family too. For he knew very well that 'cousin-in-blood and companion-in-magic' was the oldest, most formal, pure-blood formula; the Weasleys would not have asked him like that unless they really wanted him to be there.

Here was a chance to bury once and for all the tedious "blood-traitor" nonsense that had dogged their lives. To refuse such an invitation was unthinkable. There was only one thing to do.

He turned to Ron and asked, "May I borrow your owl?"

"Sure," Ron answered, "Pig loves taking letters, don't you Pig?" he asked, turning to the tiny owl, who was sitting on the stand next to the window, preening himself.

The little owl hooted at him excitedly, while Draco made his way to the writing desk, took up a quill and wrote out his reply. As was required by custom, he was careful not to make his writing too beautiful, so that it would be clear he had written it out himself, rather than using magic. He chose the slightly less formal short form of reply, which would show that he appreciated their gesture but did not intend to stand on ceremony.

  
_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_Sends warm greetings to_

_Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley_

_And accepts with pleasure their kind invitation_  
 _to this evening's celebration._  


He rolled up the letter, and Pig, after dancing maniacally, let him attach it, and then flew off to the Burrow.

"Right," he said, smiling. "I'm coming!"

"Brilliant!" Ron said.

Draco stared at him. Ron held his gaze, then, answering the unspoken question, said, "Yes, I really think so. You and Harry are obviously happy together, and seeing my friends happy is a great joy. And mum will be pleased too."

"She will!" Hermione agreed. "And thinking of Molly, we'd better be getting back to the Burrow to help. We've already been gone longer than we said; we only came over to tell you two the news and make sure you came tonight."

With that, she shepherded the three men into the Floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster._
> 
> _**ruth_lily** , I hope this lives up to the high bar you have set me!_


	21. Returning to my Father’s House in Peace

**21 Returning to my Father's House in Peace**

_Saturday, 23 May 1998_

* * *

_Last time:_

" _Right," he said, smiling. "I'm coming!"_

" _Brilliant!" Ron said._

_Draco stared at him. Ron held his gaze, then, answering the unspoken question, said, "yes, I really think so. You and Harry are obviously happy together, and seeing my friends happy is a great joy. And mum will be pleased too."_

" _She will!" Hermione agreed. "And thinking of Molly, we'd better be getting back to the Burrow to help. We've already been gone longer than we said; we only came over to tell you two the news and make sure you came tonight."_

_With that, she shepherded the three men into the Floo._

* * *

"Mum!" Draco echoed Ron's word, having a sudden shocking thought. "I haven't told mother and father about us!"

"Do you really want to?" Harry asked, a little surprised that Draco would want to tell his parents about his love life.

"Of course!" the blond replied, in a tone that made it clear that he thought the question ridiculous. "After all, word will get around; do you want them learning we're together by reading about it in the _Daily Prophet_?"

"Good point." Harry agreed; then, deciding that some things needed to be done in person, asked, "How about we see if we can visit for lunch?" Draco smiled in reply; it made him happy to learn he had such a thoughtful lover. He reached over and kissed him.

"Kreacher!" Harry called; when the house-elf appeared he asked, "would you go to Malfoy Manor and ask Mrs Malfoy if it would be convenient for Draco and me to come for lunch, please?"

"Of course, Master Harry! Right away!"

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius found it very convenient to have Harry and Draco to lunch; Narcissa, at least, was delighted; Lucius was a little cooler and harder to read, but he was at least polite and friendly. It was a beautiful day, and so they decided to eat in the garden, which Harry found much less intimidating than the formal rooms of the Manor.

"How have you been getting on, Dragon?" Narcissa asked Draco.

"Very well!" Draco replied, his eyes darting between his mother and his lover. He explained that they had been working together at Hogwarts on the Eighth Year Tower, but had been sworn to secrecy about the details.

Lucius looked at him strangely. "How have you been doing that without a wand?" he asked.

In answer, Draco produced his hawthorn wand. "I've been using this," he said, simply. "Harry gave it back to me. Again."

Lucius looked at Harry, horrified. "But … he's not supposed to have it before term begins!" he said vehemently. "You're risking imprisonment!"

"No," Harry replied, "I wrote to Doge about it. Now that Draco is staying with me, the Wizengamot has agreed that the second part of his probation can begin straight away, without waiting for term to begin; so Draco has permission to have his wand if I allow it. Which, of course, I do."

"You are a wonderful friend to our Dragon, Harry," Narcissa said.

"Actually, mother, he isn't," Draco said, an evil smirk on his face. Both his parents looked a little dumbfounded at this. "No; we've decided we aren't friends any more, haven't we Harry?"

 _Oh great,_ Harry thought. _I get to tell them._ "Um, well, still friends, just more as well."

"You're boyfriends?" Narcissa asked.

"Lovers," Draco corrected her. "'Boyfriends' sounds so … twee."

Lucius took in a sharp breath. He hardly knew what to think. All of his old misgivings about the Debt had immediately surfaced again; and he really didn't want to think about what his son did in bed. But on the other hand, Draco looked happy; happier than he had in years. If they found peace and happiness together, was the Debt really a bad thing? It was obvious that Draco was being treated well by Harry; better than well, if Potter had given him his wand back. _Back again_ , as Draco had said.

 _Perhaps_ , he thought, _Harry really does love him. Perhaps this can work._ And then, because he was, after all, the Slytherin of Slytherins, _perhaps we can make it work for us …_

He lifted his glass, breaking into his first real smile for the day. "Well then, a toast to the happy couple!"

* * *

After that, lunch had been a very pleasant meal. As befitted dining in the garden, it was an informal affair, consisting of platters of bread and cheese and meats, with some olives and dolmades, and a variety of other small treats. Most of them Harry had never seen before, and Narcissa took great delight in introducing him to them, explaining what each one was, and how best to eat it.

The wine Lucius had toasted them with was a different elf-wine to the one Harry had had before; he asked about this.

"The elves make many different wines, Harry, just like the Muggles do. This one is lighter than the one I gave you; more suited to a party out-of-doors during the day, don't you think?"

Harry agreed, enthusiastically. Draco watched his lover carefully; he knew Harry wasn't used to alcohol, and Lucius was; they were having a very lovely time, all at peace together, and Draco wanted to make sure it stayed that way. So when Harry emptied his glass, Draco spelled it full of water before it could be filled with more wine. Harry looked at him quizzically; Draco mouthed 'trust me' at him.

Harry thought about this, and worked out what his lover must be up to. A delicious feeling of being loved and looked after began to draw over him. As he sipped on the water, he found it had a very refreshing, floral flavour to it.

"This is very pleasant, too," he said, surprised by the new flavour.

"It's elderflower," Draco told him. He eyed the raven-head carefully. Harry had obviously had a sheltered upbringing: no alcohol, no exotic foods, not even elderflower cordial, a drink easily made from flowers that grew wild just about everywhere in the south of England. Just exactly what had happened in Harry's childhood? How badly had those people treated him?

"Still a favourite of yours, Dragon, after all these years?" his mother said, her teasing tone breaking into his reverie.

Draco just smiled in reply, but decided it was time to change the subject. "We should have some more toasts; this evening, we are going to a double engagement party."

"Oh how lovely!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Whose?"

"Ron has finally plucked up courage to ask Hermione," Harry answered.

"And what did she say?" said Lucius. But he was only teasing, too, and grinned to show it. "And the other couple?" he asked.

"George Weasley and Neville Longbottom", Draco answered, in quite a matter-of-fact tone.

Harry held his breath. What would the older Malfoy say about this? He thought about what Vernon Dursley would say, and had a picture of his angry face going redder and redder, his voice yelling about 'filth' and 'disgusting' …

But Lucius maintained an absolute composure. "An interesting match," he said, in a tone to match Draco's. "I should imagine that Longbottom must have matured somewhat, after killing Nagini," he continued, shuddering at the remembrance of the awful snake he had lived in fear of for so long. He had been very impressed when he learnt that the boy, whom Draco had always described as 'a bit wet', had had the courage to do what none of the Death-Eaters had dared. "From what you tell me of them, Dragon, I imagine he'll need to have some maturity to be mated to one of the Weasley twins!"

Harry breathed again. It seemed that the wizarding world really was prepared to accept same-sex matches that much more readily than the Muggle one. And he was amazed at how close to the mark Lucius had been in summing up his friends; but then, he had to be good at sizing people up, it was essential in politics.

The conversation continued happily, but it wasn't long before the two young men had to excuse themselves; they did have a party to get ready for, after all. Narcissa insisted on them taking presents for their engaged friends and some flowers from the garden for Molly. Lucius produced more elf-wine for Harry, including some bottles of the one they had had at lunch. Harry said that it was very kind, but he hadn't finished the last lot yet. "You will, soon enough," Lucius replied, and insisted on him taking it.

And so they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, laden with gifts. Harry was glad for once that the Ministry insisted on protection; Auror Brown, who had accompanied them, had happily carried the wine for him; there was an entire case of a dozen mixed bottles this time.

"Now we had better go to Diagon Alley," Draco said, as soon as everything had been put somewhere safe and the flowers given water.

"Why?" Harry asked; he had planned on spending the afternoon being rather lazy, preferably cuddling in bed with his lover.

"Because," Draco answered, "we are going to a double engagement party this evening, and we have not got presents!"

"Point," Harry answered, reluctantly giving up his idea of a lazy afternoon, and returning to the Floo.

* * *

They emerged from the Floo into Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes to find that Seamus and Dean were minding the shop, the twins and Neville being required to help set up for the party. They were both delighted to see Harry, and while Seamus didn't look pleased that Draco was there, Dean smiled at him.

"I hear you did great work yesterday," Dean said to the blond, while Harry took Seamus aside for a quick word.

"Really? Who said …" Draco started to ask, but was interrupted by the reply.

"Winky! She was so excited! 'Mr Harry Potter is being doing wonderful magics! And Mr Draco Malfoy is too! And so kind to poor Winky!'" Dean said, in a fair imitation of the house-elf's high-pitched voice that had Draco grinning; and Harry, too, as he and Seamus finished their chat and rejoined the other two.

Seamus came up to Draco. "Harry's told me you two are together," he said. He didn't look too pleased at the idea; but seemed to have accepted it anyway. He offered Malfoy his hand. "So I guess we'll all have to get along, yes?"

Draco looked at him for a moment, just to not seem too hasty; then accepted the hand, saying, "I guess we will."

And if it wasn't quite the happy friendship Harry wanted Draco to have with all his friends, it was, at least, a good start, he thought, as they left Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes to go and do the shopping they had actually come for.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, Harry decided, was an incredibly efficient shopper. They had left the Manor a little before two; by three thirty, they had returned to Grimmauld Place with gifts for the two couples, two of which had been made specially, and also half-a-dozen things for Teddy Lupin as well. When Draco suggested it, Harry had felt guilty for not thinking of it himself (of course) but Draco had scolded him (of course), smacking him over the head with the set of magic self-stacking blocks they had bought, and told him that he knew perfectly well Andy would skin him alive for saying it. Harry accepted that yes, Andy would have hollered if she wanted him; Draco told him that she certainly did so enough to Narcissa, who visited her sister most days.

To assuage Harry's guilt, though, Draco did suggest they went and visited for afternoon tea. Harry was a little shocked; he rather gathered that Draco had never visited Andy precisely to avoid being shouted at, so he felt a little shy about forcing him into the situation. But Draco insisted; and Andromeda was delighted when Harry Floo-called to ask if they could come over.

"Of course, Harry. But you say 'we'; who else is coming? Do you still have to have an auror?"

"Um, yes, but actually, I meant Draco."

"Draco Malfoy is coming? To my house? Willingly?" Andromeda replied, a little taken aback. She'd rather gathered that her nephew was more than a little afraid of her.

"Yes, he suggested it," Harry answered, not quite sure why she'd asked.

Andy's face broke into a smile. "Then you're both very welcome. Come at once."

* * *

"Draco Malfoy, let me look at you," his aunt demanded.

Draco did, standing quite still while she inspected him. He was still not quite sure about her; but if Harry and he were together then he was going to have to get used to Andromeda and Teddy. It seemed, though, that he passed the inspection.

"Well, young man, I am very glad that you have come over," she said. "You are, of course, welcome to come to my house whenever you like. As is Harry, but I should hope he's worked that out by now."

"Thank you," said Draco, a touch mechanically; but Andromeda could see that he was coming to terms with the idea of an aunt who wasn't terrifying, as Bellatrix had been, or to be snubbed, as she had been. So she smiled at him, gently, and offered them tea.

It seemed that Narcissa had already told her about the engagements, and the party; Andromeda was careful to make it clear she did not expect a long visit. They sat happily together, the two boys passing

Teddy from one to the other for cuddles. The baby was delighted; he started up a lovely game of changing to match whichever of the two was holding him. Draco was very proud when his cousin's hair went silver; he tickled the little boy, getting a pretty giggle for his efforts.

"He's very advanced for his age," Harry remarked.

"Of course, he's a Black," Andromeda said. Seeing Harry look blank, she continued, "Black family babies have always matured very quickly, Harry; and Metamorphmagi too. He might be barely two months old, but he's probably developed as much as any normal six-month-old baby. I remember Dora was a nightmare around his age! She was already starting to crawl, could do it properly by three months. Ted was amazed at her development, wanted to write it up, but of course I forbad it. You can't use your own family as experimental subjects!"

They gathered that she hadn't been told about their relationship; Narcissa had obviously felt that was for them to do. They'd been there for half an hour when she put her head on one side, thoughtfully; the sickle had obviously dropped.

"You're together now, aren't you?" she asked.

"Is it really that obvious?" Harry asked.

"When you know what to look for, yes," the witch replied, with a smile. "I'm very happy for you; though I shall have to have a word with my sister for keeping such things from me."

Draco looked at her, mystified. "I'd been so frightened of you," he confessed, "I thought you'd hate me. But I think I missed out on a friend."

Andromeda smiled, her heart warming to this boy who'd never really had loving family beyond his parents. "Not entirely," she promised, "we'll just have to be good friends from now on to make up for it."

Draco couldn't help himself; he hugged her. And he found himself crying as she hugged him back.

"Not a word to anyone," he admonished them both, ashamed to have been a cry-baby in front of his aunt.

"I understand," Andromeda replied, her eyes twinkling. "Malfoy men don't cry, do they Harry?"

"What? Oh, no, never," Harry agreed, cottoning on just in time.

* * *

They returned to Grimmauld Place at twenty to five. Harry privately thought they were cutting it a bit fine, given how long Draco could take to get ready; but the blond astonished him this time. A little before half-past five, he was all done and groomed, and Harry thought they were ready to go.

No such luck.

"No, Harry, you can't go to a proper Wizarding party in t-shirt and jeans, even if you do put robes over them," he said, spelling Harry's clothes off him. He found the clothes he had lent Harry for Lucius's trial, beautifully cleaned and wrapped, hanging at the back of Harry's wardrobe; Kreacher had of course put them there, and Harry had of course forgotten all about them. He started to apologise for doing so, but was promptly cut off.

"If I'd wanted my clothes back, Harry," he scolded, "I would have asked for them. I knew perfectly well where they were, and you weren't going to lose them or damage them."

"You sound just like your aunt," Harry complained, pouting. But Draco only laughed. He'd come a long way, he realized, going from being afraid of Andromeda, through befriending her, to accepting being compared to her.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was dressed to Draco's satisfaction, so that by ten to six they were quite ready to leave. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, and gasped.

"OK, I admit it," he said, "you have incredible taste and style, Mr. Malfoy"

"Thank you!" Draco said; but Harry wasn't finished.

"Of course, everyone can tell that; you picked me …"

"Twat!" Draco said, slapping his arm; but there was no heat in it. Harry remembered the slap at the Lupins' funeral; while he had needed that, he was grateful they'd moved on from there.

"Shall we go?" he asked. And they did.

* * *

"Harry! How lovely to see you! And Draco, welcome!" said Molly, rushing to pull them away from the Floo and wrapping them both in a huge hug. Harry could feel his lover stiffen; he wasn't used to such exuberance. Harry rubbed his back and whispered, "relax" as he kissed Draco's ear; the blond put his arm across Harry's back, evidently taking strength from him, and smiled at his hostess.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh fiddlesticks!" Molly said to him. "Don't you go 'Mrs. Weasley'ing me, young man. You may call me Molly, since I'm sure you won't want to call me 'mum', which you're welcome to do if you're going to be with my seventh son here. Now, go out into the garden and have some champagne and enjoy yourselves. I'll be along presently, I just have to finish the canapés. No, Harry, I don't want any help, and you don't have to carry them, there's nothing wrong with my levitation charms as you very well know. Off you go and have fun!"

By the time Molly had finished speaking, which she seemed to manage to do without needing to draw breath, they found themselves propelled into the garden, where they found people chatting in groups on the lawn, with tables and chairs set up in a large marquee for those who preferred to sit. There was that lovely buzz made by a group of people, very fond of one another, getting together on a happy occasion.

Draco turned to Harry, still stunned by the greeting he had received from Molly Weasley.

"Is she always like that?"

Harry looked at him blankly. "Is she always like what?" he asked. "Oh, um, no, she's a bit preoccupied I think. But isn't she wonderful?"

Draco thought about that for a moment. He realized that a large part of his shock was that he simply hadn't expected such a warm, gushing welcome; his own family and friends would never behave in such a direct way. But why not? If it was sincere, and he was quite sure that Molly was, there was nothing wrong with it. He looked at Harry, whose face was glowing after the welcome. _He needs it_ , he realized. If Harry needed that level of comfort and physical interaction, it was no wonder he wanted Draco in his bed so badly.

He was shaken from his reverie by George and Neville bouncing up to them.

"Here, little brother, you can't stand there gaping like a fish," George told him, handing him a glass of champagne. Simultaneously, Neville handed Draco one, and gave him a smile.

 _Just a smile. A simple, plain, ordinary old smile_ , Draco told himself. But it wasn't. It was warm, and welcoming. A smile without guile. The smile of a man who knew his own mind, knew what he wanted, and was well on the way to getting it. The smile of a generous man who wanted those around him to be happy, and with a shock Draco realized that that included him. _Neville Longbottom actually cares about me!_ He thought to himself.

"Um, Neville," he said, in a casual voice that didn't fool anyone present, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you about …"

"Of course, Draco," the tall, dark, handsome man replied, easily. He pointed out an empty table in a quiet corner of the marquee. "Let's go and sit over there and chat."

Harry was surprised to see Draco drawn into the party so easily; he had been concerned that he would feel like a salamander out of fire, and want to stay with Harry the whole time. Not that there was anything wrong with having Draco by his side; but Draco feeling relaxed around Harry's friends was better still.

Harry wandered around the garden, greeting many old friends. He was glad to find out that the Creeveys had been invited – "very kind of Arthur and Molly to think of us," Mrs Creevey had said – and of course all of their friends from Hogwarts. Augusta Longbottom greeted him warmly, and asked him if he thought George and Neville would really work.

"Yes, I do," he answered, sincerely. "They seem very much in love, do you not think?"

"Yes," the old witch admitted, "yes, I suppose I can see that. I did worry that he was marrying a shop-keeper; but these old-fashioned ideas don't count for much these days. Frank and Alice would be proud of him, I'm sure, and that and his happiness are all that really matters, I suppose."

"Harry! Harry Potter!" he heard a voice call out.

Turning towards the direction of the voice, he spotted Ron and Hermione chatting to various people, including the elderly lady who had called. With a start, he recognised Great-Aunt Muriel. He'd seen her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, of course, but she hadn't seen him – he'd been pretending to be the mythical cousin Barny Weasley. But now the kneazle was out of the bag: she'd spotted him, and was bellowing his name at him. He groaned, and made his way over to the group.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" she demanded of Ron as Harry walked up.

"Oh, yeah, right," Ron said, as he remembered that Harry had been in disguise when they had met before. "Um, Great-Aunt Muriel, this is my friend Harry Potter: Harry, this is mum's aunt Muriel."

"Delighted to meet you, ma'am," Harry said, very politely, giving a small bow.

"Hmm," said Muriel, somewhat mollified by Harry's manners. "Well, Ronald, I'm glad to see that some of your friends know how to behave. I hope it rubs off on you."

Harry just managed to hold in the snort of laughter that rose as she said this.

"That's very kind," he said, gravely. He heard Hermione snorting, and dared not look at her; he was sure they would both fall about with laughter if he did.

"Well, of course I should be kind to you," Muriel said, somewhat grumpily. "After all, Rita Skeeter seems to think the world of you, so there must be some good in you. Even if you can't seem to groom yourself properly. Who did your hair like that?"

Harry was stunned into silence. _Rita Skeeter thinks the world of me,_ he thought; _since when?_ But the answer came easily enough – since he'd defeated Voldemort; she'd gushed about him. Muriel, he remembered, loved Rita's writing; she probably simply didn't remember that there was a time when the Prophet accused him of being insane, or evil.

Into the silence, a familiar voice broke. "I did," Draco said, coming forward and extending his hand. "Good evening. I'm Draco Malfoy and I'm delighted to meet you."

Muriel flinched slightly, looking as though he had challenged her with his wand, not an open hand.

"Draco Malfoy?" she all but shrieked. "I don't know how you dare to show your face in public, you, you …" Words failed her for a moment; not longer than that, unfortunately. "I read all about you in the _Daily Prophet!_ And saw that photograph –very suspicious, very suspicious indeed. Molly!" she did shriek now, looking around for her niece, "Molly! Oh there you are."

"Yes, Aunt Muriel?" said Molly Weasley, coming up to them quickly and looking very concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"What is this dreadful man doing here, and why isn't he in Azkaban?" she demanded in a loud voice. Everyone seemed to quieten at this; clearly, all ears were on the elderly lady, and the guests were all wondering what would happen next.

Something inside Harry snapped. He wasn't putting up with this from anyone. "He's here because he's my date, Great Aunt Muriel," he said, forcing out the name through gritted teeth as he fought to keep his temper under control. "He isn't in Azkaban because he doesn't deserve to be. He deserves to be honoured for his help during the Wizarding War, not yelled at and called suspicious. I'm sorry to say so, but not everything Rita Skeeter writes is the honest truth."

"WHAT?" Muriel demanded. "Molly, how can you have someone saying such things in your house? Where's Arthur, he should be here to take you down a peg or two, young man," she finished, glaring at Harry.

"There, there, Aunt," Molly said, soothingly, steering her to a chair. "You're getting a little overwrought. You just sit down for a minute and relax, there's a dear."

Muriel complained at being fussed over, but really she seemed happy to be the centre of Molly's attention; which is probably why she didn't suspect a thing as a gentle Sleeping charm was placed on her. Soon she was snoring quietly.

"Most peaceful she's been all night." George observed.

"George!" said his mother, in reprimand, but secretly she agreed. She turned to Harry and Draco.

"Draco, I'm sorry for my aunt's wicked old tongue. Harry, well done for standing up to her. But I'm afraid nothing is likely to change her view of Rita Skeeter."

"That's all right, Mrs – Molly," Draco assured her. "And elderly relatives misbehaving is just part of a family party, isn't it? Thinking of the party, Harry, being an engagement party, do you think we could ..."

"Oh!" said Harry. "Ron, Hermione, George, Neville, we found you these."

He fished a minute parcel out of his pocket and placed it on the table next to him. A quick Engorgio, without wand or words, produced four packages; he handed one to each of the four.

Hermione opened hers first, and gasped. In her hand she held a tiara, in filigree rose gold, set with topazes that matched her engagement ring, and rubies that offset them beautifully.

"That's amazing!" she said. "I'd expected a book, which would have been wonderful, of course; but this is the first piece of jewellery anyone but Ron and my parents has ever given me."

"Told you she'd love it," Draco whispered to Harry.

"We thought this would go with it nicely," Harry said, sheepishly producing another parcel and going rather red after Hermione's comment. The parcel contained (what else?) a book: _On Gemstones, their Meanings and Use in Magic_. Hermione, intrigued, started reading it straight away.

"'Mione," Ron said, interrupting her reading, "you can read that later. But the headdress is beautiful! Please put it on and show us."

She was not normally one for such girly things; but if ever there was a time for it, it was at her engagement party, so she did, and Ron Summoned a mirror. Hermione looked at her reflection in it; and for once she was speechless. But not for very long; it seemed that at some point the twins had got to that mirror, and tried out their Anti-Vanity Potion on it, so after a few seconds she gave a loud "Harrumph" as her face went green.

"Right, which one of you did it?"

"You wouldn't hit a man on his engagement party, would you?" George asked, cowering.

"Yes," Hermione said, menacingly.

"In that case, it was Fred," George said. The others burst out laughing.

"That's my fearless big brother!" Harry said, mockingly, and pulled the twins into an embrace to shield him, saying, "don't worry, I'll protect you!"

At this, even Hermione laughed.

Ron's present was a silver men's bracelet, with a single ruby made to look like a bludger, and a topaz fashioned into the form of a snitch. In his turn, Ron was speechless to be given such a thoughtful gift.

Neville's gift was easily the largest of the four; a rather rare wizarding plant, Snapping Heliotrope. Neville was beside himself, and pulled out a pen from his pocket, stroking the flowers, which responded by snapping at the pen, showing why the plant has its name.

"Heliotrope for devotion!" he said. "And snapping to remind me to watch out for George's temper! How appropriate!"

"Cheeky sod," George said, punching him gently on the shoulder.

"You love me," Neville said.

"I do," George agreed.

"And also these," Harry said, handing George and Neville two matching boxes, containing cufflinks made from the mineral heliotrope.

"Harry, these gifts are amazing," Ron said, "you must have thought about them for ages."

Harry could hardly keep a straight face. "Actually," he confessed, "Draco thought of them. I was thinking of some joke gifts, but he talked me out of it. He wanted you to know that we take your engagements very seriously, and," and here Harry turned to his lover, "you were absolutely right."

With which, Harry kissed Draco on the cheek, saying softly, "thank you, love you so much."

 _Is there no end to the soppiness today?_ Draco asked himself; but there were tears in his eyes too, as he smiled at them all.

* * *

The party was in full swing, and everyone was having a great time, when Ron, harking back to Muriel's earlier comment about Arthur, realised that he couldn't remember seeing him all evening.

"Mum," he asked, "where is dad?"

Molly let out a sigh. "Your father was called into an urgent conference with the Minister at four o'clock. Four o'clock on the day of your engagement party! It's a good thing I love Kingsley like a brother, I could cheerfully strangle him for that!"

"Oh, I hope not," said a deep voice behind them; and there was the Minister himself. He apologised to each of the guests of honour in turn: "I'm very sorry, Ron, Hermione, George, Neville, for stealing Arthur away on your special day; and to you too, of course, Molly. I hope it's in order for me to gatecrash the party to apologise?"

"Well," Neville said, speaking for them all, "not everyone gets the Minister for Magic gatecrashing their engagement party, so I'd say we're honoured, and happy to accept your apology."

At this point, a tray of drinks, levitated by Hermione, nudged itself against the Minister. Kingsley laughed, and took glasses of champagne, handing them around, and the conversations around the marquee started up again.

"Thank you," said Draco, sidling up to Harry and whispering in his ear, "for defending me against that spiteful old –"

"Draco," Harry hissed, "please! She is, but it doesn't do to say so."

Draco smirked, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"I did hear Harry right, didn't I?" a voice said softly behind him. "You're his date?"

Draco turned and stepped over to Ginny. She smiled at him, seeing for herself that it was true. "I'm so pleased," she said, surprising Draco as she wrapped him in a hug; _more soppiness,_ he thought, but in true he was starting to see that the Weasleys were an affectionate lot. In truth, he didn't really mind; but it was going to take some getting used to. "He needs you, Draco," she told him.

"Thank you," the blond said, hugging back, then letting go. He'd been told that already tonight; he was almost beginning to accept it. "I need him, too. But don't tell him, OK?"

"I think he already knows," she said, squeezing his hand. "Do you remember Fleur, from the Triwizard Tournament? She married Bill. Come and meet her cousins, they've come all the way from Paris and I think they find us a bit too suburban for their tastes," she continued, leading him away.

* * *

While Ginny was talking to Draco, Arthur and Kingsley surrounded Harry.

"Harry, we need to talk," Arthur said, with an urgent tone in his voice that told Harry this wasn't going to be a pleasant chat. His heart sank. Couldn't he have one night of pure joy?

"Can you come into the house please?" Arthur continued.

 _Apparently not_ , Harry thought to himself, gloomily. He nodded. "Is this about the meeting this afternoon?"

"Yes," Kingsley said, but it was clear that he would not elaborate further in public. With some reluctance, Harry followed them into the house.

* * *

Draco Malfoy could not remember a party like it. Despite not having a single one of his own friends there, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He thought back over the long conversation he had had with Neville; the boy who had always cowered from him had become a man who was now so easy with him, and they were, Draco felt sure, friends now.

Neville had happily told him all about the Battle of Hogwarts, giving him a new insight into the incredible bravery of Harry Potter and making him wonder all the more that Harry wanted him. But then Neville had said that bravery wasn't just big acts.

"Slapping 'the Saviour' when he needed it, that was brave, too, Draco," he had said. Draco had had no idea what to say, but Neville had sensed his embarrassment, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said simply, "Draco, you're OK, mate."

"Look after him," Neville had said, "You'll always have us to help, but you're really special to him; he needs you."

Ginny had taken him to meet Fleur's relatives, who very much appreciated being introduced to a handsome, well-mannered pure-blood; the Malfoy name was still highly thought of in France, it seemed. He had spent a very pleasant half-hour speaking to them in French, a language he knew well but rarely got to practise. Some of them were a little upset to learn that he was spoken for, to be sure, but they all agreed that he and Harry made a cute couple.

And now he wondered where Harry might be. He hadn't seen him since the episode with Muriel, he realised; he noticed that she was still asleep; either old age was catching up with her, or Molly had used a very strong charm. Probably both.

"Has anyone seen Harry?" he asked the company at large.

"I think he might have gone inside," Fred answered. "Come to think of it, so did Dad and Kingsley. I bet they've gone all serious. Go and find him, Draco, mate, and give him a big squeeze and tell him the cool kids want to see him."

Draco laughed. He could hear the fun in Fred's voice, but also the deep love and concern he had for his 'little brother'. He was learning that all of these people accepted Harry and loved him a very great deal; what surprised Draco was that they also accepted him, and recognised that he had a part to play in Harry's life. They saw that he was close to Harry in a way that they were not; and, incredibly, they seemed to be OK it, with not a shred of jealousy or bad feeling. And suddenly, he worked out what that really meant. As a Slytherin, he was always looking for an ulterior motive; but the Weasleys didn't have one. They loved Harry, they could see Harry loved him, and so, despite the blood battles of generations, despite his own actions and cruelty to them in the past, they forgave him; more, they loved him. And another realization astonished him.

Draco Malfoy was beginning to love the Weasleys.

* * *

As Draco went to go into the house to find the serious trio, Harry came out.

"Been missing you, love," Draco said, keeping his voice light. "The cool kids say they want to see you."

Harry snorted, remembering Fred using that term to Neville at the Lupins' funeral.

"That's funny," he said, "I thought I was the cool kid."

"Not," sang out Fred, as he, George and a group of others came out of the marquee, having decided to be close at hand when Draco and Harry emerged, "if you run away and hide with the boring old farts!"

"Fred!" his mother scolded, rather half-heartedly.

"It's all right, Molly," Arthur said, as he and Kingsley came out of the house. "We shouldn't have stolen Harry, and Fred has every right to berate us for it. Harry, don't worry, alright? We'll sort some things out tomorrow or Monday. But now, it's time to celebrate!"

Arthur winked at Fred, who whipped out his wand and waved it in an intricate pattern. From its tip, light came forth, then grew, and then became magical fireworks, shooting into the air, exploding in a riot of colours.

There were plenty of 'ooh's and 'ah's. A good deal more champagne was drunk, toasts given, laughs laughed.

At eleven o'clock, Aunt Muriel woke up with a start, and demanded to know what was going on. Bill went up to her, and told her it was the engagement party, and that she'd been having a wonderful time.

"Yes, yes, wonderful time," she accepted, still not quite with it as Bill offered to Floo her home.

"Thank you," she said. "Nice young man. Not like that silly whassisname, Potty character …"

"Now, now, Aunty, it's been a lovely party, don't spoil it," Bill said, jollying her along and getting her inside to the Floo. By a miracle, no-one else heard her nasty reference to Harry, and Bill managed to get her home and extricate himself back to the party without further incident.

At this point, Harry and Draco sought out Molly and thanked her for a marvelous party. Of course, she invited them to stay; but Draco assured her he could help Harry through the Floo, and suggested she didn't need them underfoot if Hermione and Ron were to get away in good time tomorrow.

Molly looked at him, her face showing she knew it was a polite excuse; but in truth, she accepted that he would be more comfortable without the whole Weasley tribe around him. So, to his great surprise, she kissed them both good-bye.

He was still in shock when they got home. Harry looked at him, concerned.

"All right, love?" he asked.

Draco grinned at him. "Yes, thank you. I've had a wonderful night. Let's go to bed."

And so they did.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Interested readers are invited to trace the chapter's title to its source for themselves._   
>  _Apologies for such a monster of a chapter!_   
>  _Grateful thanks to my beta, Bicky Monster, for help in sorting out the mess this started as!_


	22. Enemies Returning, Friends Departing

**22 Enemies Returning, Friends Departing**

_Sunday, 24 May 1998_

His plans were ripening nicely.

That oh-so-useful and resourceful Auror had spread about the rumour that he might use that imbecile Goyle, so the Ministry was wasting several Aurors on round-the-clock guard duty. But he had no such plans; he was not such a fool. Nor was he about to try to attack the house at Grimmauld Place; for one thing, he had developed a very healthy respect for Alastor Moody over the years, and since Mad-Eye had had a hand in the wards, he was sure that they would have some nasty surprises for a Death Eater.

No, his intended ambush location was hardly guarded at all; in fact, the Ministry had even weakened some of the wards for him. He smiled at this. His Lord would have been very proud of him. Of course, he had to bide his time; the place was set, but the date had to be watched carefully. He knew when it should be, of course; but relying on those who had betrayed the Dark Lord already was clearly a stupid idea. But he could watch, and wait; he would be ready.

The only problem he foresaw with waiting was that his confederates might be discovered. But Yaxley was an old hand; no-one knew enough for their capture to destroy the plan altogether. This was especially important, he knew, now that he had learnt of Snape's treachery and the potion he had brewed. That was a severe blow: it had taken months, but they had finally worked out how to defeat Veritaserum. The new potion rendered all that work useless.

He had warned his Lord repeatedly about Snape; Yaxley had always thought his loyalty was too good to be true. And he had a good deal of respect for his skills. He might have hated the old bat (and he knew perfectly well that the feeling was mutual) but the man had been a genius at Potions. He took very little comfort from the fact that his mistrust had been right: he would rather have been wrong, and his Lord not betrayed.

Still, he couldn't change the past; he would have to work to change the future. And a certain young man was in his sights. A certain young man with less than two weeks to live, if he had his way …

* * *

Draco woke early. Harry was fast asleep beside him, snoring gently. He gazed at his lover's face with fond affection, his mind going back to the morning just over three weeks ago when he had sat with a sleeping Harry on that chaise-longue back at Hogwarts.

How much had happened since then! He felt in many ways that he wasn't the same person any more; his life had changed more in the last three weeks than in the previous year. And very much for the better. He remembered that the person he was then had thought that Harry awake was a prat, and asleep was adorable. He smiled; Harry was never a prat, he knew that now. He was kind, and warm, and ferocious about his friends. But adorable? Yes, he still thought so.

He stroked the dark hair lovingly. Harry murmured in his sleep, but didn't wake up. The elf-wine and champagne seemed to have combined to give him a full night's sleep for once: to Draco's very great relief, there had been no nightmares last night.

A Tempus showed him it was a little after seven o'clock. It didn't really matter what the time was; Draco was wide awake now, and knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Harry, and went to have a shower.

* * *

At quarter past eight, Draco was sitting in the drawing room, considering the next round of renovation spells that would be needed for Grimmauld Place. When Kreacher had asked him what he wanted for breakfast, his mind had gone back to the evening before, remembering the delightful French ladies he had chatted to; in deference to the memories, he now sat eating a continental breakfast: drinking a cup of café-au-lait and munching his way through a plate of croissants with raspberry jam which Kreacher had been delighted to get for him.

He heard the chime of a Floo-call, and it wasn't long before Arthur Weasley's face appeared.

"Oh, Draco," he said. "Good morning. Is Harry about?"

"No sign of him yet, sir," Draco answered.

"Good heavens, lad, call me Arthur; everyone does. I wanted to discuss the security arrangements for this afternoon, when Hermione and Ron fly out. Will you be coming to farewell them?"

Draco started. "Um, we haven't discussed this; but I guess, if I'm welcome, I would like to," he said, only discovering as he said it that it was true.

"Oh good," Arthur said. "I must say, you do seem to be getting on well with my family. I'm very glad to see that, both at a personal level as their father, and politically in my position as the Deputy Minister. Actually, Draco, I would like a little word with you if I may. Do you mind if I step through?"

Draco was a bit taken aback. Did he mind if the Deputy Minister stepped through? Would he dare say 'yes, actually, I do?' Would **anyone** dare?

Of course not. "Please do, Arthur," he replied.

Arthur came through and smiled warmly at Draco.

"Can I get you anything?" Draco asked, suddenly conscious of his coffee and pile of croissants.

"Oh, some tea and toast would be very nice, thank you," he replied. "But please, don't trouble, I'll do it. Kreacher!" he called.

Kreacher appeared with the inevitable pop.

"Yes Master Weasley, how can Kreacher be serving?"

"Some tea and toast, please."

"Yes of course, Master Weasley. Would Master be wanting orange marmalade?"

"Yes, if there's some left."

Kreacher looked horrified, and answered rather indignantly, "Kreacher is knowing the masters love marmalade! Master Weasley, like Master Harry, is wanting thick-cut, and Mistress Weasley thin-cut! Kreacher is always making sure there is plenty of both!"

"Oh, I'm sorry to offend," Arthur replied, and Draco marveled at how easily the tone of a superior apologising graciously to an inferior came to him now, "it really is delightful that you take such care of us, Kreacher."

"Thank you, Master Weasley!" the elf answered, mollified, and popped away. Arthur sat opposite Draco, and they chatted about the party for a moment, until Kreacher brought what was, in fact, Mr Weasley's second breakfast.

"Thank you, Kreacher, that will be all for the present," Arthur said, kindly but firmly, and the elf bowed and left them.

"Now, Draco, I'm very glad you were acquitted. A good decision, I'm sure," Arthur began.

"Thank you, sir," said Draco, lapsing into formality at such a stuffy opening.

Arthur sighed. "I hope we can be friends," he said, to Draco's very great surprise.

"I'd like that," the blond confessed.

"Good. Then I'll try to avoid being stuffy, and you can try to avoid calling me 'sir', alright?"

Draco smiled. "Yes, Arthur," he said, trying the name for practice. It seemed strange, but he'd get used to it.

"Excellent!" Arthur replied, smiling warmly. "As I'm sure you remember, Kingsley, Harry and I had a long chat yesterday at the party. I got into a lot of trouble with Molly for that, by the way." There was a short pause; he was clearly remembering the trouble; rather ruefully, by the look on his face. "Did Harry discuss the conversation with you at all?" he continued.

"No," Draco admitted slowly, taking time to think back. "No, during the rest of the party he was just being friendly and chatting about nothing in particular; and when we got home we were both so tired we went to sleep almost straight away."

Draco didn't feel that Arthur needed to know what they'd got up to during that 'almost'. He was only just able to stop himself smiling at the memory; he was sure that Arthur would guess if he saw that!

"Ah," said Arthur, "I suppose that's a good thing, really, as we did him not to tell anyone. And I'm glad he's getting some sleep. The poor boy obviously needs it; anyone can see that. Though he did look a whole lot better rested, and quite a bit happier with himself, last night, which Hermione tells me is down to you."

"Thank you," Draco murmured, surprised three times: that Hermione thought so; and that she'd told Arthur so; and that Arthur would tell him. He might, he thought, be become more Gryffindor day-by-day (if that really meant anything), but he couldn't help that he still thought like a Slytherin; the habitual openness of Harry and his friends could still amaze him.

"Yes, we told him not to tell, which is important advice in general; but I do think we should tell you. Firstly because of how close the two of you are, and secondly because it does actually concern you rather directly. You see, we've learnt a bit more about Yaxley's plans."

"Yaxley's plans?" Draco echoed, becoming interested. As a former Death Eater, and the son of one, he knew that Yaxley being at large could spell trouble for everyone – even the Malfoys, if he viewed them as traitors. Which would be fair enough, he supposed; in Voldemort's eyes, they had been. And Death Eaters didn't really care about 'fair enough', anyway. They'd go after him for sport, even if they didn't have a better reason.

"As you can probably guess, the last week has been very busy at the Ministry, and especially for the Wizengamot, what with the Death Eater trials continuing all week. Fortunately, eight of them pleaded guilty straight off, which meant a great saving of time for everyone. Some of them tried to avail themselves of the Potter Code, to try to get a second chance; but the ones who had broken out of Azkaban got sent straight back anyway, which basically means they're all imprisoned, or kissed; except for Yaxley, MacNair, who has managed to evade capture this far, and Goyle."

"Goyle?" Draco asked, "Greg's father? What's happened to him?"

"He's shattered," Arthur answered, bluntly. "A broken man, sent home out of compassion. But he can barely speak now, and his magic is all but gone. He has two house-elves, I gather, and is being visited by Aurors daily to make sure he isn't getting up to mischief; but the main concern is that Yaxley might find a use for him."

"And Greg?"

"He's been remanded in custody for using the Cruciatus curse at Hogwarts; but I imagine he'll claim he was under orders from the Carrows, -"

"Which he was," Draco pointed out. They may not be on good terms at the moment, but Greg was still his friend, and Draco was determined to stick by him, even if that was not reciprocated. _Harry really is rubbing off on me,_ he thought, rather ruefully. But it was an unfortunate choice of phrase; the memory of last night, when that was exactly what had happened, came back again, and this time he couldn't keep from smiling.

Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be oblivious. "Yes, so he may get let off; but he hasn't come to trial yet. Anyway, in the course of testimony over the last ten days we have learnt a few things. It seems certain that Yaxley has an Auror, possibly two, working for him; we think he has an Imperius curse operating that the Ministry can't detect. You may remember it was Yaxley who managed to put Pius Thicknesse under the Imperius curse; that, I can assure you, must have taken some doing, as Pius was a very strong wizard."

"Was?" Draco asked.

"Yes, he fell apart after the Battle of Hogwarts when the curse was broken, and has been practically comatose ever since. The staff at St Mungo's have examined him quite closely; a vast array of very clever charms has been used on him, some of which hid the Imperius long enough for him to become Minister without suspicion. So if the same, or similar, charms are operating on Aurors, we'll need to work out how to detect and remove them. Which is taking time."

"Why are you telling me all this, Arthur?" Draco asked, mystified at the trust being shown him. "I'm a former Death Eater myself, after all."

"A _former_ Death Eater," Arthur repeated, adding his own stress. "Which is not by itself evidence of any crime, as the Potter Code insists, as of course you remember. And you have been acquitted of most criminal acts; the probation is more in the nature of a sop to the die-hards than a real punishment, I believe. But anyway, I'm telling you all this because it concerns you personally. Because the second important thing we've learnt is that you are most probably Yaxley's primary target."

"Me?" Draco said, aghast. "Why me?"

"We believe he is incensed with your mother. He knows, everybody knows, that she lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead; which, as Harry testified, changed the War completely. From what we can piece together, he practically worshipped Voldemort, is still fixated on him, and believes that he was the best thing to happen to Wizarding kind, and hates your mother with a great passion for betraying him. We're very much afraid that he's decided the best way to punish her is to kill you and leave her alive to grieve your death."

"Oh!" said Draco, horrified. He could see at once that this would utterly devastate his mother; in Death-Eater logic it made a perfect punishment for her. "Then I should leave here! I'm likely to draw them to Harry!"

Arthur's heart went out to the boy. He was pleased and surprised to hear that Draco's immediate concern was for Harry, not for himself. Proof that he really did love the man Arthur thought of as his seventh son. But if Draco wasn't concerned for himself, Arthur was. He was, he thought, growing to love the blond for himself, and not just for Harry's sake.

"On the contrary," Arthur assured him. "Firstly, this place is one of the most well-guarded wizarding houses in England – the Fidelius charm is shot to pieces, of course, but the wards are still the ones Mad-Eye and the rest of the Order put in place, and we've been strengthening them a lot since. And there are four Aurors on duty all the time – two hidden at the front door, two in the neighbourhood; and we have magical traces all over the place. And then Harry is a major defense all by himself. No, you're safer here than anywhere else. And you're not to worry about Harry. He has rather proven that he can take care of himself. He needs you, Draco, that's obvious to anyone who bothers to look. And I have to tell you, both Molly and I are enormously grateful that you're here for him."

Draco could hardly hold back the tears in his eyes; Arthur must have noticed, because he stood and opened his arms to the blond; the gesture saying clearly 'I'm a father figure for Harry, let me help you too'. And somehow, even though, as Aunt Annie had said, 'Malfoy men don't cry', even though physical displays were just not what Malfoys did, Draco found himself drawn in to the love the man was showing him. He stood as well, entered the embrace, and wrapped his arms around the older man, and to his deep chagrin found himself crying on his chest, as Arthur rubbed his back and made soothing noises.

It wasn't long after that that Harry poked his head around the door and found them still clasped together.

"Harry," Arthur said, warmly, and held out an arm to him. Harry came forward, and Arthur wrapped the arm around him as Harry wrapped his around the two men.

* * *

Harry had woken to an empty bed for the first time in days. He missed the warmth of his lover immediately; he was almost panicking as he threw on clothes hastily and raced downstairs in search of the blond. It didn't help when he found Draco in someone else's arms … There was a spike of jealousy before he recognised Arthur Weasley. "Harry," Arthur had said, in a voice filled with warmth and love, and Harry realised that his lover was crying in the older man's arms. His heart went out to his lover immediately as his panic deflated; he went over to comfort Draco, and found himself wrapped up in love by both men.

They stood together until Draco stiffened, and Harry knew that he was becoming embarrassed by the position they were in. He eased the two of them gently away from Arthur, kissed Draco's forehead, and sat with him on a sofa.

"Good morning," he said to them both. "Quite an unexpected pleasure to see you so early, Arthur?"

"I wanted to have a quiet word with you both before the excitement today," Arthur replied. "As Draco was up, I've filled him in about Yaxley."

Harry looked daggers at him. "I thought we weren't going to tell him?" he said, sounding rather annoyed.

"Harry, the first law of relationships is, don't keep secrets from one another!" Arthur told him, quite firmly. "It always leads to trouble. Draco, and his family, are directly concerned in Yaxley's plans; he needs to know about them."

Harry looked abashed. "Yeah, OK, I'm sorry."

"You had better be," Draco said. "And we'd better agree now that Arthur's right. No secrets from one another, OK?"

Harry looked at him, his eyes downcast. But the blond placed his finger under Harry's chin and lifted the other's head, forcing Harry to look at him, and demanded, "OK?"

"Yeah, OK," Harry agreed.

"Good," Draco said, and kissed him soundly on the lips. Harry went bright red to be kissed like that in front of Arthur, but Arthur just chuckled, said "young love," and called for Kreacher. His tea-cup was empty, and Harry would want breakfast.

* * *

Arthur did not stay long after Harry arrived. They agreed to come to The Burrow after lunch; they would either go to the airport, or, if that was decided to be too dangerous, farewell Ron and Hermione from the house. Things seemed to be getting quite serious, Draco thought, if these sorts of precautions and contingency plans were deemed to be necessary. He wondered what else had been discussed the previous evening.

When Arthur left, Harry sat at the desk, writing a letter.

"Who are you writing to, love?" Draco asked.

"Your parents," Harry answered, still concentrating on the parchment.

"Really?" Draco asked, surprised. "Um, why?"

"Just to say thank you for a lovely lunch yesterday; that's all right isn't it?" Harry asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Harry, it's wonderful, and I'm so glad you thought of it," Draco replied.

"OK," said Harry. He put the parchment into an envelope; as soon as he did so, Pig, who was still staying with them, chirped more like a mad budgerigar than a sensible owl, and wouldn't shut up until Harry had given him the letter and sent him to Malfoy Manor.

Draco was still concerned. Not only about the afternoon; Harry had sat down in the armchair opposite him, his gaze down again, and wouldn't look him in the eyes.

_Right_ , he thought. _We're not having this._ He reached over and lifted Harry's head up.

"Harry," he said, "we're going back to bed. And then I'm going to make you happy. Sound good?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

Draco continued, "and then you're going to make me happy. Do you know how you're going to do that?"

"I think I can guess," Harry said, with a smirk that would have done any Slytherin proud.

_I don't think you can_ , Draco thought. But he really was a Slytherin. The trap was baited; he wasn't going to spring it too early.

* * *

They went up to their shared bedroom, stripped off, and within a very few minutes lay together in their boxers, cuddling one another.

"I missed you when I woke up," Harry confessed, his voice sad, the tone expressing eloquently the sense of loss he had felt that Draco had not been there.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, "I woke early, and you were lying there, so beautiful, I didn't have the heart to wake you; but I couldn't sleep, so I thought it better to leave than risk waking you. And it's a good thing I got up when I did; I was only just ready when Arthur Floo-called!"

"Oh. Yeah. Um, Draco, about that. I'm really sorry about not telling you and everything. I tried to keep the news about Yaxley from you because I thought it would hurt you too much."

"I see," said Draco, his hand wandering down Harry's stomach. "And what do you think now?" he asked, as his hand reached Harry's groin.

"Um well I can see that – _ooh please, more_ – I can see that – _Draco, yes!_ – I can see …"

"You can see," said Draco, kissing his lover all around his neck as his hand slipped inside Harry's boxers and expertly massaged his cock and balls, "that it doesn't do any good to keep secrets from me, and you're not going to do it again, are you Harry? Hmm?"

"Um – noo – _oh God, Draco, oh, please, oh, oh! Draco!"_ And Harry lost it completely as he came into Draco's hand.

"Good," said his lover, while Harry gasped and spluttered, trying to get his breathing under control. "Very good. All right, Harry, so what else did you talk about that you haven't told me, hmm?"

"How – _gasp_ – do you know – _oh_ – that there's more?" said Harry, still struggling to regain normal breathing.

"Because I know you, Harry. I've watched you closely since I was eleven years old. You can't keep secrets from me that easily."

Harry finally caught his breath, and turned to his lover. Draco was astonished to see the tears in his eyes. Harry was biting his lip; this was something big.

"What's wrong, love?" he said, softly, so softly, and Harry couldn't hold himself together any more.

"The Dursleys!" he breathed through sobs that wracked his body. "My – aunt – and – uncle," he said, each word coming out on a separate breath.

"I know that, love," Draco said, clutching Harry tight, as he became more and more worried at the dark-haired boy's visible distress. "Hermione told me their name. What about them?"

"They – they – Petunia, my mother's sister, she -" and Harry broke down into sobs.

It took half an hour of Draco comforting him before Harry calmed down enough to be able to talk about it. And when he did, what he said shocked Draco to the core. The Dursleys, Kingsley and Arthur had learned, were very afraid of Harry, very afraid indeed (not, Draco thought, without some cause; he was, after all, probably the most powerful wizard Draco had ever met, maybe excepting Dumbledore); and so it seemed that, by telling a terrible tarradiddle of lies, they had convinced the police and the courts that he was a dangerous criminal, and a warrant had been issued stipulating that he be arrested on sight. And what was worse, what Harry had to screw up all his courage to tell Draco, was that they had also taken out an injunction forbidding Harry from going within two hundred yards of them.

Draco guessed at once that, of course, none of this mattered in itself; there was no reason for wizards to be at all concerned about what the Muggle authorities thought of them, and if Harry wanted to visit his relatives, a mere injunction wasn't going to stop him. No, it was the absolute rejection by his own family; and most expecially, Draco guessed, by Petunia, his only surviving blood relative; that was what was eating Harry up.

Draco felt a surge of anger rising in him. _How can they do this?_ He asked himself. _How could they want to hurt this beautiful, loving, lovely man? How could_ _ **anyone**_ _want to, never mind his own_ _ **family**_ _, for fuck's sake?_ And hurt him they most definitely had. Draco fought down his own anger. Not that it was wrong to be angry: at the right time, he would find some way to channel it into dealing with these horrible people as they deserved. But right now he had to find the icy calm that had so often sustained him at Hogwarts, for Harry's sake; it simply wasn't going to help Harry for Draco to get angry. Draco might care nothing for the Dursleys, but he cared an awful lot for Harry.

"Hush, love, hush; we'll deal with it together, all right?" he said, soothingly, pleadingly, longing to be able to take away the pain, hauling them up the bed so Harry could lean against his chest while Draco stroked him smoothly, sensually, every motion desperately seeking to say 'I love you' even as he whispered the words into his lover's ear.

Harry sat silent for what seemed like an age before speaking. "I'm sorry, Draco, I can't talk about it any more," he said, his voice almost giving out. "I know I shouldn't keep secrets, but –"

"Hush," the blond replied, kissing his nose. "It's not a secret any more, Harry. It's just something I know is there, that you'll talk about when you're ready. And whenever that is, I'll listen. And we'll deal with it together. And whatever it takes, we're going to get you through it, and smiling again. OK?"

Harry smiled weakly. "OK," he agreed.

"But promise me this," the blond continued, desperation coming into his voice, "you won't keep it in when it hurts, will you? You'll come to me, and tell me, and let me help?"

Harry looked at him, astonished. No-one have ever made such an offer to him before, that he could remember; he could hardly take it in.

"You really love me," he said, his voice filled with awe; for the first time, perhaps, it was not a question.

"I do," said Draco, and wrapped him in his arms, satisfied for the moment, and they sat cuddling together for a long time.

* * *

They Flooed to The Burrow after lunch. The whole family had gathered in the garden at the Burrow to see Ron and Hermione off. To Muggle eyes, they were travelling extremely light; Ron had a briefcase and Hermione was carrying a small shoulder bag, which had had an Undetectable Extension charm placed on it and contained all their luggage, and probably, Harry thought, half a library beside.

Molly was rather tearful at the thought of losing her son and future daughter-in-law for four whole weeks, and had knitted them Weasley jumpers especially, as it was Autumn in Australia. Ron pointed out that they were going to Sydney, where the weather was about the same temperature as England at the moment, but Molly was unmoved and insisted they rug up warmly. By contrast, Arthur was almost beside himself with glee at the prospect of Ron's adventure on the 'airyplain', and made them promise to tell him all about it when they got back. Ron had already started a large journal in which he was jotting down every detail of the trip. Harry smiled inwardly at the discovery that his best friend was what Dudley would have very derisively called a "train-spotter".

They decided that it was far too dangerous for Draco to go to the airport; and Harry said in that case he wouldn't go either. Arthur was secretly rather glad of this; their information was that Yaxley was on the move, and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Hermione and Ron said they quite understood; and after Harry had a word with them in private, from which they all came out with both smiles and tears on their faces, he rather thought that they did.

"Time to go," Arthur said, not unkindly, and they piled into the Ministry cars that would take them to Heathrow Airport. Harry and Draco stood outside together, waving goodbye until they could no longer even pretend to see the cars in the distance.

"Cheer up, Harry," George said to him as he and Neville came over to them. "How about we teach Draco how to play gnome tennis?"

Draco turned out to be surprisingly adept at this new game, teaching them to spin the gnomes and even make them crash into each other. The gnomes loved him for it, giggling happily as they bounced off one another, and the twins, Harry and Draco played for about an hour, with Neville watching and encouraging particularly interesting shots. Bill came out to them and suggested a quick Quidditch match, which they agreed to eagerly. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Dean Thomas and Robin Banks made up one team, George, Fred, Angelina, Draco and Harry the other.

Molly had put dinner in the oven, and she and Arthur came out to watch the match. Arthur was amazed at the standard of play; he commented to Molly that Ginny, Robin, Harry and Draco were all good enough to play professionally, and even Percy, never known for his skill on a broom, was holding his own in the company. Molly, for her part, had very little interest in or knowledge of Quidditch, but she always stood at Arthur's side, so she was happy to fall in with this opinion.

"Mind you," she said, "I do hope they all choose _proper_ careers like our Percy has."

Arthur smiled at this innocent snobbery.

The game ended with Draco catching the snitch and winning for his team. Harry had elected not to play as Seeker, knowing that Draco had not played for a long time, and had probably thought he never would again; the expression on his face when he won was worth sitting out a hundred games for, Harry decided.

They came down laughing together, and Harry was happy beyond words to see how Draco was included in the chatter and chaffing that went on between them. The twins even got away with messing up his hair; he glared at them, to be sure, but then spoilt the effect by bursting into laughter as they glared back.

"Draco, congratulations on your victory," Molly said, mock-seriously; then, quite seriously, "would you and Harry like to stay for dinner?"

Harry held his breath. Here was a real test of relationship: yesterday had been a party, that was one thing, but what would his lover say about actually sitting down to dine with 'blood traitors'?

"We'd love to," he said, and turned to his lover for confirmation. "Wouldn't we Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned, "that would be … brilliant!"

And somehow, saying it just like Ron would have, made it seem like he was there with them, enjoying the moment; it made them all laugh.

* * *

Harry didn't think anything of it when they sat at the table with the twins on either side of them; not until they had finished eating, and there was plenty of noise around the table.

"OK, Harry," Fred said to him, very quietly, "what's up, mate?"

George had obviously heard, because he added, "and how can we help you two?"

Harry put his hands in his lap and looked at each twin in turn. He thought he'd been able to avoid suspicion; he should have known his friends better. They had planned this, he was sure of it. And they had done so, not to ambush him, but because they loved him. _Loved them_ , he corrected himself, seeing clearly in George's eyes that helping Draco was important to him as well.

"Just some things your dad told me," he said, equally quietly. "Draco's helping me work through them, aren't you Dray?"

Draco recoiled slightly. _Dray?_ But he could see Harry meant nothing but love by it, so rubbed his lover's back.

"I certainly am, _Har,_ " he replied.

George's face creased from the huge smile that sprung onto it as though it had leapt on. "That's you told, _Har_!" he said, teasingly.

But it was a _faux pas_ , and Fred could see the tears standing in Harry's eyes, the tears he was trying desperately to keep away, and knew immediately. "Hey," he said softly, "you know George is just teasing, Harry."

For his part, Draco had also regretted the words; as soon as he had spoken them he had felt Harry's whole body stiffen. He raised his arm up to Harry's shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"It's OK, love; I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

Harry turned to his lover, and hugged him, deeply, desperately. He realised suddenly that what he could really do with now was Hermione telling him not to be an idiot, or Ron telling him to "spill". For the first time since they had left, it hit him how long four weeks was going to be without them. He was going to miss his best friends.

And then something totally unexpected, something wonderful, something truly amazing happened.

"Take me home, Harry," Draco whispered.

Harry let go of him, pushing away just a little then grabbing his upper arms with his hands, and looked into his eyes, dumbfounded.

"Home? Is Grimmauld Place home for you?"

Draco kissed him.

"Wherever you live, that's my home," he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my grateful thanks to all who subscribe and review; and to Bicky Monster who continues to do a wonderful job as a beta.
> 
> Comments would be wonderful and make my day.


	23. Return of the Slytherins

**23 Return Of The Slytherins**

_Monday, 25 May 1998_

At dinner the previous night, Arthur had invited both Harry and Draco to come to the ministry to talk further about the issues that had been raised. Having been given special permission to enter directly into the Ministry's Secretariat, the two young men Flooed in to Arthur's office just before eight. Arthur greeted them both warmly, and plied them with coffee and pastries.

Harry had eaten a croissant, and Draco was on his third _pain au chocolat_ , when Kingsley arrived and joined them. His eyes twinkled as he watched Draco finishing off the pastry; and he only just managed to stop himself from laughter as the blond hunted around for another one, before, with a pout, accepting that they were all gone.

"Try one of these," he said, passing over a plate of pastry _escargots_. Draco's eyes lit up happily; he took two. At this, Kingsley did laugh.

"Now, gentlemen," he said, his voice rich with good humour, "I have some things that I would like to discuss with Harry, and Arthur has a matter to bring up that specifically concerns Draco; so we thought we might separate, then let you compare notes privately if you wish to."

"I appreciate that, Kingsley," Harry said, "but after Arthur's little chat yesterday morning, I don't want to keep secrets from Draco."

"No, it's all right, Harry," the blond reassured him. "This way, we can hear what they have to say, and share it when we're ready."

"If you're OK, then," Harry said, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, go and talk to Kingsley," Draco said, putting on his bravest voice. But it was an act; even brazenly referring to the Minister by his Christian name was part of trying to reclaim the old Malfoy persona, the one in which it was perfectly natural to address the Minister of Magic by his first name. If Kingsley suspected anything, he didn't let on; he just ushered Harry out into his office.

* * *

Arthur cleared his throat.

"I want to start by reiterating what I said yesterday: I hope we can be friends. It's obvious that you and Harry are in love, but I suspect he's still hanging back a bit, isn't he?"

Draco was stunned. What did he say to that? And suddenly he got the point: if Arthur Weasley was his friend, everything was going to be open between them. They were going to talk about anything and everything; if he wanted it, he realised, he had a replacement for Severus, the one he had always been able to go to about everything.

Did he want to? Draco decided that he did. And if Arthur trusted him and Harry so much, it was only right to trust him back.

"Yes," he said, "he's very concerned about the Dursleys. He started telling me about them yesterday after you'd gone. He told me about the warrant, and the injunction; but he couldn't go any further."

"I'm glad to hear he's gone that far," Arthur confessed. "Draco, it's huge that he's talking at all; do you think he will tell you more?"

"As you said, he's hanging back: I certainly hope that we can get closer and then, maybe. But I've told him it's up to him to talk about when he's ready."

Arthur smiled. "Good for you. The last thing Harry needs is someone else trying to force him to talk. That's never worked for anyone."

"People have tried?" Draco said, appalled at the thought.

"Oh, of course," Arthur replied. "Out of love for him, I assure you. Certainly Molly, Hermione and Ginny. And Harry has blocked them all out. So I hope for his sake he does open up to you. And for your sake, too."

"For my sake?" Draco asked.

'Yes, you won't have much of a relationship together if you can't talk about the past. Which does demand the question, how open are you to talking about your past?"

"Hmm…" Draco mused. "To Harry, you mean?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, you're welcome to talk to me about it if you want, but I don't need to know it; and I think Harry probably does."

"I suppose I should think about that," Draco replied, not sure what to say, or even, if he was honest, what there was to say to Harry.

"Do," Arthur encouraged him. "Remember, he grew up with Muggles, everything about your childhood will be news to him. Now," he continued, with a radical change of subject, "Hogwarts begins on the first of July; have you given much thought to that?"

"I have discussed subjects with my parents," Draco began, but Arthur waved that away.

"Yes of course, and that's not really my business; I was more wanting to talk to you about your fellow Slytherin students. You see, apart from the Memorial, you've been pretty much sequestered away, but once school starts again you'll have the student body to deal with. We need to be careful about your safety, and know who will help you and who to be wary of."

Draco looked at him, taking a few seconds to run through the Slytherins in his mind. Theo, he knew, was in Azkaban; Vince was dead; that left Pansy, Greg, Millicent and Blaise. And himself, of course.

Arthur watched him; seeing that the younger man was lost in thought, he just let him take his time. Draco appreciated this very much; but then, realising that he was wasting the time of the Deputy Minister of Magic and not daring to do so further, he nodded to invite Arthur to continue.

"At the present time, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode have all indicated that they will return to Hogwarts, while Gregory Goyle has applied for and been accepted into Durmstrang. I know that Greg, Vince and you were always together -"

"Yeah, they were kind of my bodyguards," Draco admitted, wanting to make it clear that there was no other kind of relationship between them.

"Yes, that's what I heard," Arthur said, equably. "But I'm afraid you won't have them this year."

"But I will have Blaise –" Draco continued, thinking out loud about the accommodation; and suddenly remembered, "we aren't in dormitories, right? Who would be in our Tower?"

"Well of course that's really for the Headmistress to decide. I understand that the sexes will be segregated." At this point Arthur consulted a piece of parchment on his desk, and continued, "among the men there are five Gryffindors returning: Harry, Ron, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan; two Hufflepuffs: Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley; three Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein; and of course you and Blaise from Slytherin. From the Ministry's point of view it would be ideal to put the Gryffindors with the two Slytherins in one tower; you know, promoting unity between former enemies, that sort of line. Do you think that would work?"

Draco thought about this for a good few seconds. If he'd been asked before the Battle of Hogwarts, there would have been no question: it would have been a recipe for disaster. But they were older and (he hoped!) wiser now, and he was already getting on well with Ron, Neville and Dean; and Seamus had shaken his hand. Harry and he, of course, were getting on better than well. No, overall he had no problem with the idea of sharing with the Gryffindors.

"I think those five all accept me, and we should get on," he said; "so we just have to make sure they'll be OK with Blaise."

"Good," said Arthur. "Ron said as much to me before he left; and he said he'd be happy to share a room with Blaise, assuming that you and Harry want to share." Arthur looked up and smiled at him; Draco knew he didn't have to answer, which was just as well as his voice would probably have failed him. He was finding this interview both incredibly painful – he wasn't used to such open discussion of matter so close to people's hearts; and amazingly freeing – there was not a hint of judgement in anything Arthur had said, he felt nothing but a warm, friendly acceptance from the man.

"As far as the girls are concerned," Arthur continued, "we're rather under-represented; the Patils will not be returning, so there's only Hermione from Gryffindor, and two from each of the other houses: Hufflepuffs Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, Ravenclaws Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin, and as we've already said, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode from Slytherin. Now, of course, all the details will be organised by Hogwarts; the real concerns I have, and the reason for sounding you out just now, are twofold."

 _Here it comes_ , thought Draco. He was sure there was a point here somewhere, and the Deputy Minister seemed at last to be coming to it.

"Firstly, as the Deputy Minister, it's very important that we make this work. As I've said, we need to worry about your safety. If there are people that might cause trouble, we need to know about it now, so we can monitor the situation appropriately. There's still a large part of the wizarding world that would dearly love to lock you and your father in Azkaban and leave you to rot, and we need to make sure that any antipathies at Hogwarts are dealt with swiftly. I don't imagine you'll be foolish enough to seek out trouble?"

"No sir," Draco agreed.

" _Arthur_ , not _sir_ , please! But, yes. So we'll need to keep the peace more on the other side. Goyle isn't coming back; in fact, no-one knows exactly where he is. Hogwarts sent him an owl, and it appears that he received it; at least, word was sent back saying that he didn't want anything to do with any of us. So long as he stays out of society, that is his right, I suppose, and shouldn't pose a problem. Do you imagine you'll have any problems from anyone else?"

"Pansy and Millicent might be difficult," Draco admitted. "I mean, I've always rubbed along with the Ravenclaws, and pretty much ignored the Hufflepuffs as much as possible, and I can't see why that would change; they didn't really trust me or befriend me before, but we lived together without any real incident. But the Slytherin girls, I doubt they'll still trust me."

"Hmm. We'll have to work on that, obviously. I'll have a word with Susan Bones, and Hermione when they get back. All right. The second concern I have is parental; I'm pretty much Harry's father, you're pretty much his boyfriend, so I'm very concerned personally for you both. Do you think you will get married?"

 _Merlin!_ Draco thought. _When he does get to the point, he comes straight out with it!_ But one doesn't say such things to the Deputy Minister. On the other hand, what could he say? _Be daring,_ he decided. _Tell the truth._ "I certainly hope so," he said, looking straight at the Weasley.

Arthur returned his gaze steadily, searching for something. Assurance, perhaps? Whatever it was, he must have found it; for he smiled at Draco and said simply, "then I want you to know that you have my full support, Draco. Any way in which I can be of service to you, I will."

Draco was astonished, embarrassed, and delighted, all at once. "Thank you," he said, his eyes shining, and Arthur's heart lept for joy within him to think that Harry had this young man to help him. Returning to Hogwarts was going to be tough, he knew that; for the moment, they could hide away in Grimmauld Place if they wanted to, but come July that would be gone. He was glad they were both helping with the reconstruction; it meant their full re-emergence into wizarding society was being done in slow stages, which he had been quite sure Harry needed for some time, and now saw plainly that Draco did as well.

* * *

Kingsley discussed with Harry the precautions that were being put in place in view of the threat posed by Yaxley. He wanted to know what Harry's plans were, particularly in view of the threat to Draco.

"I don't really have plans," Harry admitted, a bit shamefacedly. "For the last couple of weekdays, we've been working at Grimmauld in the morning and Hogwarts in the afternoon; I guess we'll keep to that. The weekend was exceptional, of course; we visited Malfoy Manor on Saturday and the Burrow for the party and the farewell yesterday. I guess we'll be doing that a bit, I mean, visiting those two places, but I don't really have anything more concrete, sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Kingsley admonished him. "In fact, we need to be careful that it's so structured." Harry looked puzzled at this, so Kingsley elaborated. "Anything predictable is dangerous, Harry. If Yaxley wants to take you or Draco, he'll want to plan it ahead, so he'll have to rely on you reliably being somewhere. If we can guard those times we know about, you can do all the extra things you want, with Auror presence still I'm afraid."

"So, anything predictable is a problem?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the minister answered. "Why, does that make you think of something?"

"Yes," Harry answered, and discussed his thoughts at some length with the minister.

"Well," said Kingsley eventually, "I guess we have a plan then. Now, there's one other thing we need to discuss."

Harry didn't like the way this was said: Kingsley's tone made it clear this was something he thought Harry wouldn't like. He was right. "How would you feel about giving an interview to the Daily Prophet?" Kingsley asked him.

"I'd rather gnaw my own arm off," Harry replied. And then it struck him that this was an unfortunate turn of phrase as he remembered the curses fired at Draco and him at the Memorial service, and Theo Nott losing an arm …

"Kingsley," he asked, off in his thoughts, "is there any chance that Nott was innocent?"

"Hmm. Well, the Wizengamot found him guilty; but they could be wrong I suppose. It was treated as an open-and-shut case, there was no question that he fired the Sectumsepra spell; though we're not sure who fired the other two yet, we do have some leads that I can assure you are being followed up."

"Yes," Harry said, a little impatiently; he was sure the Ministry was doing its job with Kingsley at the helm, "but a Stupefy and a Confringo are less important than Sectumsempra. It's almost like someone was trying to divert attention from Nott's spell, using lesser ones fired first; but there wasn't quite enough of a gap for that to work. But if Yaxley was involved even at that early stage, is there any chance that Nott was under an Imperius curse?"

"The point was considered, but pretty much rejected; there were all too many wizards walked free after Voldemort's first defeat because they claimed they had been Imperiused, and then proved they were on his side in the second; so the Wizengamot is much less likely to accept a claim of Imperio than they were before. Do you want me to look into it?"

"Please," Harry said. "Draco has so few friends, if there's any chance of getting Theo back, it would be worth it."

"All right. But you're going to have to help me with an interview," Kingsley said, a little smugly.

"OK," Harry groaned. "What is it going to be about?"

"Oh, I'm sure Rita Skeeter will want to renew her 'special empathy' with you," Kingsley said, having the grace to blush slightly. Not that it was easy to tell on his dark skin. "But what we want is to get the message of the Potter Code out. No, you don't have to say anything technical," he said, reassuringly, as Harry looked a bit frightened, "you just have to get the message out about all working together. It's been done a bit, but we need to keep it in the public mind as long as we can. We've got quite a bit of legislation to get through, undoing all the nonsense about Muggleborn registration and so on, …"

"Is that still there?" Harry gasped, shocked at the thought.

"It's still law, we've just suspended it pending a hearing. And Umbridge's trial. Which, by the way, is currently scheduled for this coming Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of May."

"Do I have to worry about that?" Harry asked. He wasn't very interested; as long as she got what was coming to her, he didn't really want to know about Dolores Umbridge.

"I'm afraid you might. She has engaged counsel; unheard of in Wizarding circles, but that made it hard to prohibit. We're afraid she's going to pull out all the stops for sympathy and cast herself on the 'second chance' idea of the Potter Code. She may well call you as a witness; and if she doesn't, I suspect you'll get called in to advise anyway. So, keep it in mind. But, in the meantime, we've thought out some things we would like you to say to Ms Skeeter."

With this, Kingsley handed Harry a parchment. There were sample questions and suggested answers on it, together with a list of 'Points We Would Like to Put Across'. Harry was very apprehensive about this idea, remembering when Scrimgeour had tried to get him to be a mascot for the Ministry; surely Kingsley wasn't going to try to use him the same way, to peddle the Ministry line? But he found that practically everything on the parchment was taken from his own words, and was very surprised that it seemed to come to quite a coherent whole.

Kingsley watched him as he read. What was Harry thinking? His body language had been uptight to begin with, fair enough, the damned interview had been sprung on him with no warning, and now he'd been bullied into it as his half of a bargain; but as he read, Kingsley could see him relaxing. Doge's nephew had done a really first-class job of taking Harry's statements and turning them into a Code; and it was clear that Harry thought so too. Not that he knew about Aloysius Doge's involvement; but there was no need to mention that. The man himself had said he was a back-room boy; merely 'taking the rough gems of others and giving them a careful cut and polish to bring out their true inner beauty', he had said, demonstrating perfectly the skill of finding exactly the right phrases that made him such an expert at his job.

"This is really good," Harry said at last. "Why don't you just publish it?"

"We will," Kingsley answered. "But after you've said it, or most of it. I'm sorry, Harry, but you are 'the Saviour' and at the moment we can use that to get things done. I'm hoping when you get back to Hogwarts we can close that all down, at least for a while, but until then, you will find yourself in the paper every other day. We are trying very hard to keep them away from you, believe me; the Prophet has been told in no uncertain terms that if you allege harassment they're in deep trouble; and they haven't got at you, have they?"

Harry thought back to that Veronica or Virginia or whatever her name was who had come up to him at the Lupins' funeral; that was about it, he realised.

"No, I can't say I have."

"Quite. But there's a danger that you'll be seen as dropping out of society, and then you'll become a curiosity again. This interview should give you a chance to put your views across, to be seen back in Wizarding society, but on your terms. OK?"

"All right, Kingsley, I'll get my head around this lot and do the interview. Did you have a time and place set up yet?"

"No, we'll get onto that now. I suggest at the Ministry; best not to give them any chance to get to anywhere you actually like to frequent. How about I try to line it up for Thursday? That way it will come out after Umbridge's trial and hopefully negate any publicity or sympathy she might drum up"

At this point, Kingsley's secretary came in, to suggest that it was time for morning tea. "Thank you, Lucinda," Kingsley answered, "excellent timing, we're finished here; are Arthur and Draco done?"

"Yes, Minister."

* * *

After the Minister and his Deputy had filled them with tea, and cream cakes, of which Harry had eaten one cake and one bite and Draco three cakes less one bite, they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

As they left the Floo, Pig shrieked at them, and they found that he was sharing his perch with an intruder; a huge eagle owl sat there, preening his feathers and disdainfully ignoring the other bird.

"Ozymandius!" Draco exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

The owl looked at him, a look of recognition, and held out its claw. There was a letter attached, which Draco removed; then, seeing the addressee, handed it to Harry as he remarked, "it's from mother. It must be in reply to your owl of yesterday. Which reminds me …"

Harry opened the letter as Draco sat at the desk, pulling out parchment and quill.

 _Dear Harry,_ he read,

_Thank you so much for your kind letter. It was our very great pleasure to have you to lunch. I am delighted that you and Draco are together. I can see that you are very good to him, and sense that you are very good for him._

_As for having the two of you regularly, I can only say that I am stunned at your generosity and grace in suggesting such a thing and seeking to include us when you could so easily shut us out. I have discussed matters with Molly Weasley; she will expect you both to dinner on Saturdays, and we will expect you to Sunday lunch. Of course, you must let us know if this arrangement is inconvenient for any reason. Please send confirmation back with Ozymandias._

_In the other matter, I need only say that you have my full support._

_With my very grateful thanks,_

_And love,_

_Narcissa Malfoy._

By the time he had finished reading, Draco had finished writing his own letter, and hunted for an envelope for it. "What does she say?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "She wants us to come to lunch on Sunday," he answered, handing the letter to Draco to read as he sat down to write a reply. "I take it you're happy with that?"

"Oh yes," Draco said, a little absently as he had started to read, "that is, if you are?"

"Course," said Harry. His reply was short; he had finished writing and, much to Pig's relief, sent the imposing eagle owl off before Draco finished reading. The blond looked at him with arched eyebrows, his heart racing, and he sent his letter off with Pig to buy a little time to calm himself down.

"You asked if we could come regularly?" he said, stunned in his turn for such a thing.

"Yeah, um, sorry, I guess I should have asked you first, um, whether you would be OK with it, or, …"

"Harry!" Draco said, interrupting the awkward babble that his lover was coming out with. "It's incredibly kind of you, and I couldn't be happier."

He was so delighted that he decided against asking what his mother meant by 'the other matter'; he trusted Harry to tell him in good time. They spent the rest of the morning comparing notes on the different conversations they had had. Draco decided against talking about the past, his or Harry's, at all yet; that could come up as it did. So he concentrated on all that Arthur had said about Hogwarts and the Ministry's hopes for co-operation. Harry agreed that it was going to be very important to make Blaise work in with the Gryffindors; he was overjoyed to hear that Draco would have at least one friend-from-before-the-War at Hogwarts.

Draco, for his part, was extremely grateful to Harry for bringing up Theo, even if he did have to give an interview to the poisonous Skeeter woman. And he was of course very interested, and concerned, about everything that had been discussed about Yaxley. He quite agreed with Harry about the most probable target; and, as Harry had expected, fell in with Harry and Kingsley's plans to make it what they called a 'honey-pot trap': irresistable to Yaxley. Well, they hoped so. It was a dangerous game, he knew; but then, so was doing nothing at all. They couldn't live their lives in fear of the man forever.

Like Harry, Draco was very impressed at the quality of the notes he had been given.

"I wonder who did these," he asked.

"Kingsley wouldn't say." Harry answered.

"That nearly always means it's someone's brother or cousin or nephew or niece or something like that," Draco replied.

Harry laughed. He was much happier after the morning's talk. Draco wondered why; but Harry answered the unspoken question by saying, "it doesn't matter. At least we have some things to do!"

It was a _Lumos_ moment for Draco. _Harry always likes to have something to do,_ he realised. Very good; that would be a task for him, then, to keep Harry happily busy.

And the present task, he realised, awaited them at Hogwarts. Kreacher had told them that Flitwick had called in the morning, a bit put out that they hadn't been there, though happy enough when he was told they'd gone to the Ministry. Apparently there was now a Floo established in the Great Hall, for helpers to use, so that they could relieve the pressure on the Hogsmeade apparition points and the Headmistress's Floo connection. Flitwick had asked if they would come for lunch, and said that they were welcome to do so whenever they wished; and of course, dinner was available too on any day they cared to stay for it.

So Harry and Draco Flooed to Hogwarts Castle, as they had been bidden. It was very strange to emerge into the Great Hall; as they did so, Flitwick saw them and bustled up to them.

"Very good, very good! Now, Mr Malfoy, I have a little surprise for you!"

And saying this, the Professor led them over to the table, where Draco had already seen a new helper sitting. He was overjoyed to have a fellow Slytherin at last; Blaise Zabini had joined the team.

* * *

Draco was a little hesitant at first; he had not been in touch with Blaise since they had met in the Three Broomsticks. But Blaise jumped up from the table and ran over to him, saying "caro amico!" as he so often did, and wrapping him in a huge hug. Just as it was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Blaise let go; then he looked at Draco and Harry critically. Apparently he liked what he saw; he smiled at them knowingly. "I think maybe what you only hoped when we met a week ago has happened, yes?" he said. "And still you keep it out of the Prophet!"

 _A week?_ Draco thought to himself; but, yes, it had only been a week. It's just that so much had happened! "Yes," he replied softly, "it's not common knowledge yet; I think Arthur Weasley had quite a bit to do with that."

"Arthur?" Blaise asked, confused, "isn't it Ron who is Harry's friend? Oh, hang on – Arthur is Papa Weasley, yes?"

"Yes," Harry replied, laughing at the thought of describing Arthur as 'Papa', "and also, just co-incidentally, the Deputy Minister for Magic."

Blaise looked suitably impressed. "Of course! I had not gathered they were the same person," he admitted, chagrin in his voice. Draco was not surprised to hear it; Blaise had always liked to be well up on the gossip.

"Let's eat as we talk," Draco suggested; and the three of them joined Neville, who had been chatting to Blaise before Harry and Draco had arrived.

"Neville! Alone today?" Harry asked.

"Draco, Harry," Neville said, saluting them with his water-glass as they sat down, Blaise next to Neville and the two lovers side by side on the low bench running the length of the table. "Dean and Seamus are minding the shop as the twins have gone to visit a colleague in Ireland who wanted to show them some ideas suggested by Leprechaun tricks. Did you enjoy the weekend? Certainly looked like you were having fun on a broomstick yesterday, Draco!"

The blond smiled at the memory. "I'd thought I'd never get to play Quidditch again," Draco confessed, "and Harry even let me be Seeker."

Neville smiled at the love-struck expressions on both Draco and Harry's faces. George had told him about Operation Happy Harry, and he had agreed to keep it up; but right now, Draco was doing his job for him. _Well,_ he decided, _we'll have to start Operation Delighted Draco as well, if that makes Harry happy._ "We'll have to see if we can line up a game some afternoon here," he said.

"Really?" Draco asked, his excitement obvious. "But won't Flitwick mind if we take time out?"

"I'm not a slave-driver!" exclaimed the Professor, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the table and had heard most of the conversation. Longbottom laughed, and added, "you two have been busy all afternoon 'cos you've been cloistered away, but as often as not the rest of us stop after four o'clock and just horse around."

"Yes of course, it was remiss of me not to tell you," the Professor chipped in, "but then, your work was so exceptional on the first day it seemed a shame to stop you on the second. You are quite welcome to come and socialise. We haven't had many good Quidditch players, so we've tended to play Shuntbumps instead."

"Shuntbumps?" Harry asked.

"It's a very old game," Draco said. "Basically, all the players are on brooms and they try to knock the opponents off using the handle of their own broom. The last player flying wins."

"And," Neville continued, "Professor Flitwick likes to play it because he wins every time! Everyone assumes he's going to be a pushover, being so small, but that gives him a lot of leverage, which is a bigger advantage than brawn, it turns out."

"It's not kind of you to give away my secrets, Mr Longbottom!" Flitwick twittered, but the smile on his face belied the scolding in his words. "Still, never mind, we can certainly look into playing Quidditch; the pitch is quite serviceable now. Though perhaps we could wait until Friday; if the work is well-progressed we could give the whole afternoon over to a game."

There was a general murmur of excited agreement with this, and several people sprang up, saying, "best get to work, then," and it occurred to Draco that perhaps Flitwick was a better politician than he had been given credit for – he had certainly manipulated his workers magnificently. Flitwick answered his thoughts by grinning at him and saying, "you have to learn how to motivate people when you're a teacher, Mr Malfoy – and to read what they are thinking, too!" Draco turned red at this.

The Floo suddenly sprang to life, and Flitwick beamed. "Ah!" he said, "I think we have some more friends for you, Mr Malfoy!" And, as he said it, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode came through the Floo and walked to the table.

Draco's heart was in his mouth. Arthur had wanted to set this up slowly, but Flitwick obviously had other ideas: Draco could only hope he'd got it right. He and Harry turned around, sitting the other way round on the bench so as to face the two girls, as Pansy came right up to him, with Millicent hanging a couple of paces behind.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, as she extended her hand to him. "I blew you away, you didn't deserve that. I'm glad you're not in Azkaban and I hope we can stay friends for this year. God knows we'll both need friends. Pax?"

Draco looked at her carefully. He had spent years watching Pansy, he knew how she worked, and he could see that this was a genuine change of heart. She had used the schoolyard word to ask for peace, and she meant it. He grinned, and grabbed her hand.

As he did so, Millie came up and saluted him in her gruff way, and his concerns from the morning evaporated. The Slytherins, it seemed, were going to stick together.

"OK, Pans, Millie. There's just one thing, though."

"Potter?" Pansy asked, cocking her head and looking at Harry, taking in for the first time that he and Draco were sitting very close together.

"Yes, _Harry_ , and the other Gryffindors. We're going to have to work together with all of them."

" _ **Harry**_? Really?" Pansy asked, disdain creeping into his voice.

"Yes, _**Pansy**_ ," the raven-head answered, standing up and extending a hand. She looked at him as though he was mad; then, seeing the glower on Draco's face, thought better of the insult that was forming on her lips.

"I suppose so," she said, shaking the hand. It was roughly done, without grace; but it was definitely a start.

"And the other Gryffindors," Draco repeated.

Pansy pulled a face, at which Neville stood up. "Pansy," he said, "we fought on opposite sides last year; but you're both right. You need friends; we have to work together. So, as you said, Pax?" he said, holding out his hands across the table to both Slytherin girls.

Pansy stared at him, not quite believing he could be serious. But Neville stared back, holding his ground, his hand not wavering. After several long seconds, Pansy made her choice.

"All right," she said, reaching over to shake Neville's hand. Millie, silently, did likewise.

Professor Flitwick grinned. "Now," he said, "to work! I would like to keep Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter together if you don't mind, since their work has been so exemplary; do you think you and Mr Zabini could work together, Mr Longbottom?"

"I'm sure that would be fine, Professor," Neville agreed happily.

"Very good! Then you and he can work on the fire damage in the Divination Tower, and perhaps these two lovely ladies," he said, turning to Pansy and Millicent, "would help? There is plenty to clean up, stones to mend, tapestries to re-hang."

Millicent's heart was beating. No-one had ever called her a 'lovely lady' before, and even though she knew the Professor was only being kind, it warmed her heart. "Come on, then," she said, the first words she'd said since arriving, "if we're going to work together, let's do it."

By afternoon tea time, the Divination Tower had been completely cleaned out; and Harry and Draco had finished all the building work of the second of Flitwick's four towers.

And by the time they returned home, Flitwick had won five games of Shuntbumps; and Draco had finally managed to best him in the sixth, and emerge as winner. Everyone had cheered him; and Harry had smiled.

 _Maybe, just maybe, it's all going to work_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my grateful thanks to all who subscribe and review; and to Bicky Monster who continues to do a wonderful job as a beta.
> 
> Comments would be wonderful and make my day.


	24. Returning to Pleasant Company and Painful Subjects

**24 Returning to Pleasant Company and Painful Subjects**

_Tuesday, 26 May 1998_

Tuesday morning seemed to go by in a flash. By lunchtime, the ground floor renovations at Grimmauld Place were finished entirely, as well as most of the first floor; except that they still had no idea how to remove Mad-Eye's spells or silence Walburga Black's portrait for good. They Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch; all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students sat together, including Dean and Seamus, who were not working in the shop today: the twins had now returned crowned with success from their visit to Ireland, and were busy moving stock around for their new products. Dean told Harry that they had four new lines, but it was all very hush-hush; they wouldn't say anything about them to Dean or Seamus, except that they couldn't wait to show them to Harry. Dean looked miffed at being left out like this, so Harry took care not to smile, though the news did make him feel warm inside.

Lunch had been quite a long meal, and Flitwick didn't seem to make any attempt to hurry them. Pansy and Blaise seemed to be making a genuine attempt to converse with the Gryffindors, and Neville was being open and friendly, discussing where the renovations were up to and what they hoped to achieve today now that they had Dean and Seamus to help. Harry was glad to see everyone trying to get on; Dean and Seamus both managed to be, if not quite friendly, then at least civil, and the conversation continued along happily, pointedly avoiding any discussion of the war, but including Quidditch, the new Ministry, the renovations again, the curriculum for the next year, and – of course - many sly questions about the new eighth year accommodation.

The only concern Harry had was that Millicent seemed to be very quiet. He whispered to Draco about this, but the blond reassured him that she was often quiet. "And she never quite got over not being on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad," he added. Harry looked concerned; he decided he might have to keep an eye on her.

But by this time they had been out of the conversation themselves, and Pansy decided to press them about the work they were doing. To the other Slytherins' great annoyance, they would not be drawn on any details and managed to avoid the topic; in the end, they had to practically run to get safely inside the new tower without giving away any information.

"Your house-mates are very persistent!" Harry said.

Draco smirked. "And you, my love, managed not to say anything – more like a Slytherin yourself, I thought."

"I nearly was, you know. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"Really? And it let you choose Gryffindor instead?" Draco asked in wonder.

"Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to stay with Ron …" Harry replied, the smile sliding off his face at the thought of how awful he had been to Draco at the time.

"And I wanted you to be in Slytherin, and we didn't hit it off because I reminded you of your cousin," Draco replied, understanding immediately why Harry had stopped smiling. "I know. It's OK, Harry. I can't blame you for thinking I was like your spoilt brat of a cousin when I was a spoilt brat myself. And if you had been sorted into Slytherin we probably would have been just housemates, maybe friends, but we almost certainly wouldn't have what we do now, so no regrets, all right?"

Harry looked at him. It hit him afresh that Draco loved him. He had to, to admit to being a spoilt brat. Most of their relationship had been horrible – filled with spite, name-calling, jinxes and hexes. Him cutting Draco open, Draco breaking his nose. But yes, if that was the price for what they had now, it was probably worth it.

"Right," he said, smiling again.

Having started late, they worked past afternoon tea time; by five o'clock, when they were ready to go home, the third of the four Towers was complete.

* * *

When they got home, there were two owls waiting for them. One was Pig with a letter for Draco; the other was from the Clerk of the Wizengamot with a letter for Harry.

Draco opened his letter; it was a simple note:

_Dear Draco,_

_Thank you, of course we were delighted to have you to the party and to dinner at any time. I hope you don't mind me calling you 'Draco' but you're Harry's_ _~~boyfriend~~_ _lover, which makes you family now; so please don't feel you have to write thanks every time! Your mother and I have discussed matters, and I do hope you and Harry will come to dinner on Saturday evenings in future._

_With_ _~~very best wishes~~_ _love,_

_Molly Weasley_

He looked up, smiling. Harry looked curious, so Draco said, "it's from Mrs Weasley."

"Molly," Harry reprimanded, mechanically; he was wondering why Molly would write to Draco. Clearly it showed; for Draco went on to explain, "I wrote to Molly yesterday; I wasn't going to let you be polite to my mother and me not to Mrs We—Molly, that wouldn't do! She's confirmed the invitation for Saturdays."

"Oh, good," Harry said, sounding a bit distracted. He still hadn't opened his letter; he looked unhappy, and Draco's face dropped.

"This will be about Umbridge's trial," Harry said, sadly. Somehow he'd managed to keep it out of his mind for the whole day, but now here it was, demanding his attention.

"Open it quickly, Harry, we need to know what you have to do," Draco said, walking over and wrapping his arms round Harry in a gesture of support.

Harry ripped the envelope open. The letter inside informed him that, owing to late running of other business, the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge had been postponed and would now begin at nine o'clock on the morning of Friday the twenty-ninth of May in Courtroom Ten. He was requested to attend with a view to assisting the Wizengamot in its consideration and elaboration of the Potter Code. As a consequence of the trial being moved, the interview with Rita Skeeter was now scheduled for Saturday 30 May at two o'clock in the afternoon. Pencilled under this was a note from Arthur, suggesting that they come to the Burrow at eleven o'clock on Saturday to discuss the interview in depth; and stay for lunch.

The very stuffiness of the letter was enough to depress Harry. Without a word, he handed it to Draco, who glanced at it and put it aside, having read most of it over Harry's shoulder.

"This is good, right?" Draco said. "You don't have to go until Friday."

"Yeah, but that only means I'll keep thinking about it until then," Harry replied, despondently.

"How about we do something to take your mind off it?" Draco asked, then, seeing the look in Harry's eyes, continued hurriedly, "maybe get some friends round, play cards, something like that?" It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his time alone with Harry in bed; but the raven-haired boy needed company now; Draco could tell that just the two of them together was not enough to stop the depression from settling straight back on him.

"I'd like that," Harry agreed. "Who did you have in mind?"

Draco smiled. "You go and tell Kreacher we'll need food, I'll see who I can rouse, alright?"

And Harry happily padded down to the kitchen to discuss matters with Kreacher.

* * *

The party, for that is what it became, did not break up till well after midnight.

Ginny and Robin came from the Burrow; Harry was rendered speechless when Robin came straight out of the Floo and clasped Draco in a huge hug. He wondered how the blond would react; but there was something about the Auror that made everyone warm to him, and even his lover, who was cagy about public shows of affection, simply smiled when Robin released him, and said, rather shyly, "thanks".

"What shall we do with this?" he asked, producing an enormous bottle of champagne. Kreacher was called, and in a very few minutes everyone had a glass of champagne and the bottle was cooling in an ice bucket charmed to stay cold all night, if by some incredible chance the champagne managed to last that long.

"I was very sorry not to see you at the engagement party," Robin said to them both, "I couldn't make because I was on duty. I heard all about the gifts you gave; brilliant choices, Draco. I'm glad to know there's a heart in there somewhere after all…" This last comment was made with such a big grin that it was impossible, even for Draco, to be offended; the blond contented himself with slapping Robin lightly on the cheek with the backs of his fingers, and then grinning in turn.

Next to arrive were Blaise and Pansy; Harry made a point of welcoming them into his house. Blaise accepted the cordial hospitality with the easy grace of a noble-born Italian; but Pansy looked a little uncertain.

"What's the problem, Pans?" Draco asked her.

"I … I guess it's one thing to be friendly to Potter at Hogwarts, but being in his house …"

"Pans, he's called 'Harry', all right? And this is my home too, isn't it, Harry?"

"Absolutely," said Harry, trying but failing to hide the smile of pure delight that Draco thought so, and was prepared to say so so openly. "So, welcome to Draco's house, Pansy!"

The Slytherin looked at him. "Draco's house?" she said, and they could practically see the cogs turning in her mind. "Hang on, are you two …"

"Yes," said Draco. And if his voice trembled just a little, who could blame him? He knew Pansy was more than half in love with him, though he had never encouraged it. How would she react to this?

"It's that Debt thing, right?" she asked.

"No," Draco replied. "It's that we love one another."

She looked at him very carefully. Draco's face showed her two things: he was worried about how she would react, she could see that, but also something she hadn't seen enough of – he was happy. Really, truly happy. Had Potter done this?

She turned to Harry. His face was so open, so honest, so welcoming, that she smiled in spite of herself, and some of the reserve inside her thawed to this man she had spoken against during the War, and who had somehow managed to put that fact aside. She wanted to be jealous; but she couldn't, not in the face of such obvious love. _Well, if he can make Draco this happy, he deserves him. And if he can put the past behind him, so can I,_ she decided.

"I see that," she said, a sly smile breaking out on her face. "Thanks, Harry," she continued, accepting the glass of champagne that he handed to her.

"Hello Harry," said a familiar voice. Harry hadn't paid attention to the Floo roaring while he was talking to Pansy, so her arrival had taken him by surprise; not the first time this particular guest had done that, he thought.

"Hello, Luna," he said, "it's good to see you." And he meant it; he was delighted that Draco had thought to ask her.

"You look very happy, Harry," she said, in her dreamy way. "You and Draco are good for each other. I'm so pleased."

With which, having rendered Harry speechless for the minute, she took a glass of champagne from him and began an earnest conversation with Blaise and Pansy. Harry listened in for a moment; he was almost disappointed that it appeared to be a perfectly sensible discussion about the curriculum for next year; there appeared to be no mention of wrackspurts or crumple-horned snorkacks at all.

* * *

As they had needed to close up the shop, the twins didn't arrive until six; Neville came with them, but Dean and Seamus were busy, as it happened, and sent their apologies. The twins had also brought two of their new lines. The trick four-leaf clovers were kind of cute, but everyone agreed it was the skittles that were the best fun: the five pins stood in the traditional circle, one in the middle, each one painted with a silly face; but when the batons were thrown at them, the pins would react, each spelled with its own individual response. One of the pins would jump up, threateningly, and had to be hit with another baton to 'encourage' it to be quiet again. One, when hit, would run away into a corner sobbing. One would stick out its tongue at you. One would burst into laughter. And what made the game practically impossible to play is that the pins would insist on ganging up on the batons, racing around the circle to cut them off.

But none of them could get the pin in the middle to do anything at all, until George showed them the secret: by lobbing a baton to hit it on the exact top, it exploded into fireworks that spelt "WINNER!" in six-inch high emerald green letters, to rapturous applause.

Kreacher chose this happy moment to announce that dinner was ready.

* * *

They sat around the table long after everyone had finished eating, the twins and Pansy telling jokes that weren't really funny but got a huge laugh anyway, while Harry sat drinking elf-wine now that the champagne was all gone. He was glad that people didn't seem to be taking particular notice of him; he so hated to be the centre of attention, and tonight he was quite content to sit and watch, enjoying being amongst people who, against the odds, were managing to feel at ease together. What he didn't know was that a large part of that ease was caused by the fact that he and Draco were so obviously at home in one another's company that Gryffindor and Slytherin alike felt drawn to them both.

Harry realised the well-spring of the feeling: relief. Here they were, sitting together, sworn enemies before the War, and they had managed to have a meal together in peace and find that they could actually enjoy one another's company. He smiled at his lover and suddenly remembered the night, just over two weeks ago, when he had simultaneously feared the outcome of Draco's trial and hoped to have him at the table, laughing and joking; and now here they were, the trial over, and Draco sitting just has he had imagined. True, he had thought that Ron and Hermione would be here; but that would happen later, and somehow having Blaise and Pansy instead made the moment just as special: they really were mending some of the breaches that Voldemort had made in Wizarding society.

These thoughts brought tears to his eyes, and they didn't go unnoticed. Draco leant over and, somehow contriving to be unobtrusive and also practically sit in Harry's lap, whispered, "are you all right?" to him. And the simple question, asked with so much love and concern, made Harry practically lose it, as he grabbed his lover and kissed him, tears of joy now falling down his face.

"Who's for more skittles?" George asked, a suggestion that was received with enthusiasm, and the rest of them went back up into the hall for another game. As she walked past, Luna turned to Draco. "You two should stay here for a moment," she said, enigmatically. "You need to come back into balance."

Draco had no idea what she meant, but he agreed that they needed to stay when Harry nuzzled into his shoulder, then his head flopped and he muttered something rather incoherent.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked, before the simple and rather obvious explanation occurred to him: they had consumed a lot of champagne and elf-wine, and Fred had been filling Harry's glass quite often … the poor boy was drunk. And drunk with a vengeance: he looked awful.

Draco pushed back in his chair and pulled Harry across his body so he was lying with his shoulders on Draco's chest, his head cradled on Draco's shoulder, with Draco's right arm lying across his body. Finding this rather uncomfortable, and suddenly remembering he was a wizard, he transfigured the chair into a sofa complete with cushions, which he used to help prop Harry up.

"What are we going to do with you, my poor drunk Gryffindor?" he asked, teasingly.

"'M shorry, Dray," Harry mumbled.

Draco just smiled, and reached his head down so his lips could meet Harry's in a swift, tender kiss. "Don't be," he said. "We'll just have to make sure there's a headache potion handy in the morning."

"No, 'm shorry," Harry insisted. "Don't wan force you to be with me. Mushtn't make you love me."

Draco's breath caught. _What?_ he thought. "You don't have to, Harry, I already do."

"No, ish the debt …"

 _Oh. Is that what's worrying him? Still?_ "No, Harry, it really isn't the Debt. The Debt can make me protect you but it can't make me love you. That's all me."

"No, ish debt …" Harry re-iterated, becoming more agitated. "Musht be … freak!"

"Freak?" Draco asked, puzzled. Did Harry think there was something freakish about the debt? Actually, there was, if you thought about it; the way it worked was unlike most other magic. But he'd just got used to it, never noticed it much now; he loved Harry, hurting him or lying to him was impossible because of that, the Debt just added to it really.

"No," Harry answered, bringing Draco back from his thoughts, "me, I'm … freak"

Draco said it out loud this time: "What?"

"'M a freak," Harry repeated, insistently.

"Who says so?" Draco demanded.

"Dursleys say sho. Freak. Weirdo. Evil boy!" And with this, Harry put his hands up, as though to ward off someone physically attacking him.

Draco felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He remembered the dream he'd had about the pig-eyed man, whom he now knew to be Vernon Dursley, and it all clicked into place. In any wizarding family, Harry would have been spoilt. But not by the Dursleys; they had branded him as a misfit, called him a freak, even made him live in a cupboard, he remembered Harry telling him that first morning at Grimmauld Place.

Merlin! What **hadn't** they done?

He wrapped his arms tightly round the raven-haired boy, letting the cushions fall to the floor. Harry cowered and whimpered at the touch, then turned his head into Draco's chest and let himself be held in the blond's strong arms.

"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, soothingly.

"Am," Harry insisted. "Hair always grew back. Aunt 'Tunia cut it all off. Grew back. Dudley kicked me. Healed by morning. Set shnake free." Here Harry smiled as the memory must have played itself out in his mind. "It shcared him. Made him run. Got beaten though. No supper. Made Aunt Marge blow up like balloon. Sho many freaky thingsh …"

Draco's heart was breaking. They'd put him under so much stress, of course his magic reacted. That made him a wizard, not a freak. Though he suspected these people definitely saw wizards as freaks.

"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the sorrow he felt for what that poor abused, neglected child had gone through, and the incredible admiration he had for the man he had become despite it all. "You're the kindest, most loving, most forgiving person I know. You gave your life up, letting the Dark Lord kill you for us all. You gave me my wand back. You gave me my magic back. Hell, Harry, you gave me my life back. I love you, Harry Potter, I want you in my life forever …"

By this time, words failed him; they were both crying, and Draco massaged Harry's back in large slow circles as they sobbed together. Harry quieted, relaxed, and snuggled into Draco's embrace; it wasn't long before his breathing became deep and even, and Draco realised he was asleep.

How long they sat there he didn't know; but eventually Luna came down to see how they were doing. "Oh good!" she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, "he's always needed to fall asleep in someone's arms. Let's get him to bed."

Draco had never had much time for Luna; 'Loony Luna' had summed her up for him. So he was amazed to find a grudging respect for her welling up. She obviously had hidden depths; and she cared for Harry, which touched Draco enormously.

"Good idea," he agreed, levitating Harry as he stood up, so that he was light enough for Draco to carry in his arms without risking falling over. He was a little embarrassed to take Harry away from his own party; but as they got to the hall, Luna simply announced loudly over the gale of laughter going on that "Harry's going to bed now" in such a matter-of-fact voice that he had no problem adding, "I'll be back down soon."

"Don't hurry!" Fred replied. "We're having a wonderful time."

Draco looked round, particularly at Blaise and Pansy, wondering if this could be true; but it was clear they really were enjoying themselves.

* * *

Somehow Draco got Harry all the way upstairs and undressed bed without waking him. But the moment he put him on the bed and let go to leave the room, the Gryffindor started to stir.

"Wass … hmmm… Draco?" he murmured incoherently.

"I'm here, Harry," Draco said.

"Head … hurts …"

Draco chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I'll get a headache potion." With that, he went back into his former room. Even as he did so, a whole load of feelings rose up. At the Manor, he had a whole suite, which he rattled around in and occasionally complained was too small; here at Grimmauld Place he had a single room he could call his own space, and since that first night he had not used it. His clothes were now in a wardrobe in Harry's room; the books and papers he had brought from the Manor were in the library downstairs; the only thing to come in here for was his potions kit, unused. Which meant that he had not brewed anything for a whole week. He would have to remedy that, soon. But first things first; he opened his supplies and found he had a good supply of headache potion, and yes, the other potion he wanted was there too.

He took two phials of headache potion – after all, Harry wasn't the only one who had been drinking – and one of the other, and went back to their bedroom.

 _ **Our**_ bedroom. It was a nice thought, he decided, as he put one phial of headache potion on his bedside table, the walked around the bed to sit next to his lover.

"Here you are, Harry, drink this," he said, helping the raven-haired man up and giving him the headache potion.

"Ah, oh, better," Harry said in a relieved voice; the thousand hammers had stopped beating in his head now, and coherent speech was a possibility again. "Stay with me?"

Draco was torn. He desperately wanted to stay and comfort his lover; but Harry was drunk, and who knew what would happen? Draco would love to go further in their relationship; but what if Harry woke up remorseful, still thinking that he had forced Draco?

They really had to get past this, and soon. For the moment, he said, soothingly, "you need to sleep now."

"I'm sor-(hic)-ry Draco…"

The blond looked at him, cross. Would the man never stop apologising?

"What for? Being drunk? That's perfectly natural. Getting drunk? We all drank together, it happens, don't stress."

"No, for … for …" Harry began to cry.

"Hush, Harry," Draco said soothingly, annoyed with himself that he had let his irritation get across. "Here, I want you to drink this as well," he said, placing one arm around him and raising the second phial to his lips.

"Wass in it?" Harry asked.

"Dreamless Sleep potion," Draco answered as he tipped the potion up, then put the empty phial safely on the bedside cabinet. Harry settled down and Draco leant over him and kissed him.

"Goodnight, Harry, we'll talk in the morning. I love you."

With that, he left the room.

* * *

The others were now in the drawing room drinking firewhiskey when Draco came in, apologising that Harry was 'indisposed'.

Blaise handed Fred a galleon, asking, "how did you know?"

"Poncy pure-blood," Fred answered, with a grin.

"What's that about?" Draco asked.

"I bet Blaise you would say exactly that when you came back," Fred answered, smirking.

"It seems 'e knows you very well, Draco, And Mr Potter, 'e cannot take 'is drink, no?"

"Blaise!" Draco practically growled.

"What?" Blaise snarled back, and Draco realised all at once that Blaise had had too much to drink, too; but he was being an aggressive drunk, not a maudlin and sleepy one, as the Italian put his fists up, evidently spoiling for a fight. "So Potter is a milksop who cries and falls asleep from too much wine! You want to make something of it?"

George turned to him, and spoke in a quiet, stern voice, "Mr Zabini, Harry is our baby brother; and Draco is his lover. That makes him family. You take him on, you take us on. You against Malfoy, two Weasleys–"

"- _three_ Weasleys," Ginny corrected.

"—and one Banks," Robin interjected.

"- does that sound like a fight you want a piece of?" Fred finished up.

Blaise looked at Pansy. "What about you?" he asked.

"You got yourself in this mess, you get yourself out," she replied. "Harry is our host, you have better manners than to insult him so."

At this, the dark-skinned Italian shook his head and looked at the menacing forms of the twins. "Pah! So, you need to be protected by Weasels now, Draco?"

"Blaise," said Draco, the tone ice-cold, the warning unmistakable, "you are one of my oldest and best friends, and that's why I'm not going to hex you to hell and back, even though you deserve it. Aren't you listening? Harry is my lover, these people are my family. It's time to stop calling other people names. It's time to grow out of all that childish division we grew up with."

Blaise paused. He had heard that tone before, but never thought to be on the receiving end. It was truly frightening. "I think, maybe, I go home now," he said, softly.

"I think that would be wise. Do you want a hangover potion?"

Blaise sighed heavily, and seemed to pull himself together. "No. Thank you for the offer, but I think it's best if I just go now. Good-night." And without saying another word to them, he entered the Floo and was gone.

The silence was deafening.

Fred looked around at everyone. "Now, let's play Black Lady. Who's in?"

They all were. It was just what they needed, and they spent an hour on the game. Draco wasn't familiar with it, so they explained that it was a game involving rounds called 'tricks', where the object is to avoid winning points, particularly by not winning the Queen of Spades, who was worth thirteen points, in a trick; but in the Wizarding version it is much harder to avoid taking the Queen, as the court cards will go visiting one another, and you'd play, say, the Queen of Diamonds only to find the Queen of Spades in the frame as well when you gathered the trick up.

After half an hour, Draco decided there was no way to play for a win, so he gave up doing so and decided just to play to have fun. An hour later, when all the firewhiskey was gone, Draco realised, rather to his surprise, that he had enjoyed the game very much. At this point, Luna, Pansy and Neville bade everyone farewell, and Flooed to their respective homes, or, in Neville's case, the shop.

"He's still staying there?" Draco asked, somewhat bemused that Neville didn't have a home of his own.

"Oh yes," George replied with a wink, "it's there or his grandmother's. Must be a hard choice; if he's with her, she bosses him round, and if he's at the shop, he has to share his room with me."

Draco understood. _Hard choice my foot!_ Rather than think about just what might happen in George's room, he asked the four remaining guests if they would like to stay; they accepted the offer happily.

"Kreacher!" Draco called.

The house-elf appeared, rather bleary-eyed, and Draco gathered with a start that he must have gone to bed.

"Sorry," he said, then realised he was apologising to a house-elf without needing to (which is to say, without Granger, scrub that, Hermione, being present); he contented himself by asking, "are the rooms available as before?"

Kreacher swore under his breath, something about blood-traitors in his mistress's house, which Draco only half-heard. But he wasn't going to let it pass, and put on his most haughty Malfoy manner.

"Kreacher! You know Harry wouldn't put up with that, and neither will I! These people are our guests, kindly provide accommodation for them suitable for guests of a Black house. And then you may retire." The elf was looking mutinous and Draco knew what was coming: a house-elf who wanted to be disobedient would foul up deliberately and then punish himself. To forestall this, he added a rider: "And you may not punish yourself, is that clear?"

Kreacher grumbled about "overbearing jumped-up sons of …" He didn't complete the sentence as Draco was glaring at him. "Yes, yes, Master Draco," he continued, "nice Master Draco," and vanished with a pop. A minute later he was back; "rooms are being ready just as before, Kreacher has being airing them nicely."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Draco said, knowing that Harry would not be happy if he didn't show - what was Gra- Hermione's phrase? - 'kindness and understanding', that was it. Well, he could do that. "You may go back to bed. Apologies for disturbing you."

Kreacher hmmed and grumped, but seemed to go off happily enough. At which point, Ginny and Robin went upstairs to bed. Draco went up with them just to check that everything was in order; when he saw the queensize bed, he just smiled.

"You won't tell mum, will you?" Ginny asked, worried.

"Not a word," Draco replied. She was his guest, after all; it simply wasn't done to tell tales. "Do you have everything you need?"

Robin checked the bedside cabinet. "Yes," he grinned. "Good night."

* * *

Draco went back to the drawing room, pouring himself and the twins glasses of brandy. He wanted to talk to them; but how to begin? Harry had told him so much, but there was still more he needed to know, he was sure of it. He had some thinking to do. Principally about exactly what was going to happen to the Dursleys when he caught up with them.

"I''m glad you two are here," he said, deciding that openness and honesty were the only way to go. "Harry has told me a great deal of his past, and he opened up a lot tonight."

Both twins leaned towards him, excitement in their faces. "That's great! / He really needs to open up to someone. / We're so glad he's got you!"

Draco blushed. How had he ever despised the twins or thought they were no-hopers? But, truth to tell, he knew the answer to that: he had always seen them from the dark and dismal Malfoy point of view. His world had taken on a whole new range of colour since he had fallen in love with Harry. He had definitely taken on some of Harry's thinking; he could now see people as valuable for themselves, not just for what they could do for him.

He told them about over all the things that Harry had said: being called a freak; being kept in a cupboard until he went to Hogwarts; never being cuddled by a loving hand. He found himself opening up to these men like he never had to anyone before; he told them about that voice telling him Harry needed his comfort; he could certainly see the truth of that now. He told them about the vision of the obscenely fat man, whom he now knew to be Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, and his huge hand striking the tiny Harry, just a small boy longing for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. No wonder Harry had raised his hands in the kitchen just now, if that was what he was used to!

And the twins didn't mock him, or belittle him; he could feel a warmth from them, coming from a shared love for Harry. A love, he knew, that was no threat to his relationship with Harry; he had seen that so clearly at the party. It meant that he could talk freely to the Weasleys about everything to do with Harry, and he was finding that freedom truly liberating.

And so he came to what for him was the worst thing of all.

"They called him 'evil'," he said, gazing into his brandy balloon. "Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-who-lived-twice, the Destroyer of Voldemort; they called him evil. Harry Potter, the kindest, most caring, most important person in my world, the person who gave himself to destroy the most evil monster of their time; evil?"

"And then your father told him they've convinced the Muggles that he's a dangerous criminal. Harry! A dangerous criminal! And they've moved back to their home, where Harry grew up, and taken out some Muggle thing called an "injuncture" or something like that that means Harry can't go near it. He grew up there, and his own family won't let him come and visit!"

Draco hadn't realised he was crying until he felt the arms around him as the twins now knelt, one on each side of him, holding him, not saying anything, just letting him sort himself out. It brought a lump to his throat, and for a minute he could not speak.

"Thanks," he whispered, once he got his voice back.

The twins sat down again.

"We can tell you a bit more," they said. "We went to the house three times. The first time was when he was in second year; he wasn't in the cupboard then, he was in a bedroom upstairs. / The smallest bedroom. / Hideous, nothing of any value in it. / With bars on the windows."

"Bars on the windows?" Draco mouthed. _Why?_

"Yeah, to keep him from getting out. / We ripped them off. But there were locks on the door. And it had a cat-flap."

"But – Harry can't have had a cat, he had that owl?"

"We think it was for food, Draco. We think they kept him in that room as a prisoner." George said, his face a mask of pure anger.

Fred continued, "the second time we went, Dad used the Floo network – temporarily connected; but their fireplace was boarded up, we had to destroy it to get out. / We saw his cousin then. Frightful piece of work. / More like a small whale than a boy. We 'accidentally' dropped one of our ton-tongue toffees and he ate it."

"What happened?" Draco asked, delighted that these two had played a prank on this horrible boy.

"His tongue swelled up. / Dad said it got to four feet long before they would let him shrink it. / But we think he was exaggerating. / We never saw anything get longer than three feet with that particular spell. Anyway, the last time we went to Privet Drive was when Harry finally left, and we all got attacked by Death Eaters."

"Privet Drive?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, 4 Privet Drive, it's their address. In a Muggle village called 'Little Whinging'."

Draco filed the address away in his mind. It might come in very useful. "Oh, I see," he said, covering up his curiousity and his joy at now knowing where they lived. "So, what happened?"

They told him all about the flight from Privet Drive, and how Mad-Eye had died, and George's ear had got cut off. He had heard bits and pieces of the story before, but now here it was, laid out in full. He now understood so much more of his own history, particularly the part his aunt had played and how his father had lost his wand.

And now, he felt, he understood enough of Harry's past to help him deal with it. There was still the matter of Harry's feelings about the Debt; but while they had been talking about the Dursleys, a plan had been formulating in the back of his mind. A plan he could put into place tomorrow.

All in all, it was a good night's work, he decided, as he suggested they all go to bed.

He snuggled up next to Harry, putting his arm over the sleeping boy. The raven-head was dead to the world; but he still stirred a little, and his hand moved to grasp Draco's.

"Oh Harry," he whispered, though he knew his words wouldn't be heard. "You are so amazing. We're going to help you sort it all out, I promise."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my grateful thanks to all who subscribe and review; and to Bicky Monster who continues to do a wonderful job as a beta.
> 
> Comments would be wonderful and make my day.


	25. Returning to Their Senses

 

**25 Returning to Their Senses**

_Wednesday, 27 May 1998_

His head **hurt**! He groaned and moaned; what **had** he been drinking last night?

Then, slowly, it came back to him. Champagne, and elfwine, and firewhiskey. He should have known it was a mistake. “Never mix the grape and the grain,” his grandfather had insisted, and certainly for him, it always spelt disaster. He wondered who he’d punched this time. It usually came down to punching, somehow.

But it hurt too much to think about it, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. If only the pounding would stop. And the yelling.

Oh. Someone was there. “Whatsermatrbrdr,” he mumbled.

“BLAISE!” the voice yelled. _Damn, they know who I am_ , he thought. And then, as lucidity broke through, _it’s Pansy._ He groaned again, and got up. It was no good trying to stay in bed; she’d only burst in and turf him out.

“Coming!” he yelled, wrapping a dressing-gown around him and stumbling for the door, wondering why she was there; no-one used his door, not when the Floo was available. Or she could apparate in. As he opened the door, she charged in like the Hogwarts Express pushing him back with the force of her entry.

“What do you mean by it, wards up, Floo closed, it’s like you didn’t want to see me!” she all but yelled. _Oh._ That’s why she didn’t Floo then. He held his hands up in the international gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry, Pans! I open the Floo now, OK?” He did so; but of course it didn’t do him any good.

“You’ve got a lot more apologising to do, mister, after last night!” she admonished him.

He looked at her blankly. “Last night? What … what happened last night?”

She looked at him searchingly, and decided he probably didn’t remember. Which only made things harder, really. She’d have to go for shock treatment, she decided, and ticked off the points on her fingers.

“What happened? You came to dinner at Potter’s house, invited by Draco; it was a very pleasant evening, right up to when Potter went to bed, and you called him a cheap drunk cry-baby milksop, said Draco needed Weasel protection, and put your fists up to Draco, three Weasleys and Banks. And I’m not sure what Longbottom thought, but I bet he’d have taken you on too if it had come to that.”

Blaise sat on his sofa, his head in his hands. It was all coming back now. He so wished it would all go away again.

“Oh, God,” he said softly.

‘Yep,” said Pansy, going into his kitchen to make him some strong black coffee. Well, someone had to make him see sense, and by the looks of him she could tell perfectly well he wasn’t going to without at least a pint of espresso inside him.

* * *

Draco woke up with the sun in his eyes. He looked over at his lover, and watched as the light played over his face. He was glad that Harry had taken Dreamless Sleep potion; his raven-haired lover was still fast asleep, a beatific smile on his face, and the scene took Draco’s breath away. 

This beautiful man loved him. He still found it hard to believe. He gently smoothed Harry’s hair and, still asleep, Harry arched up into the touch and gave a low moan of pleasure. It went straight to Draco’s groin. But he didn’t want to wake him, so carefully removed his hand and slid slowly out of bed. It was an agonising choice; his body screamed to wake his lover up and make love to him, but he knew Harry needed sleep, and he didn’t want to go any further in their relationship until the issues with the Debt were fully resolved.

And so eight o’clock found him sitting in the drawing room, having showered, dressed and breakfasted. He decided now wasn’t too early to make the call he wanted, so threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and stated the destination he was calling, as well as he could, not knowing the exact Floo address.

“Headmistress McGonagall’s office, Hogwarts.”

Luck was with him; the Headmistress was in her office, having a small conference with Professor Flitwick about the plan for the day, and she answered straight away, “who is it?”

“Headmistress, it’s Draco Malfoy; please forgive me calling so early.”

“Mr Malfoy. Nonsense, it’s hardly early, and I’m sure you have a good reason for calling. How can I help you?”

“It’s about Harry. Um, I guess you know about the Debt of Magical Emancipation I owe him?”

 “Ooh! Ooh!” he heard in the background. It was Professor Flitwick “Forgive me eavesdropping, but really? I haven’t heard of one of those recorded in the last two hundred years!”

“Perhaps you should come through, Mr Malfoy,” said the headmistress crisply, “and we can discuss this more comfortably.”

Draco considered this. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Harry’s permission; but he was sure that this would be alright. He wrote ‘At Hogwarts’ on a slip of parchment, left it on the desk, and Flooed through to join the two teachers.

McGonagall steered them over to the lounge chairs she and Harry had sat in. She asked a house-elf for tea, and levitated over her tin of biscuits, offering Draco one. He remembered with a small smile that this was a sign of approval, so took one, even though he wasn’t actually hungry.

“Now, you mentioned a Debt?” she started.

“Yes, and I was hoping that Hogwarts might have some information. Harry is worried that our, um, feelings for each other, is only because of the Debt …”

“But that’s silly!” Flitwick responded. “Magical Debts may have a short-term, immediate effect on your affections; but they can’t change how you feel permanently!”

"Really?” Draco asked, a new hope kindling in his heart. “Are you certain?"

“Oh yes,” Flitwick answered, and Draco had trouble not grinning madly. “None of that old magic was ever really concerned with feelings, it was about making people do what was required regardless of how you felt. They might help you along at the beginning, but then it’s force. That lack of concern for the participants is one reason why all that magic was banned.”

Draco thought back to that day at Hogwarts, remembering the feelings he had had for Harry; yes, he had acted a bit strange, he realised; what Flitwick said definitely resonated with him. But if he was right, his feelings for Harry, Harry’s feelings for him … _oh Merlin!_

“Do you have any documentation for this?” McGonagall asked.

“I’m sure I could find some! Hmmm.. “ after a second or two of humming, clearly running through his books in his mind, he continued, “Yes! I have just the thing! Mr Malfoy, would you like me to have a word with Mr Potter?”

“Please, Professor.”

“Very good. It can’t be today, of course, there’s so much to do and I’ll need a little time to locate the book. I’ll talk to him tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Was there anything else, Mr Malfoy?” McGonagall asked.

“No, thank you, and I’m sorry to disturb you. Thank you very much for asking me through, and for your help.”

“Stuff and nonsense, Mr Malfoy; you are still my student, and I would do anything in my power to help my students. As would Professor Flitwick. And it seems that I was unable to help anyway, but I’m sure Filius will do an excellent job. Incidentally, where is Mr Potter?”

“He’s still asleep,” Draco confessed. “He, ah, was rather agitated last night so I gave him a Dreamless Sleep potion. He probably won’t wake up for another hour.”

McGonagall looked at him sternly. “I hope you don’t make a habit of dishing out Dreamless Sleep, Mr Malfoy. It can be habit-forming, you know.”

“Of course he knows,” a familiar voice insisted, as Snape appeared in his portrait. “I’m sure he took all the proper precautions. He did learn from me, after all. But, Draco, why exactly was Mr Potter so agitated?”

“We, ah, all had more to drink than might be wise,” Draco confessed – he had never been able to keep anything from his godfather, and it seemed that this was still the case even though the man was in fact only a painting – “and he told me rather a lot about his childhood.”

“Ah.” Snape said. “Do look after him, won’t you?”

Draco was taken aback; not so much at the words as at the tone. It rated as the first time he’d ever heard Snape have a kind word for Harry.

“Yes, do,” McGonagall said, looking at him rather shrewdly. “I can’t think of anyone he’s actually discussed his past with before, Mr Malfoy.”

“Um, well, he was under the weather a bit, so perhaps I shouldn’t say anything then …”

“No, of course you shouldn’t, until Mr Potter is ready,” the headmistress agreed. “But we will help you any way we can. And if you do need to discuss anything, my door is always open for any of my students, past and present, Mr Malfoy. But right now, perhaps you should get back in case Mr Potter wakes and misses you.”

“Yes. Right,” Draco said, grateful for the clear dismissal, and he Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Harry was still asleep, so Draco stripped off to his boxers and lay next to him.

“Mmmmm…” Harry said, waking as Draco spooned against him. “What time is it?”

“Sh, Harry, it’s twenty to nine, but you need your sleep. Is your head OK?”

“Mmmmm… Why wouldn’t it be?” Harry said, and then he remembered how he’d felt when he went to bed. “Oh. Ooh.. Yeah, so much better, thank you.” As he said this, Harry turned over and captured the blond’s lips in a good-morning kiss. “Thank you so much.”

They lay together quietly for a little while, and then all of a sudden Harry sat bolt upright.

“SHIT!” he said, turned bright red, and ran out of the room.

“What the …?” Draco asked, springing up himself. He heard Harry throwing up in the bathroom, and then the sound of the shower running. He wondered if Harry would mind company; but he discovered that the bathroom door was locked. Of course, Alohomora would take care of that; but if Harry had locked the door, he must want privacy, so Draco went back to the bedroom, dressed again, and went back to the drawing room to wait for him.

Half an hour later, a rather ashen-faced Harry sidled into the drawing room, to find Draco sitting reading one of the many books on old spells he had brought from the Manor.

“Good morning,” Draco said. “I was looking to see if I could find some way to deal with Aunt Burga’s portrait.”

“Oh,” said Harry, looking decidedly shaky, and sitting down on the nearest sofa rather quickly.

Draco looked at him quizzically. “Are you all right?” he asked, softly.

“Um… no,” Harry decided. “No, um, I, ah, remembered what I said last night. I’m a terrible lover, burdening you with all that …”

Draco carefully put his book down after marking his place; even in times of high emotion, there were some things you had to do. He then quickly scooted over and sat next to Harry.

“Harry James Potter,” he drawled, “you may be a terrible lover. I wouldn’t know; you’re the first real lover I’ve had. But you’re **my** lover, and I want to know all about your past. Those people were horrible to you, I get that; you hate talking about it, I get that too. But please, please, tell me? I want to know how they hurt you, so I don’t do it too. I want to help you heal, you can’t do that if you cover it up. Will you let me? Please?”

Harry looked at the blond, tears in his eyes, and then grabbed him in a hug. They stayed in a strangely comfortable silence for half a minute or so, and then Harry let go and leant back on the sofa.

“How about I have breakfast,” he asked quietly, “and then yes, I guess you’re right, I need to tell someone, and there’s no-one I’d rather tell than you.”

* * *

It took the rest of the morning. Harry did tell Draco everything. All about growing up, being forced to work, being starved and beaten and shut away, in the cupboard before Hogwarts and then in Dudley’s second bedroom during the holidays.

He explained about the blood protection meaning that he had to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety, even though they never cared for him. That calling him ‘freak’ became almost a term of endearment, certainly the closest they ever got. He told him about Dudley’s parties and how he had never had one until Hagrid brought him a cake on his eleventh birthday. He told him about the visit to the zoo, and Draco’s eyes twinkled at the thought of the snake scaring Dudley.

He told about blowing up Aunt Marge. He explained about the Triwizard Tournament, that it really was Barty Crouch Junior who had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. About the Dementors, and the Ministry revealing he wasn’t allowed to do magic, and the trial. About how the Ministry had moved it, and how Umbridge and Fudge had been so against him. He told about how Vernon, no longer fearing his magic, locking him away all day. About the cat-flap being for food. About being let out once a day for the toilet – when they remembered; Draco didn’t want to think about if they didn’t.

He told Draco all the things he already knew from the Weasleys: the bars on his window; the rescue with the flying car; the disastrous attempt to connect the fireplace to the Floo network. He told him about how relieved he was when finally he could leave the place. He told about the Dursleys packing up and driving away, with only Dudley acknowledging him.

And the whole time he spoke in a soft voice, forcing away the tears. When he was finished, Draco, in tears himself at the horrors that had been recounted, asked him how Harry could sit there, so stony-faced.

“I’ve shed enough tears over the Dursleys, Dray. I want it to be over. I don’t want revenge on them; I just want them out of my life. Well, Vernon, anyway. And maybe Petunia. Perhaps, in time, Dudley and I can reconnect and have awkward family gatherings together.”

And Draco laughed at this, full of love and admiration for the incredible resiliance of this incredible man, who even now was trying to make light of the story. He knew that Harry’s last words had been said for Draco’s sake, and he loved him for it. He didn’t even pull Harry up on the cutsie nickname. If Harry wanted to call him ‘Dray’, why the hell not? Harry had earned the right to call him anything he wanted, Draco decided.

Again they sat cuddling in silence. This time it was Draco who spoke.

“Harry, thank you so much for sharing that. You’re not a terrible lover, you know; you’ve shared your pain with me, and I feel honoured that you have, not burdened. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Harry echoed. Having Draco there, telling him, suddenly made it possible for Harry to imagine the thing he longed for. That he could move on. That it could be over.

“I don’t think we’re going to get any repairs done here today,” he said, still trying to lighten the mood.

Draco smiled, and asked, “Shall we go to Hogwarts for lunch?”

They did.

* * *

Blaise was notable by his absence, which surprised Harry; he’d got the impression that the dark-skinned Italian wanted to help as much as he could. Draco didn’t explain, contenting himself with pointing out that “no-one has to come every day, Harry. Helping here is entirely voluntary, after all. Millicent isn’t here either, she’s visiting family.”

Pansy managed to draw Draco aside and tell him that she’d visited Blaise, who had gone into his usual blue funk about what an ass he’d been. Draco thanked her for looking after him; he knew Blaise would come to his senses and apologise soon enough, he just hoped it was before word got back to Harry about what he’d said. He wanted Harry to hear the whole story all at once from Blaise, rather than in bits and pieces from other people. If Blaise told him, Harry would know his contrition was genuine and not just sorrow at getting caught.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily enough. Draco had wondered if Harry would become distant, maybe feel remorse at having shared so much so deeply; but the opposite was true. He seemed to want Draco closer than ever, seeking him out as they worked, holding his hand, hardly letting him out of his sight. Even so, they managed to finish the fourth tower by afternoon tea time; Draco found that the closeness made their magic stronger somehow, all the spellwork seemed effortless, and the walls went up faster than any of the other towers had.

Winky brought them tea and fruit scones, and her eyes went wide when she saw that the building work was now complete. She vanished with the inevitable pop, and she and Flitwick reappeared a few moments later.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” the professor chirped happily after he had inspected the third and fourth towers. “Your spellwork is impeccable! Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you have my deepest thanks. You have made a dream I have had for years finally come true!”

“Thank you Professor,” Draco said, speaking for both of them. He could see that the emotion of the day was making it hard for Harry to speak at all, so he continued, “but of course the towers still need to be furnished and decorated.”

“Of course, of course,” Flitwick answered, “but there’s plenty of time for that. There’s plenty of repair work needed elsewhere; the Astronomy Tower still needs quite a bit of work to be safe to use. The eighth-year rooms can now wait until later. In fact, we might leave the decorating to the students themselves when they arrive in July, don’t you think?”

And with that, the professor looked round again, sighed, “wonderful!” and, to their great surprise, grasped first Harry and then Draco in a hug. As he let go of Draco, he spoke to him softly.

“Thank you for looking after him. I think you have made more progress about the past, yes?”

Draco stared at the professor in wonder. How shrewd the man was! In reply, he only nodded, not quite trusting his voice, nor wanting to alert Harry. It was up to his lover, after all, to speak first.

“Good,” Flitwick said, “very good,” looking at them both and smiling. _Of course, Harry assumes he’s still talking about the building_ , Draco realised. Flitwick was a lot smarter and sneakier than a Ravenclaw ought to be!

Draco shook his head. He had to get rid of this ‘Ravenclaw ought to be’, ‘like a Hufflepuff’ thinking. It was exactly the same as the ‘pureblood / mudblood’ rubbish. Flitwick was Flitwick. And as a person, he was pretty darn amazing; and having him so obviously on their side made Draco feel a lot happier for the coming school year.

At this point he realised that Harry was speaking to him, and he hadn’t heard a word.

“Pardon?”

“I said, shall we go and see if anybody’s up for playing games?” Harry repeated.

Draco grinned. “Let’s.”

* * *

After playing Shuntbumps, and a couple of Seeker against Seeker snitch chases, they decided to dine at Hogwarts. Pansy Parkinson asked if she could sit with them; and Angelina Johnson, who had been working with Pansy in Millicent’s absence, came and sat with them too.

“Fred tells me you had a bit of a night last night,” Angelina remarked.

Draco looked daggers at her, but Harry was oblivious, saying, “yeah, well those two brought the most amazing game …” The conversation happily went on to the skittles game and other pranks the twins had invented. Whether Angelina had got the hint or not, she didn’t seem to want to draw the discussion back into dangerous territory, and Draco was glad.

As they left, he thanked Angelina for her company. She looked at him strangely for a minute, then seemed to make a decision. “I’m not sure I should trust you,” she said, bluntly, “but Fred does, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, OK?”

Draco nodded. He wasn’t surprised, really; he wasn’t sure he would trust himself either if their positions were reversed. The threat was obvious: _make sure you deserve my trust, or else._ He was determined not to find out what ‘or else’ entailed.

Harry, who had been asking Pansy about Blaise (and not getting anywhere), turned to them. “What are you and Fred doing?” he asked. “Would you like to come round for a nightcap?”

Angelina looked from him to Draco, wondering how the blond felt about an invasion of Gryffindors; but Draco’s face was inviting, holding no hint of scorn, so she said she’d ask Fred.

* * *

An hour later the four of them were sitting drinking brandy. Fred congratulated Draco on his skill at Black Lady, but Draco insisted it was just luck, and went on to talk about the skittles. _Again._ He thought. _Harry will smell a rat sooner or later._

But happily, it seemed it was going to be later. They discussed Grimmauld Place; Angelina, who had only been there once while it was the Order headquarters, was very impressed with the work they had done.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “It’s been great having Draco here, he’s taught me a lot about repair work. But we don’t know what to do about Walberga Black’s portrait or the traps Mad-Eye set up for Snape. Which is a bit of a nuisance really as basically we don’t use the front door and have to be quiet in the hall in case she wakes up and yells at us.”

Fred looked puzzled. “But we weren’t quiet last night,” he pointed out, “especially when George finished that first game, we all laughed and cheered. So how come she didn’t wake up?”

Draco had a sly smile on her face. “I might have accidentally put a sleeping charm on her,” he confessed.

Fred’s eyes lit up. “You sneaky devil!” he said. And then, a thought struck him. “That’s it!” he all but shouted, “you could use the Ætérnam Sopor potion!”

“Everlasting sleep?” Draco asked. “OK, so she’d then be asleep permanently, I can see that helping, but how? I mean, I know that charms work, but I’ve never heard of anyone applying a potion to a painting.”

“You need a wash,” Fred said, warming to his theme. “Like we used for the Ugly Mirror prank. You put the potion into a special mix that George developed that binds it to the surface.”

Draco looked worried. “Does that mean the picture is permanently damaged?”

“No,” Fred reassured him, “we also developed a special solution you can use to get it off. George insisted that we be able to; we’ve always tried to make our products safe to use, and the effects reversible. Good thing too; I reckon Hermione would have gone totally mental if we hadn’t had an antidote. As it was she made us use that on her handmirror straight after the party. Wouldn’t let us go back to the shop except to fetch it.”

“Have you tried it on a painting?” Angelina asked.

“Not yet,” Fred confessed, “but it can’t be that much different. Look, I’ll talk the idea over with George if you like.”

“Please.” Harry agreed.

“I’d like to be part of that operation too,” Draco admitted; potions being very much his thing.

“I’m sure that will be fine,” Fred said with a grin. Neville had told them about Operation Delighted Draco, and here was a chance to put it into practice. “As to the traps, what about Bill? After all, he works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. I know it’s Mad-Eye’s work, so it will be brilliant, but if anyone can do it, I reckon Bill could. Do you want me to ask him?”

They agreed happily. A little while later, Harry, exhausted by the emotion of the day, started yawning, and their guests promptly excused themselves, pleading a busy day on the morrow; and so they were all in bed by ten o’clock. And when thoughts of the morning’s conversation came into Harry’s head, Draco stroked his back and reminded him they were together, they’d work through it together, and Harry was the best boyfriend in the world. He couldn’t quite come at ‘best lover’ yet; that would have to wait until they were over the problems of the Debt.

Harry managed a night’s sleep without nightmares.

* * *

_Thursday, 28 May 1998_

“One – two – three – **wake up sleepyheads!** ”

Harry and Draco were up in an instant. Harry cast a Tempus, and, having recognised the voices coming from the drawing room, yelled back, “Oi! Eight o’clock in the morning is a bit early for a social call, isn’t it?”

“Not from family,” was Fred’s cheeky reply.

“The day’s half over!” George insisted. “And I’ve worked out your potion for you.”

That got Draco moving. He was dressed faster than Harry would have thought possible, and raced down to discuss matters with George. Harry followed, at a rather more leisurely pace, and found George and Draco deep in discussion, bent over a cauldron they had already set up in the library, while Fred looked on, amused.

“Breakfast?” he suggested.

“Please!” Fred agreed. “We’d better give them some, too, I suppose; I’m sure they’re too excited to think about such things.”

Kreacher was happy to provide breakfast for the four of them; as Fred had hinted, it took a few minutes to get the attention of the potioneers, but when they finally got them away from the cauldron and into the kitchen, Draco’s eyes lit up at the plates piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato and toast, and the four of them tucked in with an appetite.

After breakfast, George and Draco spent a happy couple of hours on the potion, while Fred and Harry Floo-called Bill, who agreed to come and look on Saturday morning, and then played Wizard chess together. As they played, Harry confessed to Fred that he had told Draco all about his childhood the previous day. He wasn’t sure how Fred would take it; he couldn’t have been more pleased with the response though.

“Good,” Fred said, “I’m glad you’ve told someone. And I think Draco needs to know, he’s really important to you, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Harry agreed.

“So are you two, um, …” he said, making a gesture.

Harry went bright pink. “No!”

“Why not?” Fred asked, without a hint of judgement in his voice, just sounding like a friend who wanted to know.

“It’s the Debt,” Harry explained. “I don’t want to force Draco into anything, and I feel like that’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re mental,” Fred said, “you’ve got this gorgeous bloke who loves you, and you love him too, we can all see that, and you don’t want to do anything about it because he might be under some enchantment?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And is this enchantment ever going to go away? Because if it isn’t, surely you both just have to live with it?”

“I get that,” Harry said, “but what if it does go away?”

And Fred did not have an answer for the hurt in Harry’s eyes.

* * *

The potion worked perfectly; Aunt Walberga was now fast asleep in her picture frame, and going to stay that way indefinitely. They whooped and jumped in the hall corridor, but nothing would wake her.

“Brilliant!” the twins laughed. They had been shouted at rather a lot, and being called ‘blood-traitors’ every time they visited the Order had grown a bit tiresome.

“But, Harry, you look upset? What’s up, little brother?” George asked.

“I just wish Sirius was here see this,” the raven-haired boy admitted, and the twins understood at once: Sirius would so have loved to have put one over his mother like that. They grabbed Harry in a four-way hug that was more like a scrum; and Harry was amazed at how comfortable they were all becoming with one another. Draco, especially, seemed to be fitting in as part of the family, and it brought a lump to his throat all over again.

The twins stayed for lunch, then went back to the shop; Neville had been minding it, and George had promised to spend the afternoon visiting his grandmother with him, so Harry and Draco Flooed to Hogwarts and gave his apologies to Flitwick.

They arrived as most people were finishing lunch; and there were Blaise, Millicent and Pansy sitting together, Blaise looking very apprehensive. Draco sauntered over and sat opposite him, and Harry sat next to the blond, a rather puzzled expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

In silent answer, Blaise conjured plants in front of them. Draco understood at once: purple hyacinth, meaning “forgive me”.

“What do you think, Harry?” he asked.

“I honestly have no idea,” the raven-head replied.

“Blaise said some things about you and Draco the other night,” Pansy started, but Blaise put his hand on her arm.

“Please,” he said, “this is for me to say. I called you names, Mr Potter; a milksop and a cry-baby I think, and I called Draco a coward. I’m sorry. It was drink talking. Pansy has scolded me, and you can scold me too if you want. I deserve it.”

Harry looked at him sternly. “Blaise, there’s only one name I want you to call me: Harry. Got that?”

“Yes … Harry,” the Italian replied.

“Good. Then I forgive you.”

Draco smiled, and swished his wand lazily, producing a bunch of daffodils in front of Blaise.

“Really?” he said, hopefully.

“Really,” Draco replied. “As Pansy said, we need all the friends we can get.”

“Thank you _caro amico_ ,” Blaise replied happily. He spotted the still-puzzled look on Harry’s face, and explained, “Draco and I, we know the language of flowers. Purple hyacinth, that means, ‘I stuffed up, forgive me’. Daffodils, they mean ‘’I forgive you, I am still your friend’.”

Harry whispered something in Draco’s ear, and the blond whispered back; then Harry made a small gesture, and a vine of ivy wrapped itself around the daffodils.

“Really?” Blaise asked.

“Yes, Blaise, I want to be your friend,” Harry replied.

For the first time since they sat down, Blaise smiled. It was a lovely sight, Harry thought.

* * *

Flitwick cleared his throat. “I would like a word with you, Mr Potter; perhaps, as Mr Longbottom isn’t here, Mr Malfoy and Mr Zabini might work together while we talk?”

This was agreed, and Blaise and Draco went back to continue work on the Astronomy Tower while Professor Flitwick took Harry to his office.

The first thing that struck Harry about Flitwick’s office was that it was full of books. There was practically no empty wall space; it was all bookshelves. The desk, in the exact centre of the room, was covered with papers and books, but anyone could see that, while it looked a little untidy at first glance, in fact everything was arranged in piles; Harry was sure that Flitwick knew where everything on his desk was and could lay his hand on any desired piece of parchment in seconds.

The room was not particularly bright; but it certainly wasn’t gloomy. In fact, the word that best described it was _cosy_. This was the room of a man you could always go to for help, Harry decided.

Flitwick waved him into an armchair in a corner, and sat in its pair opposite him.

“Now, Mr Potter,” he squeaked.

“Please, call me Harry,” the raven-haired boy said.

“Of course, Harry. Yes. Now, it’s obvious that you and Mr Malfoy - shall I call him Draco?” Harry nodded. “Good. It’s obvious that you and Draco are together, and I understand there was some business with a Debt; but I don’t quite know what, and I think there’s something making you unhappy about it.”

Harry steepled his fingers. Flitwick had hit a nerve; and Harry decided that he needed someone to trust, and the Charms Professor had always been friendly. So, hesitantly, he began to tell the small man about the events after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Shield, the Debt, and how he and Draco were now lovers. The Professor smiled and nodded and made encouraging noises, and Harry found it surprisingly easy to open up to him. And finally he got round to the problem.

“So, we’re lovers; but all the time I worry that I’m forcing Draco into something. What if he only loves me because the Debt makes him do so?”

Flitwick stared at him appraisingly; it was not unkind, and Harry had a strange feeling that the man was simply trying to work out the best way to help. In fact, he was musing on how easy it had been to play dumb to Harry, but he wasn’t about to let the Gryffindor know that. Instead, he allowed enough time for it to look like he wasn’t completely prepared, then suddenly swished his wand, and an old, blue book came out of a bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“I really don’t think you should let that worry you, my boy,” he said. “Here, this is about the only book I have with any detail on Debts of Magical Emancipation; it’s not a particularly common subject. But I think you’ll find it useful. Please, sit here and read it; I must go and supervise the works, but I shall be sure to look in on you in a little while.”

And with that, he left Harry alone to read the book. A little while later, a house-elf appeared with a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a tray of scones, with Flitwick’s apologies for not having offered them before. Harry smiled at this thoughtfulness and asked the elf to convey his grateful thanks.

* * *

“How are you getting on?” Flitwick asked.

Harry was startled. “Oh, hello Professor. Very well thank you. And thank you for the juice and scones, that was very kind.”

Flitwick waved the compliment away. “Of course. Now, tell me what you have learnt.”

“Well, the book you have given me is very interesting. It contains actual accounts from people involved in Debts of Magical Emancipation. And the thing that keeps coming up is how the Debt can force behaviour, but not feelings.”

Flitwick beamed at him. “And what does that mean for you?”

Harry smiled, suddenly getting the point. “It means that Draco might protect me, and be honest with me, because he has to; but he doesn’t have to love me; that’s all him. And I love him, and that’s all me.”

“Exactly. I think you should talk to him about that, don’t you?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, Professor, I think I just might.”

* * *

They got into bed that night before Harry had managed to work out what to say. He lay there next to the blond, thoughts churning through his head. What exactly did you say? It was Draco who was good with words, not him.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought. _I don’t need words._

He slipped off his boxers, and reached over and squeezed his lover’s cock as he rolled him onto his back. Draco kicked his boxers off, looked at him, and smiled. Harry reached in to kiss those beautiful, so kissable lips, their cocks meeting and a very enjoyable sensation beginning; but then he broke away, and kissed Draco’s chin, his neck and started to kiss all the way down the body he loved so much.

He could feel his lover growing tense, obviously wondering what was going on. He’d couldn’t believe he’d never done this before; it just felt so good. He sucked at each nipple, Draco giving little moans of pleasure that were music to his ears; and then he kept kissing down, all the way down the Sectumsempra scar, finally reaching his destination.

Draco’s cock was standing to attention, ready for him. Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry licked it, nuzzling the head.

“’’S good?” he asked, anxiously, having only instinct to guide him.

"Fuck, Harry! Oh fuck, yes!" Draco almost shouted as Harry wrapped his tongue around the tip. Confidence growing, Harry took Draco into his mouth. He had no clue what he was doing; this was – literally – virgin territory for him. But following his instincts, he wrapped his fingers around the base of Draco’s shaft, moving and Draco immediately started babbling.

“Oh – Harry – so good – ohh – ohh, yess, keep it up, ohhh…”

Encouraged, Harry stroked Draco’s balls and moved his mouth up and down, stroking the cock with his tongue. Draco moaned and gasped; a tiny portion of Harry’s brain was amazed that he had managed to reduce Draco to incoherence. The rest of his brain was busy with enjoying the sounds his lover was making, and the feel of the hot member in his mouth; and, to his surprise, his own erection, strong and hard, was making itself felt. To begin with, he fumbled a bit, sucking erratically, but eventually he found his rhythm, and the sounds Draco was making were pure music to his ears, growing in a crescendo of pleasure.

Then “Harry… close… oh" Draco whimpered, and Harry braced himself, increasing the pressure as Draco came with a shout into his mouth. He swallowed and licked. Draco’s cum was salty and bitter, and dribbled out of his mouth. But the whole experience was incredibly erotic; and suddenly he was coming himself, his body shuddering in pleasure.

“Oh … Draco … love you so much …” he said.

 _I guess he’s got over the problem about the Debt, then,_ Draco thought. But he didn’t say anything – he didn’t even try, he probably still wasn’t capable of coherent speech. Harry whispered a cleaning spell and they collapsed, sated, into each other’s arms, falling naked into a deep, deep, dreamless sleep.

 

 


	26. Return to Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to Umbridge's trial while Draco experiences his own tribulations ...

**26 Return to Trials and Tribulations**

_Friday, 29 May 1998_

Harry woke up slowly. He felt warm and comforted, though his covers seemed to feel different to usual. He opened an eye slowly, and discovered that it was because it wasn't his duvet on top of him. Instead, draped elegantly even in his sleep, was the naked form of Draco Malfoy.

He took the rare opportunity to study Draco's face in repose. It was, he decided after a couple of minutes, perhaps the most beautiful face he had ever seen. All of the anger and hardness that could be there – though less and less – was gone entirely. There was no trace of the 'Malfoy mask', and Draco's sharp features took on an unexpected softness.

But he couldn't stay there. He had a trial to go to; and there were more urgent and personal reasons why he needed to get up. So gingerly he manoevred his lover off him, adjusted the duvet over him and added a charm to keep him warm, and headed for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, showered and feeling considerably more comfortable, he returned to the bedroom, to find Draco stirring a bit.

"Come back to bed," the blond demanded. "It's cold without you!"

Harry laughed. "I'd love to, really I would, but I have a trial to go to."

This woke Draco up fully, and he looked at him seriously. "Oh, Merlin, I had forgotten that. Do we really have to go?"

"I have to go, but you don't. How about we see if Blaise is at Hogwarts this morning?"

"Yes, that might work," Draco said. He and Blaise had had a very long talk while Harry had been reading in Flitwick's office, and he knew that the Italian now understood how things really lay between them. Blaise had promised to be on his best behaviour with Harry in future (and it was a big step for him, Draco knew, not to say 'Potter' each time; but somehow, the Italian managed it, even though he did tend to stutter over the name); but some more time together without Harry, just to reassure Blaise that Harry wasn't going to monopolise Draco, would be a good thing, Draco decided.

Being now fully awake, Draco got up, showered and dressed. By the time he made it downstairs, Harry had breakfast all ready on the table.

"Where's Kreacher?" Draco asked, surprised to find Harry doing the cooking.

"Oh, Andy called, she was having some trouble with Teddy and your mother had a breakfast engagement and couldn't help. Since I have to go to the trial, I suggested I send Kreacher instead."

"I bet he wasn't happy about that!" the blond replied as he sat down to eat his breakfast.

"You might think so, but he seemed pretty happy once I explained that, as head of the Black family now, I regarded her as part of the family, and Teddy as the heir after me."

"Mm," Draco replied. "Harry, where did you learn to cook like this? It's amazingly good."

Harry blushed at the compliment, and replied, "um, you remember what I said about being forced to cook for the Dursleys?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, of course, how stupid of me…"

But Harry stopped the apology in its tracks by kissing Draco's lips. "I know you didn't mean it, and I'd rather forget about it myself. I'm so very glad to cook for someone who actually appreciates it."

And, in his turn, Draco blushed.

* * *

Blaise confirmed that he was indeed working at Hogwarts all day, and would be delighted to partner Draco in Harry's absence. Draco then looked at Harry, questioningly.

"What is it, Dray?" Harry asked.

"Um, I need your permission to Floo," Draco reminded him.

 _Oh God_ , Harry thought. "Draco, I don't want you to feel like that. I'm your lover, not your jailer. How about we agree that you can use the Floo whenever you want to, as long as you are going somewhere absolutely safe, like the Manor or here, or you're with someone we both trust?

Draco was more than happy with such explicit trust being placed in him, and a few minutes later Flooed to Blaise's London _pied-a-terre._

"Draco, caro amico!" his friend said, his face lighting up with a huge smile. "So, you really aren't under P- Harry's thumb then?"

This had been one of the major sticking points in their conversation yesterday, so Draco was glad to be able to deal with it first up.

"Obviously not," he replied. "He's told me I can Floo where I want, as long as I'm in company and don't go anywhere silly."

Blaise raised his eyebrow at this, and Draco replied, "What? Very sensible restrictions. He just doesn't want me to find myself in a situation where I get attacked; or where I might have to attack without a witness and then get carted to Azkaban."

Blaise could see the sense in this. "I guess you were right; my judgement was too hasty," he said, passing Draco a mug of coffee.

"Eurgh! How can you drink this stuff! It's so bitter!" Draco said, making a face.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot you have to have sugar," Blaise replied, swishing his wand to summon the sugar bowl to them. Draco dumped three teaspoons of sugar in, and pronounce the result "bearable".

Blaise held his tongue. He viewed sugar in coffee as sacrilege, but he valued his friendship with Draco too much to say anything; they had been friends for fifteen years, after all, and he was going back to Hogwarts too. The Slytherins needed to stick together.

* * *

Harry Flooed over to the Ministry, as Arthur had arranged by owl the previous evening. As he came out of the Floo, it occurred to him that this was the first time in over a week that he had done anything without Draco, and he felt an acute pang of loss. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur asked him if he was all right.

"Fine thanks," Harry said. Which is, perhaps, the greatest lie of all time; and certainly Arthur didn't believe him, that was obvious, as he looked him up and down.

"Missing Draco?" he asked.

Harry was stunned. "Got it in one," he agreed.

Arthur smiled. "I felt the same way about leaving Molly when we were courting," he said. "Anyway, to business. It's going to be a bit of an ordeal today, I'm afraid; Umbridge has two lawyers and we suspect that they've cooked up something to try to use the Potter Code to their advantage, so we'll all have to be on our toes. The Minister won't be there; we feel it's good to show the Wizarding world in general that we have every confidence in the Wizengamot, and Doge, without needing Kingsley there all the time. But I think I will attend, mostly to take care of you."

"Thank you, Arthur," Harry said, and meant it.

At this point, there came a knock on the door. Arthur, surprised, said "come in!" and the door opened to admit Libatius Borage.

"Ah! Deputy Minister, Mr Potter, I'm glad to have caught you both. We have had a small incident with the Expositor Falsitas potion."

"You haven't run out?" Arthur asked anxiously.

"Oh no," Borage replied, with a sly smile, "no, we suspect that the defendant has tried to subvert it."

"I didn't think that was possible?" Harry asked.

"It isn't, as far as I know," Borage answered. "But that isn't going to stop people trying. Some work has been paid for by the people claiming to represent Umbridge, and they seem to have decided that Expositor Falsitas and Veritaserum might cancel each other out. So I suspect that the defendant has taken a modified form of Veritaserum – one which will allow her to keep silent, but which she expects will stop Expositor Falsitas from working."

"Do you think this idea will work?" Arthur asked.

"I know it won't," Borage answered. "You know that we pretty much force people to drink a cup of tea before they take Expositor Falsitas?" Borage asked. The other two remembered this, and nodded. "The tea contains a completely harmless potion that reacts with anything that will hinder Expositor Falsitas," Borage continued, "and, by the way, tastes awful if you have taken such an antidote. The defendant complained that her tea tasted awful this morning, so I have given her the potion, and now made sure she doesn't take anything else."

"That's very clever," Harry said, delighted to have outfoxed Umbridge before the trial had even started. "Do you think she'll think she's protected from Expositor Falsitas?"

The smirk on Borage's face showed that Harry's point had indeed occurred to him. "Yes," he replied. "We should see some fun this morning."

* * *

The clerk of summons read out the charges: "It pleases the Wizengamot to call to trial Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, former Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, for crimes conducted during the tenure of these various offices, including: sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter; attempting to subvert the subsequent trial of the said Mr Harry James Potter for the use of underage magic by assisting the then Minister to move the time and location of the trial; failing in her duty as a teacher to provide an adequate foundation for her teaching and subject, contrary to the stated requirements of Professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; use of outlawed and questionable methods of punishment, to wit, using a blood quill; –" for the first time in the recitation of charges, the assembly made a noise: a general shocked intake of breath, which the clerk seemed to ignore – "requiring students to take Veritaserum; threatening students with corporal punishment, contrary to the Code of Conduct for Professors at European Magical Schools; subjecting known witches and wizards to arrest and trial using methods of torture including dementors, outlawed since the forty-fourth convention of the Wizarding Assembly of twelve hundred and forty-five; decrying muggle-born magicals and referring to them as 'mudbloods' in official Ministry pamphlets; denying Ministry staff their deserved and accrued leave; failing to treat Ministry staff with respect at all times."

"A very impressive list," Elphias Doge, sitting in his customary seat overseeing the whole proceedings, opined.

"A tarradiddle of lies and imaginings," said a very portly wizard dressed in an astonishing set of red and mauve robes, that no doubt he thought imposing but which Harry thought made him look like a court jester.

"Ah," said Doge, not looking particularly pleased. "And you would be …"

"Prometheus Parturvithic, at your service, sir," replied the other wizard, with a little bow that looked more ironic than respectful to Harry. "Wizard in charge of the defense."

The look on Doge's face suggested that he wasn't impressed by the man's demeanour either. "I see," he said mildly; though Harry could see menace in his eyes. "A most unusual circumstance."

"Yes, sir," Prometheus replied. "And one which I hope we will convince the Wizengamot that it should become normal practice. I'm sure that Mr Potter would agree that we need to revise our court system, in light of his own experiences of it?"

"Mr Potter?" Doge asked, inviting Harry to speak.

Harry rose, his cheeks reddening at the thought of addressing the gathering so early in the trial. He had hoped to avoid speaking altogether, and now he was being drawn on what he suspected the man wanted to make the central issue: whether the Wizengamot was in fact competent to judge the woman who had been one of their own. "While I agree that my own experience does not inspire confidence, I believe that is down to a rather weak Minister who had taken over the Wizengamot. As that is no longer the case, I think we can have confidence in the present system, especially as there is a willingness to adapt to meet the needs of justice, is there not, sir?"

 _Clever, Harry,_ Arthur thought, as Doge and several other members nodded their heads in enthusiastic endorsement. By asking the question, he was definitely getting the Wizengamot on his side. _We might need that,_ he thought. Umbridge was a tough opponent.

"Quite so," Doge replied, a summary that quietened everyone down. 'Now, Madam Umbridge, I must ask you to plead to the charges, and we shall of course take them in turn. We begin then with the matters relating to the trial of Mr Potter, and your alleged actions before that trial. In regard to sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter, how do you plead?"

Umbridge stood up. Harry noticed, sickeningly, that she had obviously been afforded courtesies denied to the Malfoys: she was not bound to the chair, and she was made up and wearing her own clothes. As always, her ensemble was in pink, with a large black velvet bow on top. Privately Harry thought she would actually have looked better in prison garb; she still managed to look like a toad with a fly perched on its head, just as she had done all those years ago when she started to teach Defense. If indeed you could call what she did teaching.

There was a simpering smirk on her face as she opened her mouth, But it was immediately clear that there was some sort of problem. Umbridge began to speak, saying, "I plead no—ah, that is, I would enter a plea of no—"

"Is there some sort of problem, Madam?" Doge asked. His voice was placid, but there was fire in his eyes.

Parturvithic leapt to his feet. "I think it is obvious that my client wishes to plead 'Not Guilty', sir."

"Do you," Doge asked, and the menace in his voice was palpable. "I don't agree. Madam, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"

"I plead – I – I –" Umbridge spluttered, obviously fighting the anti-lying potion and just as obviously failing. After ten seconds or so of this, she eventually gave up, and said, very quietly, "guilty", as she sat down.

"I see," said Doge. "So, you accept that you sent Dementors to attack a fourteen year old boy, is that right?"

Umbridge glared at him, but his face was stony, and it was not long before her gaze failed and she looked down. "Yes," she said, quietly. Then she turned to her counsel, seeming to come to life. "Why isn't it working?" she demanded.

The Wizengamot erupted at this unexpected outburst. "SILENCE!" Doge demanded. He turned to Umbridge, and there was no mistaking the anger in his face this time. "Why isn't **what** working?" he demanded.

Umbridge's face had gone ashen, and the simpering, almost cocky air from before had entirely disappeared. "We thought – I was told –"

"You were told," intejected Borage, "that taking a Veritaserum derivative would block the action of the Expositor Falsitas potion and allow you to lie to the Wizengamot. You were told that this was your best chance, to actually lie to us, presenting a poor, pretty, put-upon little lady who always did what the Minister wanted and never thought for herself?"

"I DID always act for the Ministry," Umbridge insisted, but then found she couldn't stop herself adding "as long as its interests were the same as mine…"

"It seems, Madam Umbridge," said Doge, his quiet but venomous voice breaking in, "that we cannot really trust your testimony. Accordingly, we shall follow a precedent set eighty years ago for people who refuse to take Veritaserum: your testimony will be taken as usual, but will not by itself be sufficient to acquit you; though it may well show your guilt. Thus, we see you did set the Dementors on Mr Potter; and did you also attempt to subvert his trial by moving the time and location of the trial?"

"That was Fudge's idea!" Umbridge shrieked. "I only did what he said!"

"There are plenty of Death Eaters who have appeared before us in the last weeks who only did what Voldemort said," one of the elder members of the Wizengamot broke in, "and are now in Azkaban for doing so. Merely following orders is no excuse if those orders are unconscionable!"

Parturvithic snarled at the man. "I thought you had resigned, Ogden?" he demanded angrily.

"Tiberius Ogden is a valued member of the Wizengamot," Dalmatea Merrythought replied for Doge. "He did resign, in protest at the defendant's actions; but he has been reinstated in full. Perhaps you think he should recuse himself, given his past resignation?"

"Yes, I do," Parturvithic replied.

"Tough," said Doge. "If everyone who disliked the defendant recused themselves, we would not have a representative body to cast judgement. And it seems rather irrelevant given that we have two guilty pleas before us already."

"My client has entered no plea to the second charge!" Parturvithic said belligerently.

Doge looked at him as though he were insane. "She has told us that it was Fudge's idea, that she executed. Is that not correct? Madam Umbridge?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly.

"So, then, guilty. Now, we turn to your actions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The charge of using a blood quill happily involves someone in front of us. Mr Potter, would you care to elaborate?"

Harry would much rather not have done so, but this wasn't exactly an invitation he could refuse.

"Profess—Madam Umbridge did not accept that Voldemort had returned, and called me a liar for saying so. Her punishment was to make me use a blood quill to write the lines 'I must not tell lies' until the words were permanently marked on my skin. Like this," he said, pulling up his sleeve and displaying the words still visible there.

Doge turned to Umbridge. "Do you deny this?"

"It would be foolish to!" she replied. "At the time, I truly believed that Mr Potter was a liar; though subsequent events showed that was not the case. So I merely did what I thought was the best thing to teach Mr Potter an important lesson about accepting the wisdom of his elders and betters."

Harry clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't going to rise to the bait. And happily, Doge simply fixed his eyes on her and said softly, "his elders, yes." The lack of the next words was telling.

The trial continued on through the rest of the sorry history of Dolores Umbridge's time at Hogwarts, and then the discussion went on to the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which Dolores had been the first and only head of. There was a general outcry as the actions of the Commission, which had not been common knowledge, were exposed for the Wizengamot's attention.

By eleven o'clock the proceedings were winding down, and it was clear that the Wizengamot had not a shred of sympathy for Dolores Jane Umbridge. There didn't seem to be anything left to discuss as Parturvithic rose to his feet, and Harry wondered what he was going to try now.

"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, and the unctuous oiliness of his tone made Harry want to vomit. "My client has, as you see, pleaded guilty to your charges. But surely we must now consider the Potter Code. My client's actions, as have been established, were due to instructions given to her by others, or motivated by her desire to act in the best interests of and for the name of the Ministry. Surely, if you can give two known Death-Eaters probationary sentences, you can find it in your hearts to accept that my client deserves a second chance? Or does the Potter Code provide one rule for Mr Potter's friends and another for those he dislikes?"

 _So,_ thought Harry. _This was it._ An appeal to the Potter Code, and the implicit statement that to free Draco and Lucius but not Umbridge would be unjust.

"Mr Potter, is there anything you would like to say in response to this plea?" Doge asked him mildly.

Harry rose to his feet. What could he say? It was true that he couldn't countenance sending the Malfoys to Azkaban; the Debt bound him to them in subtle ways as well as them to him; and it was also true that Dolores Umbridge was one of the few people he had ever met who he would cheerfully have sent off to that hell-hole, and wanted to apologise to the Dementors for sending her there. How could he make it clear that there was a real, objective difference between the cases?

And then he saw it.

"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, in conscious imitation of Parturvithic, and then stopped. "It's pretty stupid, isn't it. It's pompous words to stroke the ego. But we didn't get that from the Malfoys. The core of their argument was simple: their family was threatened. They did what they had to do, but they acknowledged that they did wrong. You gave them second chances, begrudgingly in Lucius's case, after that acknowledgement. And because they wanted to help rebuild our society."

"They didn't try to argue that wrong was right. They didn't say, as Umbridge had, that they were following orders. They received the second chance only once they had agreed that they needed it. That it was for this body to decide to punish them or not, as it saw fit. And that if they were freed, they would take up responsible roles in our society. Have we seen this from Madam Umbridge?" Harry spat the name out. "No, we have not. She has fenced, and prevaricated. She has tried to avoid the anti-lying potion. She has tried to excuse her actions. The Malfoys did none of this. The Potter Code isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card;" and even though the Wizengamot had no idea of such Muggle games as Monopoly, Harry could feel them with him and knew that the idea was understood even if they didn't get the reference, "to get a second chance, you have to accept you totally stuffed up the first one. That you don't deserve it. And that you're going to do something with it that isn't just about you, but about helping everyone. Is that so for Madam Umbridge?"

Leaving the Wizengamot with this question, Harry sat down. "Well done," Arthur whispered, and Harry looked around at the assembly. Everyone who caught his eye gave him some little sign of encouragement – a little smile, or a tiny 'thumbs-up' gesture; Borage even gave him an odd sort of salute.

"Well, thank you, Mr Potter," Doge said. "Now, I think, would be an appropriate time for us to ask the non-members to withdraw while we consider the testimony given today."

With that, Harry and Arthur were escorted back into the adjacent room and given tea and biscuits, while Umbridge and the team she had hired were taken back to the holding cells. Harry idly wondered if they would get tea and biscuits, before deciding that he didn't really care.

They were called back in just after half-past twelve.

"We have reached a verdict," Doge intoned. "The guilt of Madam Umbridge is clear, and the severity of her actions, particularly as regards muggle-borns and the Dementor attack ordered on Mr Potter, warrants her imprisonment in Azkaban for the rest of her life. As for a second chance under the Potter Code, our answer to Mr Potter's question is a resounding no. There is not the faintest suggestion of remorse in anything we have heard today. Nor any suggestion that Madam Umbridge might help our society in any way. On the contrary, we are unanimously convinced that she is a danger to wizarding society and has no desire to serve in it. Accordingly, the sentence stands: life imprisonment. Take the prisoner away."

"NO!" Umbridge yelled, staring at the two Aurors who had moved forward to take her away. "You PROMISED me you'd get me off!"

Something in Harry started. He recognised the Aurors: Crockford and Barnes. It figured. A thought hit him like a Hippogriff at full speed: _how had she got the potion?_ He stood up.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Doge asked, polite as ever.

"How did she get the potion? The one that she tried to avoid the Expositor Falsitas with? It must have been delivered by an Auror, no-one else could have got close enough …"

"What exactly are you implying, Potter?" Crockford snarled at him.

The two Aurors had turned and were facing him now, and in answer, Harry hardly even had to cast a spell: the words 'Signum Revelare' seemed to flow out of him, red light floating over to the Auror on the left's sleeve, and suddenly it burst into flame. A mark appeared on the skin underneath.

"Damn you all!" the Auror shouted, his wand suddenly out, and he would probably have caused a lot of harm if Harry's instinctive 'Expelliarmus!' had not disarmed him before he could fire off a single hex.

There was instant tumult and shouting, and Arthur paled at the significance of a previously unknown Death Eater inside the Aurors, as Tombinias Barnes screamed in agony, his arm on fire, his cover now completely blown.

* * *

It took until half-past one for everything to get sorted out. Barnes survived the flames, and being caught, quite literally, red-handed, the Wizengamot had had no hesitation in sending him to Azkaban as well, after snapping both his wand and Umbridge's in front of them. Crockford was wandering around like a dazed man; he was sent to St Mungo's for full investigation.

Lunch was very late; but, to thank Harry for his help, Doge, the Minister and his deputy offered to take him to the most expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley. Harry apologised that fancy restaurants weren't really his thing, and Kingsley chuckled. "Don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine."

And so two o'clock found them sitting in 'Le Jardin Magique', the exclusive estaminet known to very few, drinking elf-wine and eating some of the nicest food Harry had ever tasted. He was relieved to find that, despite having a French name, the place was not at all pretentious; each table was set in its own room, and diners were able to choose their own garden for the duration of the meal, whatever flowers and greenery they wished being magically created. Harry had asked for the simple English cottage garden he'd longed to have while growing up, and he found sitting in it so absorbing and peaceful that his companions had to remind him to eat.

During the meal they discussed the interview with Rita Skeeter that he was going to do the following day, and how the events of Umbridge's trial worked in. After a little thought, Harry decided that in fact the Wizengamot's decision could be explained quite well from the statements of the Potter Code that they had given him earlier, and he found that the fact that he could answer all their questions made him feel hopeful that he wouldn't make a complete arse of himself the following day.

Turning from the subject of the interview, Kingsley asked what plans Harry had for the following morning, and Harry answered that he was going to meet Arthur at eleven o'clock to consider the interview in depth, but otherwise had no plans.

"Excellent," Kingsley said. "There is something else I think you should do – we will make an appointment for you, if that's all right."

Harry was rather surprised, but nodded, realising he'd rather dropped himself in for it. Now the Minister knew he had nothing else on, he could hardly refuse.

As they were eating, the _maitre d'hotel_ came over to the table.

"I trust everything was to your satisfaction?"

Harry thought for a second. There was, he realised, just one thing about the meal he would change.

"I wonder," he asked, and explained what he would like; would it be possible? The _maitre d'hotel_ was delighted; of course, for Mr Potter, there would be no problem. He happily supplied Harry with the parchment and quill he needed.

All of which explains why it was after quarter to five when Harry, making a short stop at a little shop in Diagon Alley, Flooed to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, wondering what sort of day Draco had had.

* * *

Draco and Blaise worked hard on the Astronomy Tower all morning, together with Neville and Seamus, strengthening the stairs that the Death Eaters had all but destroyed as they fled after Dumbledore's death, and which had never properly been repaired; Millicent and Pansy teamed up with Cho Chang and Angelina Johnson, performing renovation spells on the exterior of the Tower.

At lunchtime Flitwick made an announcement.

"We are making fantastic progress!" he said in his high, chirpy voice. "I am delighted to announce that the main repair work to the Astronomy Tower is now finished, and the Eighth Year Tower has been built; there are still some repairs to the Gryffindor Tower needed, and some of the quoins and walls around the castle, but other than that, the main restoration work of the external structure is complete. By the end of next week, we should be moving on to the many minor repairs inside the castle. So, given such wonderful progress, and as it is a beautiful afternoon, I suggest we stop work and have an impromptu Quidditch match!"

They'd all hoped this was coming, but were delighted when it actually happened. There were to be two teams, of course; Flitwick produced purple Quidditch robes for one team and orange for the other, explaining that these colours were not house colours so no-one would feel slighted. To his delight, Draco was chosen as Seeker for the Purple team; and Cho Chang was equally delighted when shewas chosen as Seeker for Orange.

The game started at two o'clock; by half-past four, Cho and Draco had seen the snitch twice each, and Draco had nearly been hit by bludgers four times to Cho's five. Draco pulled up next to Cho, looking around; it suddenly occurred to him that they were very exposed out there. Cho could see worry in his face, but did not understand the problem.

"What's up, Malfoy? Scared Orange will pound Purple into the ground?"

"No, actually, worried that I can't quite afford to trust everyone."

Cho understood immediately. "I'm sure – yes, look, there's Flitwick and McGonagall and Slughorn keeping a very close eye on everything. You'll be fine, Malfoy. Just relax while I whip your arse!"

Draco grinned. "You wish," he said, zooming off to continue seeking the snitch.

Ten minutes later, he was rewarded with another glimpse of the small golden winged ball. And this time he was determined not to let it get away. He chased after it, diving down, levelling out until finally, with Cho suddenly hot on his heels he reached out, fingers grasping, extending … and then in a final adrenalin-filled rush, he caught it!

And then the world went black.

* * *

Harry came out of the Floo into an empty Great Hall. At first he was surprised that there was no-one about; but then he realised, of course, they would be busy repairing around the castle, there was no reason for anyone to be here particularly. Then he heard it – an unmistakable noise of general alarm. He raced to the front doors, and the noise became appreciably louder as he went through them. It was coming from … the Quidditch pitch?

 _Merlin! Draco!_ he thought, remembering that Flitwick had promised Quidditch today if all was up-to-date. And a Quidditch pitch was a dangerous place, even if you weren't a former Death Eater with other Death Eaters out for your blood. He raced to the pitch, his magic swirling around him, becoming almost tangible. As he entered the pitch, a chaotic scene greeted him. On one side, he could see two teams in Quidditch gear, one orange, one purple; in front of them, on the ground, was a stretcher, on which he could see the supine body of Draco Malfoy. In front of him was ranged an odd assortment of wizards and witches all with wands drawn – he could make out McGonagall, Flitwick, and Zabini nearest to him. Facing them were about half-a-dozen figures, all in dark robes and hoods. Between the two camps was a pair of shields, red and blue, obviously one raised by each side, and Harry could see that the blue one nearest his friends was wavering.

It took him only a very few seconds to take all of this in before he unleashed his own magic. A _Protego Maxima! a_ imed at the shield in front of his friends visibly strengthened it; before, it had been buckling at the top, but now stood straight up; and the colour changed as his own, green, magic merged with the blue to create a cyan-coloured wall of magic.

At the same time, he fired off an _expelliarmus_ , which passed through the red shield, tearing it to shreds, and hit the opposing force. Immediately their wands flew out of their hands towards Harry; with his Seeker reflexes, he had no trouble gathering them in as he simultaneously fired off StupefyandIncarcerous charms at the enemy.

Within thirty seconds the fight was over; but Harry had no interest in anything but the form lying on the stretcher. He raced to Draco's side and grabbed his hand.

"Hello, Harry," the blond said, weakly. "Never a dull moment, it seems." Then, obviously exhausted by even this much effort, Draco lay back on the stretcher. Harry placed his hand on Draco's heart; it was beating strongly. Madam Pomfrey, who had been hot on his heels, having heard the commotion more or less at the same time that he had arrived, leant over and performed diagnostic spells on the lad.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked anxiously.

"He'll be fine," she pronounced. "He was Stunned, but nothing more."

"That will be because Zabini had the good sense to cast a shield over him immediately," McGonagall added.

Harry stood up and looked Blaise in the eye. "Thank you," he said fervently, with a sarcastic glint in his eye as he continued, "if the thanks of a milksop are of any value to you."

Blaise snorted and his face went red. It was strange to see on the swarthy Italian. "Harry, I am so ashamed that you remember that! We had been fighting those bastards for ten minutes when you arrived, and we were losing; you took care of them in ten seconds. I'll never call you a milksop again! I have never seen such power!"

Harry smiled at him, and extended his hand. If Blaise was surprised to find a piece of parchment inside it as he shook it, he didn't show it.

"Is Draco all right?" a voice asked anxiously behind him.

Harry turned, to find Millicent and Pansy standing, still with wands drawn, looking at Draco with concern. It warmed his heart, and looked at the group of people who had been holding the line. There were the three Slytherins, the two teachers, Neville, Dean and Seamus. _Who would have guessed it – Gryffindors and Slytherins united!_ he thought, as the two teachers met four rather breathless Aurors who had suddenly appeared, apologising for taking time to get there. Harry decided that they must have been informed only after he had arrived; he needed to check this out though. If there was any residual ill-feeling in the Aurors about the Malfoys, it had to be rooted out. Especially after this afternoon's events with Barnes and Crockford.

"Harry?" Draco's voice broke into his thoughts. Blaise had helped him to his feet, and he stood rather unsteadily. Harry reached over to him and held him close, finding the blond was shivering. Why he wondered? Fear? Or something else?

Draco moved out of the embrace, and Harry looked at his face. No, not fear.

Rage.

"Where are they?" Draco asked, his voice soft, too soft, bringing to mind the soft hiss of a snake coiled to strike.

Harry walked with him over to where the attackers were now standing, one Auror standing between each pair, holding them none-too-softly.

Draco cast some sort of revealing spell, and the six hoods went down to make plain who the attackers were. Harry was sick to his stomach to discover that three of them he recognised from his school-days; one of them, wearing a gold necklace and clearly the ringleader, spat at Draco.

"Damn you, you pathetic excuse for a Slytherin!" he shrieked. It was the former Slytherin Chaser, Marcus Flint.

Draco went up to them and placed his wand at Marcus's throat. The Aurors visibly tensed, poised waiting for something to happen; but to Harry's surprise, did not attack, obviously prepared to hear Draco out.

"You know that, even in friendly games, Quidditch is so dangerous that hexing me during one gives me the right to kill you, don't you?" the blond said in that frighteningly quiet voice.

"You can't prove it was me who did it," Flint said, darkly.

"I don't have to, do I? Hmm? You're the ringleader of this gang, you get to take the punishment or the praise, it's the Death Eater way, isn't it, Marcus?" Draco said, almost spitting the words out in his fury.

Marcus looked at the ground, then snapped back up to Draco. "Yes," he hissed. "Get it over with, then."

"No," said Draco. "Killing you would give your actions some honour. Attacking a wizard flying on a broom, without a wand, has no honour at all; I'm not giving you any." He turned to the Auror holding Flint. "Take them away, please."

"With pleasure," the Auror replied, and roughly jerked his two charges away. The other two Aurors holding prisoners did likewise, and they made their way out of the Quidditch pitch.

The remaining Auror apologised to the Headmistress for the failure of wards, and to Draco for not stopping the attack.

"I must take some of the blame," Flitwick added. "Flint wrote asking if he could help, I said of course, and gave him the Floo address for the Great Hall, and allowed him through. I'm sure he then let the others in."

Draco's heart almost stopped at this; it was so like how he had let the Death Eaters in himself during his sixth year. Harry must have realised this too; for the raven-head wrapped his arms around him, saying "not your fault this time, Dray."

Draco stood tall. "I can't complain that you're so willing to extend friendship and forgiveness, Professor," he said to Flitwick. "I am, after all, a beneficiary of it myself …"

The tiny man looked at him, and his eyes twinkled as he thanked Draco.

At this point, the shock rather caught up with the blond, and he could hardly stand any more. He turned to burrow his head in Harry's chest.

"Take me home," he asked.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my grateful thanks to all who subscribe and review; and to Bicky Monster who continues to do a wonderful job as a beta.
> 
> Comments would be wonderful and make my day.


	27. Anxiety Leaves and Returns Again

**27 Anxiety Leaves and Returns Again**

Harry sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, rocking Draco in his arms. The blond had gone completely into shock, and had not stopped shivering for the last hour. Harry was beginning to think that his own ministrations were not enough; but who else? If their positions had been reversed, he decided, he would have wanted Molly Weasley. And that thought made up his mind for him.

He carefully lay Draco down on a sofa and Accioed a blanket for him. Then he knelt down and placed a Floocall to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius had guests over for drinks. People that Lucius knew from the Ministry, people who he still had information on, people he hoped would be useful. And, unfortunately, people who bored him rigid. In the middle of a hilarious – to judge from Narcissa's appearance – anecdote, a house-elf apparated beside her.

"Yes, Mappy?" she asked the elf.

"Please excusing me Mistress Narcissa, Master Harry Potter is being Floocalling in your study," the house-elf told her, his eyes very wide, evidently in awe at having spoken to the Boy Who Lived Twice.

"Thank you, Mappy," she said, and turned to her guests. "Please excuse me, I must take this call from Mr Potter."

Of course they all murmured in agreement, and Narcissa reached her study quickly. As she closed the door, the laughter she had kept inside bubbled out.

"Narcissa?" Harry's voice said, and she sobered up at once to hear the concern in it.

* * *

Narcissa and Harry sat talking quietly in the kitchen. Draco had finally managed to fall asleep on the sofa a few minutes before. She had only been there for half an hour, but it felt like much longer; seeing her son so stressed and shocked took its toll on her.

"I'm very grateful to you for calling me, Harry," she said.

Harry looked dumbfounded. "No, it's I who should be grateful," he replied. "I knew he'd want his mother, and you dropped everything to come to his side."

Narcissa looked at him fondly. "Of course," she replied. "He is my son."

He smiled again. He was beginning to love Narcissa Malfoy.

"Would you like to stay? I think Draco would be glad to have you here when he wakes."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Thank you for the invitation," she said, and the tone made what could have been mere politeness into a geniunely loving response.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, but taking care to keep his voice soft so as not to wake Draco.

The old house-elf had come back from Andromeda's house during the afternoon, having made dinner for her and Teddy. He came out of his little cubbyhole in the kitchen, muttering to himself. "Kreacher never gets a moment's peace, sent here, sent there, always busy, always – MISTRESS CISSY!"

"Shh!" she admonished him. "Master Draco is asleep."

"Kreacher is being very sorry," the elf said, mournfully, then brightened, 'but Mistress Cissy! A daughter of the Blacks! Kreacher being delighted to see you!"

Narcissa laughed, and Harry asked, "Kreacher, Narcissa will be staying the night, could you sort out a room for her?"

Kreacher swelled up like a balloon with pride and his eyes went huge at the privilege of serving a Black. "At once!" he said, and disapparated with a pop!

"Harry?" an uncertain voice called out. It seemed that the noise had woken Draco.

 _Damn_ , Harry thought, excused himself, and raced up the stairs, to find that Draco was much calmer after his nap.

"Thank you for letting my mother come," he started to say, but Harry shook his head.

"Of course. She's welcome here any time, Draco. And I could see you needed her."

At this point, Narcissa herself entered the room, having come upstairs at a rather more dignified pace than Harry. "You're looking a bit better, Dragon," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. And hungry," Draco confessed. "And still very angry with Flint. But thank God for Blaise. When I came to, he was standing between me and them, and holding the shield all by himself. That's why it was so weak, Harry; the others joined quickly, but those bastards had a six-to-one advantage to begin with."

"I was so frightened for you," Harry confessed, "but it was amazing to see the Slytherins and the Gryffindors standing shoulder to shoulder to protect you. It gives me more hope that maybe, just maybe we can make the whole thing work. But, if you're hungry, let's eat. Mrs – Narcissa, have you dined?"

"No," she replied. "In fact I owe you a vote of thanks; your Floocall interrupted me just as I was about to have a rather dull dinner with some acquaintances of Lucius's from the Ministry."

"Dull?" Harry asked, confused. "You sounded like you were having a great time when I Flooed you."

Narcissa threw her head back and laughed. "No, Harry, it was your timing! You called just as Cuthbert Mockridge was half-way through a very dull story about the first time he was Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Of course I had to pretend it was hilarious; he's now been reinstated following Cresswell's death during the war, and so Lucius thinks he's a useful contact to keep the goblins on-side.I was delighted to be called away, and even more so that because it was you, no-one could feel upset."

* * *

Dinner was a very strange event. Kreacher refused point-blank to have 'Mistress Cissy' eat at the kitchen table and insisted on feeding them in the dining room. The meal – a wonderful beef stew – was served on plates that Harry had never seen before; Narcissa, seeing his evident discomfort, and guessing its cause, explained that this was the formal Black family dinner service, and that Kreacher obviously wanted to pull out all the stops as he now had two blood members of the Black family to entertain.

The witch's obvious good humour and natural charm went a long way towards making Harry feel comfortable in the room he didn't much like being in. Having the best china there made it feel like being the Dursleys'; he was terrified he'd break something or say the wrong thing, and that he would get shooed out at any minute for daring to be where he didn't belong. There was no rational basis for this, he knew, and with the two Malfoys there, he decided that this was his house, after all, and they seemed to be perfectly comfortable with his presence; so as pudding was served, he managed to relax and a smile of pure delight came on his face as he surveyed the jam roly-poly and custard in front of him. This treat, raspberry jam spread on a short pastry and rolled up, was one of the puddings he'd only had from Kreacher, and it was rapidly becoming one of his favourites.

Draco broke in on his thoughts. "That's good to see," he observed.

Harry looked up at him. He knew Draco had a sweet tooth, but it was still a strange remark. "You mean …" he said, waving at the pudding with a confused expression on his face.

"Well, that too," Draco agreed. "But I really meant the smile on your face. You've looked totally uncomfortable during the whole meal."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Narcissa agreed. "I'm worried that my presence is _de trop_."

"(Too much)," Draco whispered helpfully, as he could see that Harry had no idea what _de trop_ meant.

"Oh," Harry said, abashed. "Um, no, it's just this room, and having this special china. It's so formal and stuffy, and it just reminds me of being in the Dursleys' dining room …" And the Harry realised what he had said, and knew, and hated, what was coming.

Narcissa fixed him with a stern look. "The Dursleys?" she asked. "Your aunt and uncle?"

"Yes, and cousin."

"And what was wrong with their dining room?"

Harry gulped. Being interrogated by Narcissa Malfoy was not high on his list of 'pleasant ways to spend an evening'. No, scratch that. It wasn't on the list at all. "Um, I wasn't supposed to go in there. Ever. it was full of Aunt Petunia's knick-knacks. I broke one once, and got locked in the cupboard for three days."

"Not go in the dining room?" Narcissa asked, puzzled. "Where did you eat?"

"In the kitchen. Or in my cupboard. But really, I think Draco's still in shock, we should look after him. What do you want to do?" Harry said, turning to his lover, hoping to at least buy some time with this blatant change of subject.

* * *

Of course Draco and Narcissa saw straight through it, but Draco, understanding why Harry was doing it, decided to help him. It wasn't hard; he was feeling emotionally drained from the afternoon. "I am feeling a bit out of things," he confessed; "do you mind if I go to bed?"

Half an hour later, Draco was in bed, and Narcissa had visited the Manor to gather the few things that she needed for the night. She came back with a bottle of port wine, and Lucius's thanks and best wishes. Harry had never had port before, and discovered that he liked it even more than the elf-wine.

"He's not mad at me for stealing you?" he asked, as they sat in the drawing room, drinking the port together.

Narcissa laughed again, and Harry found the sound enchanting. "Harry, he's absolutely delighted. When they heard why I'd gone, they all left soon after I did, apologising that they didn't want to intrude on a family emergency. Lucius said he felt my going had done far more good than feeding them could have. And I assure you he was as bored with their company as I was. No, he's much happier in his study drinking port than entertaining that lot; of course, he'd rather I was there too but he quite understands that Draco would want me here, so he's sent you this wine to say thank you."

Having said this, her face suddenly stopped smiling. "Now, Harry, I want you to explain to me just why you weren't allowed in the dining room, and what exactly you meant by your cupboard."

Harry gulped. Again. Being interrogated by Narcissa still wasn't on the list, and now he didn't have Draco. So he started to give her a summary of life with the Dursleys. He explained about the cupboard, and he could see her face narrowing in anger.

"You lived in a cupboard?" she said, her voice low and filled with venom, sounding uncannily like Draco's had earlier that afternoon. He nodded. "I see," she said, coldly. "Until when?"

"Until the letters came," he said softly, not quite knowing who Narcissa's obvious rage was against.

"Letters? The Hogwarts letter? They kept you in a cupboard until you were eleven?" she asked, her voice starting to show some of the fury building within her. With an effort, she regained her calm. "Then what?"

And so he told of the house on the rock, and Dudley's second bedroom, and being locked up, and bored, almost looking forward to doing chores again.

"Chores?" she asked. "What, like cleaning your room?"

Harry snorted. "Cleaning ... everything," and he explained the life of drudgery that was all he had known at the Dursleys'.

When he had finished, her eyes were like flint; and, despite his resolve, he was near tears.

"Salazar! I would not dare treat even a house-elf so badly! To do so to your own flesh and blood! Something must be done. Something **will** be done," she said quietly, looking away and talking more to herself than to him, and Harry felt a surge of fear. Narcissa Malfoy was a formidable opponent, and for perhaps the first time in his life he actually felt a little pity for his relatives. And then Narcissa looked back at him. "And as for you, Harry Potter –"

 _Ulp_ , Harry thought. But he discovered he had no reason to worry; she came over to him, sat beside him on the sofa, and enveloped him in a huge hug, her hands reaching around to caress his hair, stroking it soothingly.

He couldn't help it; the sheer onslaught of motherly love undid him completely, and he burst into tears. No words were spoken until ten minutes or so later, when he had finally stopped sobbing, and she had given him her handkerchief to dry his eyes with.

"Better?" she asked, cupping his face and turning it to her.

Harry smiled at the look of love in her eyes. "Much," he said softly.

Suddenly there was a tap – tap - tap on the window, and Harry got up and opened it. A large barn owl flew in, followed hard on the wings by a larger, black Ministry owl. Harry removed the messages tied to their legs while telling Pig, who was getting anxious with the strange, and much larger, owls there, not to be so silly. As soon as the messages had been removed, the owls flew away; clearly no replies were expected or required.

"See, you silly thing," Harry said to Pig as he shut the window. "No cause for alarm."

He sat down and opened the envelope from the Ministry. It was to tell him an appointment had been made at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for half-past nine the following morning, and would he please report to the fourth floor where he would be expected.

"What do you think this is about?" he asked Narcissa.

"Fourth floor is for spell damage … oh," said the blonde. "I see. That's clever. The Minister wants to make sure they can prove you're not under a curse or potion or anything."

"But I'm not," Harry said, puzzled.

"No, of course not." She refrained from explaining further; if Kingsley hadn't, perhaps Harry needed to work it out for himself. "Who is the second letter from?"

"It's from Blaise," he said, once he had opened the envelope and started reading the letter. "He's delighted to accept."

"Excellent!" said Narcissa, her eyes sparkling.

As he finished reading the letter, Harry smiled, remembering something else he had done this afternoon. "I got it," he said, which brought a smile to her face, too.

"I'm so glad," she said. "Do you want to give it to him on Friday?"

"If you really don't mind," he answered.

She smiled. "Of course not. He'll love it. And Saturday really is more convenient for us: Lucius is being called in to the Ministry more and more, it seems that they are actually beginning to value his input again. Molly and I have already started plotting. So, do you have a plan for where?"

He smiled. "Yes, I thought –"

"Don't tell me," she said. "Let it be a secret from everyone. Otherwise the surprise will be lost."

* * *

_Saturday, 30 May 1998_

"Oh – oh – ohhhh!"

Harry came awake very suddenly. For a brief moment, he missed the warm feeling of his lover's body entwined around him, until he realised exactly where he was and what he was doing. For Draco had obviously decided now was the time to repay the favour from two nights before.

"Merlin, that's the most wonderful wake-up call I've ever had! Thank you!" he said, giving thanks in his head that he had put up silencing charms the night before so that they wouldn't disturb Narcissa if he had nightmares. He might be growing in love for the Malfoys, but some things weren't meant to be shared.

Draco looked up. "Naturally," he said, with a trademark Malfoy smirk and complete lack of humility, as he made his way up the bed on hands and knees, and finally gripped Harry in a bearhug and kissed him all over his face.

"I'm guessing you're all better now?" Harry said, bemused at this unusual display of affection.

"Uh huh," Draco agreed. "And I love you so much. Thank you." Harry raised his eyebrow in surprise, and Draco continued, "the last few years have been hell. Having the Dark—having Voldemort installed as a permanent house-guest was terrifying. And then losing the war and being seen as Death Eater scum by the winning side and traitors by the losing side, that's pretty scary too. And then discovering we hadn't lost the Dark Lord so much as swapped from one Lordship to another. But Harry, you're amazing. It's because of you that anyone else is making an effort."

"Now that's not fair, Dray; McGonagall and Flitwick—"

"—would be civil, but I don't believe I'd be working at Hogwarts at all if you hadn't asked. And yes, they protected me, but it was you who got me there, you who got the Gryffindorks to accept me, patched up the Slytherins, and then called my mother over here last night when I needed her. So, thank you. I owe you everything, Harry."

Harry had gone bright red with embarrassment. "Um, OK, Um, your mum's still here; I asked her to stay the night, I thought you'd both want to see each other first thing … um, is that all right?"

As he had been talking, a strange expression had come over Draco's face, and Harry's confidence ebbed as he saw it. Was Draco upset about this? Did he think Harry was treating him like a kid who needed his mummy around?

"Harry, you are so goddamned amazing it hurts!" Draco burst out, hugging him even tighter than before. "OF COURSE it's all right! I have no idea what I ever did to deserve you! Now, let's get stirring. It's about seven o'clock, Bill's coming over at eight to deal with the traps at the front door, if you remember." Harry's face must have looked oblivious, because Draco then asked, "Did you remember? And did you tell mother?"

"Oops; no, and no," Harry confessed, still struggling with how much he was loved. If Draco wondered what he had done to deserve Harry, Harry's problem was more that he felt he didn't deserve anything. Having this gorgeous man in his bed every night was something he didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

* * *

It turned out that their concerns about Narcissa were unnecessary; she had slept soundly, heard nothing from their room, and was dressed and happily eating breakfast in the kitchen when they got there.

"Morning, Narcissa," Harry said as he entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, mother," Draco said, "you convinced Kreacher to let you eat in here today?"

Narcissa laughed. Harry wondered, to hear it, how he had ever thought her cold. She seemed to be happy and warm the whole time he was with her, now; though no doubt Draco's presence had something to do with that.

"Kreacher and I have had … a little chat," she said. Harry wondered what she might have said had she not pulled herself up, but let it slide. "I have explained to him that you find it hard, not being a Black by blood, to accept things that would be automatic for the family."

Harry looked stunned. "How did he take that?" he asked.

"Very well," Narcissa answered. "You must remember, Harry, that I was brought up with house-elves. I know how to get round them. We also chatted about the painting of Walberga – no, don't worry, he now entirely understands that she was upset while awake, and with you and your friends she would only be distressed the whole time. Being asleep is much the best thing for her."

At this point, Kreacher himself appeared with the Daily Prophet; he had been sent out by Narcissa to buy it. 'Master Harry! Master Draco!" he exclaimed, then muttered to himself, "Masters will be wanting breakfast I suppose. Poor Kreacher, always busy."

"Actually, Kreacher," Draco said, with a wink to Harry, "I think we might let Harry cook breakfast. He does it very well, I found out yesterday."

As Draco had obviously foreseen, this riled the poor elf no end. "Master Harry is not to be cooking and cleaning like a house-elf!" he spat. "Master Harry is to sit down and be served like a proper Master!"

Harry could hardly contain his laughter as he sat down. _What would Hermione say!_ he thought, and was rather glad she wasn't there to witness things. Ten minutes later, he and Draco had enormous piles of pancakes in front of them, drowning in maple syrup; it was difficult to refrain from feeding each other, but with Narcissa present, they weren't going to, and Harry wondered if perhaps that was Kreacher's way of getting back at him; especially when he saw a rather evil smile on the elf's face. But he didn't say anything; the pancakes took all his attention once he started eating them.

"Delicious!" Draco said, eventually. "I think, Kreacher, we shall allow you to continue to make breakfast after all."

"Master Draco is being very funny," Kreacher said, in a voice that made it clear he wasn't particularly amused, as he made his way back to his little cubbyhole. "But Kreacher will show masters he knows how to be a good house-elf, even if they must be having their little joke."

* * *

They were still sitting at the table reading the paper, which, Harry noted with relief, said nothing about the previous afternoon's attack, when Bill Weasley arrived through the Floo. Narcissa looked him up and down: he was dressed in very Muggle clothing and with an ear-ring in his ear, he wasn't what she had expected at all. But she was a pure-blood; she knew full well that it was the contents, not the packaging, that mattered, and as a good house-guest she refrained from judgement or comment. Harry apparated with Bill to the doorstep and let him walk in and experience the traps for himself.

"I can see why you want to remove them," he said, after he'd walked in. "Mad-Eye set them up?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Do you think you can take them down?"

Bill spent a few minutes doing some diagnostic spell work. It was immediately clear to Narcissa that he really was a professional; he worked his way through the complicated series of spells with obviously practised ease, before turning back to Harry. "Old Mad-Eye certainly knew what he was doing, but I think I can handle it. It's going take me most of the morning, I suspect..."

"That's fine," said Draco. "Harry's going to the Burrow to talk about the interview he's doing with Rita Skeeter this afternoon; but Mother and I will be here."

"Oh, I have to go to St Mungo's first, so I'll need to leave in about an hour. Are you sure you're happy to stay, Narcissa?" Harry asked, and the witch laughed again. Harry loved the sound.

"Of course, Harry. Lucius has meetings with the Aurors all this morning to discuss his parole and activities, and I would much rather spend time with Draco than rattling around by myself in the Manor. If, of course, that is agreeable to you?"

Harry assured her that he was delighted to have her whenever she wanted to come.

"But in the meantime you and I should probably discuss what you're going to say about us, if anything," Draco added.

"Ah," Narcissa added. "In that case I think I might pop back to the Manor for a few things."

* * *

Harry was somewhat agitated as he and Draco sat in the drawing room.

"So, going public," Draco said.

"Um, yeah. Um, I'm really sorry, Draco, I hadn't really thought about this at all."

"You know Skeeter will want to know, right?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "and I'm crap at keeping secrets, so we should decide what I'm to say."

Draco smirked. "I agree. So why not tell her the truth?"

Harry snorted, then thought for a moment. "You're OK with that? I mean, I can see that the Wizarding world needs to know that we're together, if only so you don't keep getting attacked."

"Yes, I'm OK. I have thought about this, Harry," and the ' _even if you haven't'_ was heard but not said. "Obviously not any details. But you should tell her about the Debt – which should be part of discussing the sentencing – and that it's drawn us together, and we've decided we want to stay that way. That we're in love."

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only when Draco asked, "so, why are you going to St Mungo's?"

"Dunno." Harry said. "Kingley set up an appointment at the Spell Damage ward. Maybe it's about the Debts?"

Draco gave a patronising smile. "No, I think he'll probably want to get some sort of testing done."

"Testing?" Harry said, not following at all.

Draco laughed. "Potter, you really are endearingly clueless sometimes. Yes, testing. People aren't going to believe this isn't a love potion or an Imperius or something along those lines. You know it isn't, and so do I, but the point is that everyone will think so; so if you can prove you're not, from the very beginning, it will pull the flying carpet out from underneath Ali Baba."

Harry laughed at how similar this saying was to the Muggle version.

Narcissa got back just as Harry had to leave.

"OK guys, I need to get to St Mungo's. Narcissa, please make yourself at home – Draco already is. And if you both want to go back to the Manor, that would be fine too," he reassured Draco. "I think we can consider Narcissa someone we both trust," he continued, recalling their conversation of the previous morning, with a broad grin on his face.

Draco's face lit up. "Oh, I think so," he replied. Narcissa looked a little mystified, but she could see that this was some private joke, and didn't seem to be at her expense, so she merely smiled. She would get the details out of Draco later, when they were alone.

* * *

It was just over an hour later that Harry arrived at the Burrow.

"Harry!" Molly exclaimed as he all but fell out of the Floo. "You're early! How wonderful! Arthur's busy in the garage. You sit down here and we'll have a nice cup of tea and a natter. But you look a bit fed up?"

Harry explained about the appointment at St Mungo's that had been wished on him, and how the Healer seemed to be determined to fire every diagnostic spell there was at him.

"It was bad enough Scrimgeour wanting me to be the Ministry pin-up boy without being the new target for all healing spells!" he grumbled.

Molly smiled indulgently. She knew perfectly well he just wanted to vent, and was happy to let him do so for ten minutes, after which she gently pointed out that at least Skeeter couldn't print anything about being cursed now, and leading the conversation on. As they talked, she steered him away from the trial and the interview altogether, but was very interested to hear all about the rebuilding of Hogwarts. She pressed him for details about the new tower, but he explained that it was Flitwick's secret and so Harry didn't want to tell anyone.

"Hmph!" Molly said. "I never thought that man would be so secretive!"

"Yes, who would have thought he'd had this plan for so long?"

"Hello Harry!" Arthur said as he came into the kitchen. "Who's had what plan?"

Harry explained about Flitwick and the tower, and Arthur simply observed, "good for him!"

* * *

Arthur and Harry were sitting in Arthur's new home office, a wizard space that had been created inside his garage full of Muggle gear. They had spent the last hour discussing exactly how Harry was going to handle his interview with Rita Skeeter. And the more they discussed, the more nervous Harry became as he realised just exactly what he had let himself in for. Even though he and Draco had agreed to tell all, it became a whole lot more scary when Arthur started drilling Harry by asking the sort of questions he knew Skeeter would ask.

The questioning about the Potter Code was bad enough. They did discuss that at length, and Arthur agreed that Harry's explanation of the difference between the Malfoys and the odious Umbridge was pretty water-tight. No, the real problem was that the Ministry had had the Prophet on a very short leash ever since the horrid story that they had printed about the Malfoys; and Arthur was sure that Skeeter would push the boundaries as far as Harry would let her. Which meant he had to be prepared for questioning about the exact nature of his relationship with Draco Malfoy. And the practise questions Arthur threw at him did get pretty exact.

By the time Molly called them for lunch, Harry's face had gone beetroot red three times and was in imminent danger of a fourth time. While there was the inevitable huge, and wonderful, meal, Harry found he had hardly any appetite. By half-past one, he had bats fluttering in his stomach, as wizards say; the cup of tea Molly forced on him helped, but not much.

At last he couldn't put it off any longer; Arthur Flooed with him to his office, to meet up with the Auror who would take him to the Interview Room that the Ministry had provided for the interview.

And so, at two o'clock, Harry once more caught sight of the woman he would have given a lot to never see again, as the sharp, over-dressed, over-made-up form of Rita Skeeter rose to meet him.

"Mr Potter," she said, "what a pleasure!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help.
> 
> Did you enjoy Narcissa at Grimmauld Place? I thought it would be good to have her out of the Manor for a change.
> 
> Thanks to all who subscribe. And double thanks to those who comment- Jammie Dodgers to you all!
> 
> Seriously, comments are much appreciated.


	28. The Return of Rita Skeeter

**28 The Return of Rita Skeeter**

_**Last time:** _

_At last he couldn't put it off any longer; Arthur Flooed with him to his office, to meet up with the Auror who would take him to the Interview Room that the Ministry had provided for the interview._

_And so, at two o'clock, Harry once more caught sight of the woman he would have given a lot to never see again, as the sharp, over-dressed, over-made-up form of Rita Skeeter rose to meet him._

" _Mr Potter," she said, "what a pleasure!"_

* * *

The room the Ministry had provided for them was light, airy and well-furnished. There was a simple conference table, and comfortable chairs. In the corners were pot-plants, giving off delicious smells. And best of all, the Auror who had been deputed to guard him today was Robin Banks. Harry had been overjoyed when he found out that Robin had no intention of leaving him alone during the interview.

All in all, if only the room had not contained Rita Skeeter, Harry thought, this would be a very pleasant experience indeed. He forced himself to look at her; and, which was much more effort, to smile convincingly. "Hello, Ms Skeeter," he said.

"Oh Harry, please, call me Rita," she said, with a slight giggle which he found slightly less irritating than the squeak of a nail being rubbed up a blackboard, if only because it didn't last as long. "Now, Harry, you won't mind me using my Quick Quotes Quill of course?"

Harry was about to accept this, but Robin gave a discreet cough. "It is a condition of this interview that it not be used," he said.

"Oh, but I'm sure you won't mind, will you Harry?" she pouted at him.

"Actually," said Harry, already sick of being told what he did or didn't think in the first minute of the interview, "I think we'd better not have it, if the Ministry has said no; you wouldn't want it thought that you were trying to do something underhanded, after all."

Harry was quite sure that Rita didn't care at all; but he knew perfectly well that she couldn't say so with the Auror present. Robin was proving to be a real blessing.

Rita was obviously grumpy at not being allowed her Quick Quotes Quill; she had indeed hoped to bully Harry into using it. She tried hard not to let her irritation show, taking out a notepad and ordinary quill and continuing in a bright voice that reminded Harry forcefully of Umbridge. "Harry, during the trials we've all been hearing about this reform of our laws called the Potter Code and I'm sure my readers are dying to know what it's all about; so Me, Myself and I have taken it upon ourselves to find out everything about it."

"How very public-spirited of you," Harry replied. Rita completely missed the sarcasm, but Robin obviously didn't, giving Harry a broad grin in agreement. "The Potter Code is a rather posh name for something very simple. And it's about a lot more than just legal reform. You see," he continued, taking care to speak slowly so she could take notes, which was useful as he could frame his thoughts much more coherently, "we've just been through a second war caused by Voldemort and I'm sure we all don't want anything like that ever again. So the Wizengamot wants to make sure that we don't just sling all the Death Eaters in Azkaban and continue as before, because that won't deal with the real causes of the war."

"And what do you think those causes were?" Skeeter asked. "Surely it was just Voldemort? And he's gone, so there's no problem, surely?"

"I don't buy that," Harry replied. "Firstly, what's to stop another Voldemort coming along? We need to investigate what caused his rise and put in place measures to stop that happening again. We know he was in fact a half-blood called Tom Riddle; he had a Muggle father and a pure-blood mother –"

This was news to both Skeeter and Robin by the looks on their faces; he could tell Skeeter had a thousand questions, but he pressed on so she didn't have time to ask any, "—and his father left his mother, who died soon afterwards and he was placed in a orphanage. So there are lots of questions we need to ask about how we can help children in this situation, particularly where Muggle relations who are not sympathetic are involved. As you can imagine, I have been asked because I too have been in that situation. We don't yet know what all the issues are, or what steps will be taken, but I'm sure that the Wizengamot will be actively thinking about it over the next few months."

"That raises a lot of questions about Voldemort," Skeeter began, but Harry cut her off neatly:

"Yes, but perhaps we'd better leave them for another time. Because, secondly, it's absurd to say that Voldemort is the only problem. He would not have got anywhere if he had not been able to bring people to his side, people who were not happy with the Ministry, who had a grievance of some sort, or were persecuted or marginalized. There are obvious things to look at here – the legislation introduced by Dolores Umbridge, for example, laws which persecuted werewolves and then later on the Muggleborn Registration Act and inquisition. Of course, these laws can be repealed, but we need to do more. As a society, we need to ask how we can ensure that people are free to live their lives. With laws in place for protection of course, but not to control people. We have to, as Remus Lupin put it, 'make a world in which we can live happier lives'."

Skeeter looked at him askance. Was this the same boy she had interviewed before? He had always been tongue-tied and angry; a far cry from the confident, easy-speaking man in front of her.

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought," she said. "Can you sum up how we're going to make such a world?"

"I have, and I've had a lot of help," Harry replied. "The Potter Code begins with treating people with respect. Accepting that we all have to live on the same planet: wizards, witches, goblins, house-elves, giants, werewolves, centaurs, merpeople, all magical creatures, even Muggles. We're all here, none of these groups is going away, and we have to work out how to live together peaceably. For us and Muggles, we've decided to keep them oblivious of the magical world, apart from contact between the Minister for Magic and the Muggle Prime Minister; I'm sure that position will be reviewed, in consultation with international wizarding groups of course, to make sure we all agree it's the best course. But we need to set up relations with all the other magical groups, and look at what legal rights and structures are really appropriate so we can live together in peace."

"I imagine your friend Miss Granger will be interested in that – didn't she have something about house-elves?"

Harry reddened a little at the thought of how vocal Hermione had been about her Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare but decided not to mention it by name; the last thing they needed was anyone making snide jokes about 'SPEW', after all. "Yes, I'm sure she will be interested," he said. "At present, she and Ron are travelling, but when she gets back I imagine she'll make her views known."

Rita Skeeter was making notes feverishly, and now here was a problem for her: she knew she had to hear more about the Potter Code, but her readers would want to know just where Hermione was, and what her relationship with Ron was; Skeeter was nothing if not a skilled gossip-hound and that would make a lovely personal touch to what she was already afraid would be a very dry article indeed. She made a small note to herself to follow this up later, and invited Harry to continue.

"I've talked about witches and wizards as though we were all one group," Harry continued, "but it's very clear from the war that we have to deal with the frictions within the Wizarding world itself. We have muggle-borns, and half-bloods, and full-bloods; we have derogatory terms like 'mudblood' and 'blood traitor'. We have to move beyond seeing people in this way. We see it at Hogwarts: the four Houses were made to provide support but have become stereotypes: for example ,Gryffindors are supposed to be courageous to the point of recklessness and Ravenclaws are incredibly studious and clever. But the Gryffindor Hermione Granger is one of the cleverest witches I have ever met, while the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood has more courage than half the Gryffindors I know. It's just silly to think that we can define people by their blood status, or their House, or anything else really. We have to let everyone be themselves, without prejudice. Because there's no doubt that Voldemort exploited the blood prejudices; even though he was a half-blood himself, he didn't let the pure-bloods know it, and got them rallying around him because they saw prejudice against them from the Ministry; and, to be fair, were themselves prejudiced, or words like 'blood-traitor' would not exist."

"So, does the Potter Code simply boil down to saying, 'let's all be nice to one another'?" Rita asked, her voice skeptical.

"There's certainly an idea like that involved," Harry replied, smiling. "But it's not simple. After all, imagine if we **were** all nice to one another. Wouldn't that be a world in which we can live happier lives?"

"But you're right to doubt that that is possible. We're going to try; but we have a lot to reform. I want to see our trial process reformed so that there is a commitment to fairness, to finding out the truth, rather than to being politically expedient. The Minister has already said he agrees with this; that's why he has not presided over any trial, and only rarely been present at them himself. He wants the courts, the Wizengamot and any other bodies it sets up, to be headed by the Chief Wizard, without Ministry interference. This commitment to the truth, to fairness and justice, extends to the decision made to use the _Expositor Falsitas_ potion on everyone present at the trial, not just the accused. It extends to the idea that just being a Death Eater can't be a crime; we have to prove that people actually broke laws, hurt people, did evil things; to judge them for membership of a group is to go right back into the world of prejudice again."

"Do you really think that?" Skeeter asked, still sounding skeptical. "Do you really think, for example, that the Malfoys should have got off?"

"Whether anyone should get off is really a matter for the Wizengamot, not for me. But I do think the Malfoys are rather a special case. As I said at Umbridge's trial, they did what they did because of the threat to their family. That may not always have been true for Lucius; I can't speak for what happened before Voldemort's return. But certainly afterwards, Voldemort was in their house, they lived in fear of death, and he held them hostage, each forced to do his bidding lest he kill the other two. And a big part of the Code is the idea, from Albus Dumbledore, that we need to look for the good in everyone. To seek to give people a second chance. The Malfoys, I'm sure, will be an important part of rebuilding our society; they know that they stuffed up, they know they've been given a chance, and I believe they are determined to show they deserve it. Lucius has already started working with the Ministry, and I understand that he's been hosting talks which are helping the Ministry deal with the huge upheaval created by the war."

"So why not give Dolores Umbridge a second chance?" Skeeter asked.

"Because she showed clearly that she had no interest in working with this process. She just wanted to go on doing her own thing. She didn't deserve a second chance because to get a second chance, you really have to accept that you need it. That you've stuffed up. I don't believe Umbridge accepted that; more importantly, the Wizengamot didn't believe it either."

"Believe that she'd, um, stuffed up?" Rita asked, confused, and hesitating over Harry's colloquialism.

"No; they didn't believe she accepted that she had stuffed up and so needed a second chance," Harry clarified.

"So," Rita said, a new tone sounding in her voice: Harry could tell she was beginning to be impressed at how well thought out this all was. "So, where does Harry Potter fit in? Why is it called the 'Potter Code'?"

Harry laughed. "Good question," he said. "Certainly, some of the ideas are mine; but at the end of the day, I'm really just an ordinary wizard—" Rita snorted at this, while Robin obviously wanted to, but managed to hold his snort in – "really, I am. I don't want to tell the Ministry or the Wizengamot what to do, and they may listen to me but they are under no obligation to do what I say. As a society we all need to work together to rebuild what we had, and to make it better. If I can help in that process, I'm honoured to be asked to. If calling it the 'Potter Code' gives it an identity and helps to make it a coherent approach, I guess I'll put up with it."

"Am I hearing that you're not entirely happy with the name, then?" Skeeter asked.

"I've never really wanted publicity," Harry answered. "I just seem to attract it. If I can use that to achieve the reforms that I see are needed, like I said, I'll put up with it; it's a price I'm happy to pay if it helps Remus's vision to be achieved."

"So, will you be working on the details?"

"Not in the immediate future; I intend to return to Hogwarts to finish my education," Harry replied, spotting an opportunity to make another point that was important to him. "As you can understand, the last year of my schooling was non-existent, and for most of my cohort, that is, my fellow students, it wasn't much better. I don't see why I should expect to go into the Wizarding world and get preferential treatment without passing my NEWTs; and I certainly hope that all of my year feels the same."

"Thank you, Harry, that's very informative; I think we have the makings of a major piece in tomorrow's Prophet. Luckily, it's the Sunday edition, so the editor will be overjoyed to have a more in-depth article," she said, and Harry was surprised by the sheer quantity of notes the woman had taken. "Now there are a couple of personal questions I'd like to ask. Firstly, you mentioned that Miss Granger was travelling?"

"Oh yes," Harry said, wondering how much to tell. But there was nothing secret about their trip, as far as he knew; so he decided to give just enough detail to make a good story for Skeeter. "Hermione and Ron have gone to Australia to retrieve her parents. She sent them out there to keep them safe in case Voldemort tried to get to her through them; and now that that danger has passed, she's taken the opportunity to fly to Australia to get them back. She and Ron have decided to use the Muggle aeroplanes; you can understand that, being the Deputy Minister's son, he shares Arthur's love of Muggle artefacts, so was really excited at the prospect." (Harry had put these details in to draw Rita off further questions about the Grangers. He didn't want to let on that Hermione had performed a memory charm on them; that wasn't the sort of thing that he felt should be public knowledge. Ron's love of Muggle things would, he hoped, be seen as a harmless and endearing eccentricity.) "She and Ron will be returning, hopefully with her parents, in time for the new term at Hogwarts."

"And is the rumour I hear true? That they are not just friends?"

Harry thought for a second; but Arthur has reassured him that the engagements were not secrets. "Yes, they had their engagement party the night before they left. As did George Weasley, to Neville Longbottom. I'm sure your readers will want to congratulate the Weasleys, the Grangers and Augusta Longbottom on these happy events."

"I'm sure they will. And what about you, Harry? Is there a witch in the offing for you? Is another Weasley going to announce her engagement?"

Harry took a deep breath. He had known he'd have to say something about this; but knowing about it and doing it were two separate things. And then his resolve firmed again: he didn't want his love life to be public property, but it wasn't a guilty secret, either.

"I do have a special someone," he replied, "but it's not Ginny Weasley, no. At the moment, we've moved from being friends to – well, we didn't like 'boyfriends', so we're lovers."

"Oooh," Rita squealed. "And who is the lucky wizard?"

"Me," Harry said with a straight face.

"All right," Rita laughed, "who's the **other** lucky wizard?"

"Oh I see. Yes, of course. My lover is Draco Malfoy. And, before you ask," Harry continued, cutting off the protest he could see on Skeeter's lips, "it's got nothing to do with his trial, and it's not a love potion or an Imperius curse, or anything of that nature."

"Can you prove that?" she asked. This was big news; but she knew that if Harry could prove it, anything her paper printed speculating otherwise would get them in very hot water with the Ministry.

"Yes, I can," he replied, embarking on a little speech he had carefully prepared to be absolutely truthful while leaving out any real information. "I had some tests done at St Mungo's this morning. Before I show you the results, and I will give you a copy, I have to tell you about something that comes up in them. Something that happened on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Something that really further exonerates the Malfoys. You see, Voldemort had cursed them so that if he died, they would die soon after. I found out about this when I gave Draco his wand back, and he told me about the curse. So I did some magic – I don't really remember what, it wasn't a spell as such, just some words that burned their way into my mind – and it set both Draco and Lucius free from the curse. But it created a Debt that they owe me; and that shows up in the scans from St Mungo's. But of course, that isn't them manipulating me; if anything, it lets me manipulate them."

Rita's mind was reeling at the thought of the Saviour, Harry Potter, getting together with his one-time arch-rival; but at that moment, only two questions came to her. "How does that exonerate them?"

"It shows that Voldemort didn't trust them. So the people who painted Lucius as his totally trusted right-hand man weren't quite right."

"And what were the words?"

"Do you know, you're the first person who's asked that. Um, actually, they are part of the Potter Code too, I guess. They make up values that I think should drive us as we rebuild our world. The words were 'Life', 'Wholeness', 'Connection', and 'Belonging'."

At this point, there came a knock on the door. Robin Banks stood up. "Forgive me, ma'am, but your time is up," he said. He opened the door, and the Minister, Elphias Doge, and a _Daily Prophet_ photographer came in.

"I know this wasn't part of the offer," Kingsley said, "but Elphias thought you might like a photograph of the three of us."

Rita was overjoyed; and they spent a few minutes arranging the shot. Eventually it was taken, and Kingsley said, "as agreed, we expect a transcript to be delivered by six o'clock, and that will have to be approved for publication."

Rita desperately wanted more details about Harry and Draco, bu tno protest from her would convince the Minister to allow the interview to continue. Well, she thought, she could probably spin this to the editor as two separate stories, a long and boring article about the Potter Code in tomorrow's paper, she'd get Susan to write most of that; and a much more interesting one on Monday about the love-lives. She might even be able to dig up some more dirt tomorrow. She could interview that Italian chap, she decided; he'd know something for sure.

* * *

Kingsley returned with Harry to Arthur's office, where Harry was overjoyed to find Narcissa and Draco there, having tea with the Deputy Minister. Kingsley excused himself and returned to his office; Harry sat next to his lover, who placed his arm around him and gave him a seated hug. It was awkward, but Harry was very grateful for this open display of affection and support; and for the fact that the two adults made no comment but simply smiled, as Arthur poured tea for Harry and levitated the cup over to him.

"So, Draco, Narcissa," Harry said immediately, trying to forestall the inevitable questions about the interview, "what did you two get up to today?"

Narcissa's small smile made it quite clear to Harry that she knew what he was up to; but she answered happily enough, "oh, we had a little chat about how things are going at Grimmauld Place. Draco walked me through all the repairs and I must say, Harry, I'm very impressed with your spell work; another couple of weeks of work and you won't know the place."

"Thank you," said Harry, grateful for the warmth that came to him from Narcissa. "But that didn't take the whole day, surely?"

"No," Draco added, "we went to the Manor - as you'd said I might", he added, largely for Arthur's benefit; he still wasn't quite comfortable with exactly what he had to do to stay within the guidelines of his probation, and didn't want any questions asked, "- and had lunch with father."

"And Blaise," Narcissa added.

"I didn't think we were telling him about that," Draco hissed.

"I'm sure Harry wants to know that you are getting on with your friends again," she replied equably.

"I certainly do," Harry replied. "I can't be your only friend, Draco, that would be too horrid for you when we go back to Hogwarts. But what weren't you telling me about?"

"Oh, Draco has a little surprise to show you when you come to lunch tomorrow," Narcissa said, vaguely.

Draco himself decided this was actually working rather well – he had wanted to say nothing, but this little hint had obviously piqued Harry's curiosity, so why not milk it for all it was worth? "Blaise helped too, of course; perhaps we could invite him to lunch as well?"

"What a splendid idea," Narcissa agreed. "But Harry, you're very naughty, keeping us from asking how the interview went."

"Horrid," was his immediate reply, he still had no love for reporters in general and Rita in particular.

"I understand," Arthur said, "and we're grateful to you for doing it. I'm sorry we sort of pushed you into it but I'm sure you'll all be interested to know that we have investigated Mr Nott's case, and found there is some evidence of the same kind of activity we observed with Crockford and Thicknesse. So it's possible he was under the Imperius curse, and still influenced by it at his trial, which would explain his not pleading it then; and we never found it before. That 'Signum Revelare' spell you used yesterday has been adapted slightly by our healers, and seems to be very helpful in discovering this deeply hidden Imperius."

"So what will happen with Theo?" Draco asked. Harry was glad to hear the concern in his voice; Draco and Theo had been friends for a long time, he only hoped that the other Slytherin would be cleared of all charges and the friendship could be re-established.

"The Wizengamot has already agreed that if he was under Imperio then his conviction will be quashed and no further action taken," Arthur replied. "We'll know for certain by Friday at the latest. Also, you'd probably like to know that the healers got to him in time to reattach the arm; Harry gave them some interesting insights from Professor Snape's copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. Apparently Snape had added detailed counter-curse instructions underneath the curse and St Mungo's was able to recover about eighty per cent use of the arm."

Draco looked stunned. "They did that? For someone who had apparently attacked Harry and brought the curse on himself?"

"Of course," Arthur said. "It's what they do. The healers told me, they don't make judgements; that's up to the Wizengamot. They just do the best they can by every patient."

Draco now turned to Harry. "And you did that? I know that Snape had a counter-curse; he used it on me, he even taught it to me in case the spell popped up again; but you let them know? Even for someone who attacked you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess I just have this thing about saving people. Even if they attacked me. Or even," he said with a sly grin, "if they're Death Eaters who don't have magic any more."

Draco did the most undignified thing Harry had ever seen him do: he poked out his tongue. But he then clasped his lover tightly.

"I guess you just do. Don't ever stop."

* * *

Draco and Harry got back to Grimmauld Place at four o'clock, Narcissa having returned to the Manor from Arthur's office. Draco decided that Harry looked exhausted, so suggested they have a nap for an hour. As they lay together on the bed, he finally asked about the interview; he had noticed Harry had got away with saying just a single word about it, but he could tell there was more Harry wanted – no, needed – to get out.

"So was the interview really that bad?" he asked, softly.

Harry turned and looked at him. "Actually, I think the real problem for me was that it was Skeeter."

"I can understand that," Draco said, remembering all the tripe she had printed about him over the years – some of it, to Draco's chagrin, having come from him.

"Yeah, well, once I sort of managed to block that out, I answered her questions, and told her far more than she wanted to know about the Potter Code – those notes were wonderfully helpful."

Affecting nonchalance, Draco asked the question that was really bothering him: "and did you tell her about us?"

Harry looked at him lovingly, and Draco knew at once that Harry wasn't fooled by his pretence. "I told her I had a lover, and that it was you. I had to tell her about the Debt because it showed up on the scans from St Mungo's, but I didn't say anything about your magic. I told her you were cursed so you'd die."

"Clever," said Draco. "You told her the truth, of course, we know we would have died without our magic; but you haven't let anyone know that was the reason, so they'll think it was an ordinary 'dead-in-a-month' sort of spell."

"That's the idea," Harry said, pleased that Draco had realised so quickly what Harry had been trying to do. "And she didn't get to ask any more about us because we ran out of time. I did tell her about Ron and Hermione being engaged, and in Australia; and also about Neville and George. So hopefully it'll come out as a big article about all of us, and take some of the heat off the two of us."

Privately, Draco thought this was a little naïve on Harry's part, but he decided he didn't want to say so. "Well done, love," he said, hugging his lover, "now, let's have that nap."

They rested until five o'clock, when Kreacher came to rouse them to say that the 'blood-traitor Mistress Molly Weasley' had Floo-called to remind them to be at dinner at six.

"Thank you Kreacher," Draco drawled. "And please do not ever call her a 'blood-traitor' again. We can do without those terms now that the war is over."

Kreacher went off, grumbling and muttering to himself about young masters who defied the old ways and the sorts of sticky ends they might come to; which Draco just laughed off. When Harry looked concerned, he simply said, "Kreacher's hiss is worse than his bite. Now, you and I had better get ready for dinner."

* * *

When they got to the Burrow, Arthur took them aside and told them that the Ministry had received the interview transcript for approval, as arranged, and Skeeter had done a fair job. He didn't think they had anything to worry about. Harry was very grateful to be told this; it took quite a weight off his mind.

Dinner was a very happy affair. Charlie couldn't be there because he was on dragon watch; but Bill and Fleur came, and Percy, and the twins; and Ginny, of course, who was the only Weasley child living at the Burrow at the moment. Fleur grabbed Draco the moment she arrived, and the two of them sat in a corner conversing in fluent and voluble French. When everyone had arrived, and they were circulating a bit more waiting for dinner to be ready, Harry asked him what they had been talking about. Draco smiled and explained that Fleur had told him all about her cousins and how taken they had been to meet him; it turned out he had plenty of offers to stay in various places in France, including two very nice addresses in Paris; the cousins couldn't wait to show off such an accomplished noble-born wizard to their friends. Draco had asked Fleur about bringing Harry too; and apparently they were just as taken by the Famous Harry Potter, so that would be lovely.

Harry groaned. He didn't want to be the Famous Harry Potter; he'd had enough of that. But Draco wickedly pointed out to him that if he would give newspaper interviews he couldn't really complain about being famous. Harry, having no suitable rejoinder, simply hit Draco on the shoulder and said "twat".

"The quality of your repartee astonishes me, Potter," the blond said with a twinkle in his eye. "Truly you have an amazing grasp of invective."

"Why are we not surprised to learn / that our Harry has an amazing grasp?" the twins asked, at which Harry flushed brick-red.

"George and Fred!" Molly scolded. "Just what have you said to poor Harry to make him blush like that? On second thoughts," she said, as they opened their mouths to answer, "I suspect I don't want to know. Come on everybody, it's time to sit down and eat."

* * *

After dinner they went out into the garden to enjoy the evening sunshine and relax. At least, they were supposed to relax; but Harry and Draco didn't smell the rats quite quick enough. The twins had gently manoevred them onto just those two specific chairs …

There was a loud BANG! And Draco and Harry found themselves inside Bouncing Balloon Chairs. But these were slightly amended, Harry noticed; they were fairly transparent, he could make out the anger on Draco's face; and there seemed to be poles inside, that manipulated arms attached to the air-bag cushioning that enveloped them. Fred and George, once they recovered from the hysterical laughter they went into at the sounds Harry and Draco made, put a Beefy Bouncy Beating Baton in each hand.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Draco yelled, which only made the twins laugh even louder.

"Calm down, brother's lover!" they said. "It's a competition!"

"A competition?" Draco repeated, his anger disappearing and a sly look coming onto his face.

"Yep. So, here's the idea: / because of the balloon chairs, you can't hurt each other. / The idea is to see who can hit the other one to the ground first."

Harry was a bit worried that Draco would be mortified at this idea. He should have known better. He should really have been worrying about how good the blond was at being devious. It took only five minutes for Harry to lose the first round of the impromptu tournament. Of course, everyone else wanted a go; the twins produced a couple more sets of balloons and batons, and everyone fought it out in knock-out rounds. Even Fleur and Molly joined in, happily shrieking in delight even when they lost almost immediately to Ginny and Bill respectively.

In the end, it was between George and Draco, Ginny having just managed to beat Fred before George had defeated his feisty sister in one minute flat. The last pair were very evenly matched: it took nearly fifteen minutes before Draco finally managed to knock George to the ground and emerge as the winner of the First Annual Weasley Bouncy Beating Challenge. The twins immediately grabbed Draco, hoisted him onto their shoulders, and chaired him for a victory lap around the garden while everyone else collapsed in helpless laughter.

* * *

He should have known, really. Yes, dinner had been wonderfully relaxed, and the smile on Draco's face after winning, and especially after being so warmly congratulated, was priceless. But still, after the stress of the interview, after seeing Rita again, he should have known.

The dark cloud rose up again, but this time it was a swarm of beetles, each one with Rita's face coming out of it, yelling at him _,_ "How do you think your parents would feel about you saving a convicted murderer? Entering the Triwizard Tournament? Standing up for Death-Eater scum? Proud? Concerned that your attitude shows a pathological need for attention? Is that it, Harry? You want attention? Or is it a psychotic death wish?"

 _No,_ he wanted to yell. But he couldn't speak, it was like when Vernon yelled at him, he just couldn't make any sound at all …

It changed in an instant. There was the red light again, and this time bands of silver started to weave through it and the darkness receded and grew smaller, smaller, until the red light snuffed it out, while the silver bands encircled him and he woke to find Draco Malfoy holding him, staring at him with frightened eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help.
> 
> I hope the interview wasn't too stodgy! And that you enjoyed my tournament! All ideas for further Weasley pranks would be welcome. 
> 
> The next chapter may be a while coming. Just saying.
> 
> Thanks to all who are subscribe and comment! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. A big thank-you to vernie_klein for a most interesting discussion.


	29. Turn and Turn About

**29 Turn and turn about**

_Last time:  
_

_There was the red light again, and this time bands of silver started to weave through it and the darkness receded and grew smaller, smaller, until the red light snuffed it out, while the silver bands encircled him and he woke to find Draco Malfoy holding him, staring at him with frightened eyes._

* * *

Draco looked at Harry's face and nearly lost it completely. If he was frightened, the other boy was terrified. All of the colour had drained out of Harry's face, he was sweating and shaking, and, now that he was coming awake, mumbling incoherently. Which was definitely an improvement on the inarticulate shouting he had been doing before he started to wake up, but still not anywhere near good.

The green eyes flitted open, and for a moment there was no light of recognition in them; but then they came into focus as Harry realised where he was and what must have happened.

"Draco? I …" he said. Draco could hear the guilt in Harry's voice; they really had to get him past this. If he had nightmares, they would deal with them. Guilt only made things harder.

But right now was not the time. "Shhhhhh," Draco murmured, and as if the sound had a magic of its own, Harry calmed in his arms and fell into a deep sleep. His breathing suddenly changed from the ragged spluttering breaths of a moment before to move into a gentle rhythm, and Draco could feel the heartbeat coming back down to a normal range.

He felt his own body relax as the peace now radiating from his lover started to calm him, and soon they were both fast asleep, clasped in each other's arms.

* * *

_Sunday, 31 May 1998_

After the stress of the interview and Harry's nightmare waking them in the middle of the night, it was not surprising that they slept on until nearly nine o'clock.

Harry shuddered as he came awake, and he found those strong arms around him again. He felt warm and comforted.

"Hey," Draco said, and there was no mistaking the warmth and love in the voice.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

"Of course," Draco said softly in reply. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Harry, you had a nightmare. It's OK, I know you can't help them; and I feel honoured if I can help you through them. So, no more feeling guilty, all right?"

"I'll try," Harry said with a shy smile that melted Draco's heart.

"Was it Skeeter?"

"Yes," Harry said. But he didn't want to discuss it any further, so he buried his face in Draco's neck, still shuddering; and the blond must have understood, because he just held him, rubbing his back, letting him take his time.

Eventually, when Harry had calmed down and relaxed, Draco spoke.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Um, your nightmare; was it like beetles attacking you? And then that red light?"

Harry pulled away slightly from Draco's grip so that he could look him in the face. "How did you know?" he asked; although, as he thought about it, there really was only one way he could know; and Draco confirmed his thoughts.

"Because I dreamt it too …"

"What? What did you hear?" Harry asked sharply, and Draco knew immediately that Harry must have heard things he would die rather than admit to. No doubt he had relived something hateful that Skeeter had said to him long ago. Thinking over the nightmares when the Dark Lord had been in the Manor, Draco could understand that completely.

"I didn't hear anything, I just saw the beetles, Harry. And then there was this red light that flowed around me, and I knew that I had to reach out to you, so I did. And then I woke up, and you were yelling, but I couldn't understand a word you said; and then you woke up, and you were so frightened and I didn't really know what to do, but …"

Harry's face fell during this speech, and a terrible fear gripped him as all the fears inculcated by the Dursleys leapt into life again: that even now, Draco might leave him. He was so broken, so hurt; why should anyone love him? Why would this gorgeous man give up hope of living a normal life to help a freak like him?

"I'm so sorry. Draco, please, stay, I'll try to be better …"

"Harry! Don't tell me you're sorry. And don't promise to be better," Draco said, shocked at how Harry was still obviously so wounded by what those Muggles had done to him. But, as he thought about it, he realised that years of abuse were going to take more than a month to sort out. Right now, Harry needed love and gentle encouragement; so he allowed his anger to flow out of him, and looked straight into Harry's so beautiful green eyes with all the honesty and love that he could muster. "You're hurt, and wounded, and we're going to deal with it, alright? I told you before, I'm here as long as you want me, and I still mean that. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Harry."

"OK," Harry said; but Draco knew he wasn't, quite, not yet.

"How about we just stay here for a while? Maybe get Kreacher to bring breakfast and the Prophet, and we can read it together, and see just how bad the article really is?"

Harry smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

The headline of the Sunday edition of _The Daily Prophet_ sat over a rather nice picture of Harry, Kingsley and Elphias.

_**THE POTTER CODE** _

_**Harry Potter talks exclusively to Rita Skeeter** _

The article began

_Well dear readers, I'm sure you'll be just as excited as I am to learn that the Destroyer of Voldemort has spoken exclusively to this paper about the plans that the Ministry, the Wizengamot and the Man-Who-Lived-Twice have for reforming our society. It seems that a genuine and wide-ranging attempt is being made to root out many issues that have plagued our society for the last hundred years or so. One of the most important pieces of the ambitious programme suggested by Mr Potter must surely be healing the rifts that have been made between the pure-blood, half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards, rifts that were very successfully exploited by Voldemort._

_It seemed a great irony to this reporter when she learnt that Voldemort, or Tom Riddle to give his actual name, was himself not a pure-blood wizard at all; his father, it turns out, was a Muggle. So, like his Destroyer, Voldemort was in fact a half-blood. Perhaps, as Mr Potter was too modest to even hint, being a pure-blood is not the marker of superiority we have always been taught it was?_

_See inside for more details, p12._

They turned to page twelve, to find that the text settled down into an unexpectedly accurate and succinct report of the interview of the day before; Harry was both delighted and surprised to find that Skeeter could actually write serious prose pretty well.

"This is really good," he said, finding that at last he could calm down completely. "I didn't know she could write without spite."

"Probably had another reporter's help, and a very good editor," Draco suggested.

"I don't know that that's fair; I've never read a serious article by her before. Maybe she has hidden talents," Harry protested, and Draco gave a wry smile, both bemused and perturbed at how quickly Harry would try to give the benefit of the doubt to someone who had so recently been the cause of his nightmares.

In fact, Draco was spot on. Most of the article had indeed been written up from Skeeter's transcript by Dempster Wiggleswade, the legal issues columnist for the Prophet, who was not at all pleased that Skeeter got the by-line instead of him, and then edited by their summer intern, Susan Bones. Rita had really only written the top and tail of the article; and the sting, Harry found, was definitely in the tail, as he read the last paragraph out loud:

_Mr Potter also spoke to us candidly about his friends and his own love life. Sorry, girls, but there is already a significant other in his life! Who, I hear you ask? We'll tell all in tomorrow's Harry Potter exclusive edition of the Daily Prophet! Definitely don't miss that one!_

"Damn!" he said.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked, and then realised. "Oh. I see. They got two days of material out of you, which means you'll be the subject for two days running. Clever of them, in a mean low-down sort of way."

"Not only that," Harry said, rather cross with the Prophet's tactic. "I'm betting that the agreement about vetting with the Ministry won't stretch to tomorrow's article, so it won't be controlled like today's was. And it gives her another day to find out more dirt on us."

"Ah," said Draco. "Tricky. I wonder if my father could help."

"Lucius?" Harry asked.

"No, my other father," Draco answered sarcastically. "Yes of course Lucius. He has the Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet eating out of his hand."

"How did he do that?"

"Oh, Harry, you're such an innocent. Father has files on these people going back a long way. Don't look so scandalised," Draco said with mild amusement, "he doesn't even have to mention what's in them any more, they just know that if Lucius Malfoy says back off, they do. Any way, there's one upside of Skeeter not breaking the story today: we get another day of not being harassed for our relationship."

"You really think we will?" Harry asked.

"You really think we won't?" Draco rejoined, astonished. "Our friends may have accepted it, Harry; but even then, it was a struggle for Seamus, if you remember, and Blaise had to be talked round by Pansy. It's a bit much to expect the general wizarding public to be even that accommodating – there will be some who hate it because it's me, the former Death Eater daring to touch the Great Harry Potter; the Dark Lord's followers will hate the idea of the despised Harry Potter touching me, even if they do think of me as a traitor; and some will hate it because we're both men. No, the extra day is a good thing; with any luck we can get father's help to work on whatever she's said."

Harry still looked unimpressed, so Draco continued, "tell you what, let's discuss it with father at lunch. What do you want to do for what's left of this morning?"

"Good question," Harry replied. He took a moment to think before saying, "I don't feel like any more repair work today; and we won't get much done anyway," he added, noting that it was twenty to ten already. "We probably should keep a low profile after Friday's attack and the interview being published. How about visiting Andy and Teddy?"

Draco thought this was a brilliant idea, and said so. But even with this plan in place, it took a few cuddles and kisses before Harry was really ready to get out of bed. At quarter past ten they Floo-called Andromeda, who said she would be delighted for them to visit for a couple of hours.

* * *

Teddy was ecstatic to see them, and showed it in his own metamorphmagus style, by alternating between silver-eyes-and-blond-hair and green-eyes-and-black-hair so rapidly that it made everybody dizzy.

"Teddy!" Harry called to him, laughing as he picked up the little baby. "Please, just pick one look!" And, as soon as Harry had him, he stayed with green eyes and black hair, looking up at Harry and gooing and gahing for all he was worth.

They played with him for close on an hour, and the company was obviously very stimulating because at the end he fell asleep in Draco's arms – with silver eyes and blond hair now.

Once Andromeda put him to bed, she asked Penny White, the Auror who had come with them, how she took her tea; and then produced tea and seed cake for the four of them.

"Thank you, ma'am," Penny said. "Most people just treat us as part of the furniture, it's nice to be thought of."

"Da- Bother!" said Harry, stopping the swear-word just in time. "I meant to say something about that in the interview. Of course we should treat Aurors as people, even if they are on duty."

"I'm sure that will come out in the wash, sir," Penny said, adding "may I say that all the Aurors know your position on this, and we are really delighted that you speak up about it."

"You may," Harry replied, "as long as you stop calling me 'sir' and asking my permission to say things. My name is 'Harry', OK?"

"Certainly, Harry," the Auror replied, not missing a beat. "Please call me Penny."

"We all will, Penny," Andromeda replied. "And I'll add my five knuts worth: Harry, that was some article. But with a by-line of Rita Skeeter I'm sure you won't be offended if I ask, how much of it did you actually say?"

Harry looked bashful, so Draco replied, "most of it. We did have a document written by the Ministry, compiled out of all the things Harry's said in the last few months, but rewritten beautifully. A lot of what Harry said came from that, but then before that most of it came from him anyway."

"Yeah, but I never said it so well," Harry added.

"Doesn't matter," Andy replied, "you said it first. I'm very proud of you, Harry. You're not even eighteen yet, and you produce ideas that have never occurred to the Wizengamot or the Ministry. It's a breath of fresh air, and sorely needed after all that evil man did to us all. But, there, I've done it again, introduced a somber note. Let's forget all about that. Are you lunching at the Manor today?"

"Yes," Draco said, and a sly smile played on his face. Harry was oblivious to it, but Andromeda wasn't; she arched an eyebrow at him, and he surreptitiously raised a finger to his lips. Andromeda gave a tight smile of her own; and so they had an entire conversation without Harry realising a thing.

* * *

"Oh God, not again …"

He lay in bed for a few minutes, just until the world stopped spinning quite so violently; then downed the hangover potion he had somehow remembered to put on his bedside cabinet in a swift, well-practiced movement, as he wondered exactly what had happened last night. Let's see ... He'd met up with Pansy, and Millicent had tagged along, but that was all right, people would leave them alone if she was with them, and he hadn't been in the mood for a lot of socialising … Except …

"Shit!" he swore loudly, as he realised just exactly who that woman in the bar had been. What had he told her? He could remember Pansy buying him drinks, and then the newcomer had cornered him, and bought more … How much had he had? The throbbing in his head said, 'too much'. He suspected that the butterbeers had been laced with something else; he had a passing memory of shots of fire-whiskey at the end of the night after the girls had left in a huff.

There was a tapping at the bedroom window as an owl arrived with the Daily Prophet. He paid it off, crawled back into bed, and opened the paper. ' _THE POTTER CODE - Harry Potter talks exclusively to Rita Skeeter_ ' he read, and groaned. He scanned through the article until he found what he was looking for in the last paragraph: ' _We'll tell all in tomorrow's Harry Potter exclusive edition of the Daily Prophet!'_

"Shit!" he said again. Blaise Zabini knew he was going to be in a **lot** of trouble at lunchtime. And he was already going to be late …

* * *

Once more, it was a lovely day and Narcissa suggested lunching in the garden again. Blaise had Floo-called to say that he was very sorry but would be a little late, and asked them please not to wait for him; so Narcissa took them through the very elegant French doors they had been through a week earlier, but turned left instead of right, and Harry found himself being led to a different part of the garden entirely. They came around the corner of the manor, and the planting changed completely. They had walked through a very formal rose garden with box hedges into a beautiful English cottage garden.

Harry stopped dead, speechless.

"Do you like it?" Narcissa asked.

" _Like_ it?" he asked. "It's beautiful." And then suddenly the sickle dropped as he realised that the plants were not well established and the beds looked new; this must be what Draco and Blaise had done yesterday morning.

"You did this for me?" he asked, astonished.

Draco, coming up behind him, put his arms around him, and spoke softly into his ear.

"Arthur gave Mother and I a bit of a hint that you might appreciate something like this."

Harry's eyes filled with tears as he thought of all the effort they had put into creating this special place, simply because he had told Arthur about his dream of a cottage garden. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of being loved by these people who a few weeks before had officially, if not factually, been his enemies. And he was amazed to learn that they loved him enough to bury their pride and abandon the enmity they had always had towards the Weasleys. He turned around and, for the second time that day, overcome by emotion, buried his head in the blond's shoulder.

Lucius, coming out of another set of French doors beside the garden, found a strange scene before his eyes: his wife, alone, watching the two boys clasped together.

"Is everything all right?" he asked Narcissa, very quietly, his voice concerned. _Did we overdo it?_ He wondered to himself.

"Oh yes, I think so," Narcissa answered, equally softly. "I think Harry's just a bit overcome that we would do something like this for him."

For an instant, Lucius looked puzzled. And then the stories his wife had told him about Harry's upbringing slotted in to place, and he stepped over to the raven-haired boy, easing him from Draco's arms.

"Harry," he said, his voice soft and gentle, "Narcissa told me what you told her about those horrible people – don't worry," he added hastily, seeing the panic rising in Harry's eyes, "it's what husbands and wives do–"

"No secrets, remember," Draco murmured.

"Quite," Lucius said. "And Draco wanted to do something to show you what this family is like. How we treat people who belong. Yes, Harry, the Debt means we belong together; and this corner of the garden is yours, to show you that we mean it."

Harry blinked the tears away and looked at the Malfoy patriarch in a new light. "You're doing this for me?" he asked again. "All three of you?"

"Of course," Lucius asked; though it was a miracle he could breathe afterwards given the fierceness of the hug Harry gave him.

* * *

Blaise arrived not long after, full of apologies to his hostess and having all too obviously got dressed in a big hurry. Draco could tell all the signs; he had known Blaise for a very long time, after all.

"Just what did you get up to last night?" he asked, his tone bantering but not entirely happy.

Blaise looked a bit sheepish, and Narcissa came to his rescue. "Now, darling, let Blaise eat his lunch, please." And so they sat in the garden and ate lunch: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, to fit with the very English garden they were sitting in. Draco decided to give Blaise a bit of time, and brought up the interview in the Prophet; Lucius declared himself full of admiration for how well Harry had handled himself, having to deal with such a formidable and feisty interviewer. Harry positively blossomed under the praise, and both Lucius and Narcissa thought the same thing to see it: _the Dursleys will pay!_ It was just so easy to believe that he had never been praised growing up, seeing what a thimbleful of it could do to him now.

"Yes, father," Draco answered, "but what about tomorrow's article?"

Blaise blanched. "I think maybe …" He stopped, and started again. "I'm sorry. You were right, Draco, I did go out last night, with Pansy and Millicent, and we had a nice time, and much to drink, and then …"

Draco looked at him, realising exactly what had happened. "She was there, wasn't she?"

Blaise looked crestfallen. "Yes," he said, not daring to look Draco in the eye.

"Blaise," Harry said, his voice firm, "are you telling us you talked to Rita Skeeter?"

Blaise looked up. It would be cowardly not to, he decided. He had called Harry a milk-sop; he couldn't chicken out now, it would just prove what a coward he was. But when he looked into the brilliant green eyes of Harry Potter, his heart skipped a beat. He had little idea what to expect – anger for sure, maybe disappointment, maybe hatred; but he found none of these things. No, the look in Harry's eyes was the look of a friend who wanted to know how bad things were, not to know how angry to be with him, but to know what would have to be done to fix it. Blaise almost lost it to see that look. He could easily have handled being yelled at, or scolded, or even a frosty glare. But he had no idea how to deal with the love that was radiating towards him from Harry Potter.

"I did," he said, simply. "She latched on to me, and got me drunk; and I told her about the party at your house. And I think maybe I tell her what I said …" and Blaise was clearly remembering the incident; he went as red as the Gryffindor common room as he explained exactly what he had said.

"Interesting," Lucius observed. It had not escaped him what game Skeeter was playing in the Prophet article that morning; and he knew what havoc she could wreak out of ill-chosen words. Not, he ruminated to himself, that she really needed them; he wouldn't put it past her to make up half of what she wrote. Or, more likely, three-quarters.

Nonetheless, he didn't wish to prolong Zabini's discomfort. "I suggest a word with Barnabas Cuffe might be in order," he said, knowing that with a little pressure on the Editor-in-Chief, any indiscretions from Blaise could become just youthful high-jinks. "I wonder … Harry, you mentioned about Voldemort being a half-blood, would you be prepared to expand on that?"

Harry thought for a bit. He could, he decided, safely reveal the Riddle and Gaunt story; but the horcruxes and hallows should probably stay secret … the hallows … _there's a thought – for another time_ , he decided, as Lucius was waiting, patiently, for a reply.

"Yes, I think I could; why?"

"Well, we could bully Cuffe into letting us vet Skeeter's article; but these things always go better if we can offer a _quid pro quo_."

As Harry looked baffled, Draco explained, "A 'quid pro quo' means something for something. Turn and turn about. Say, for example, you give then another interview discussing Voldemort's origins, and in return we get to edit Skeeter's article."

"I'm so ashamed," Blaise said, still surprised that these plans were being made to cover up his mistake. As a Slytherin, he had always expected he'd have to clean up his own messes; but clearly with Harry Potter around, the rules had changed.

"It may all be for the best," Narcissa observed. "Harry can lead an article about Voldemort's origins back to the causes of his madness, and the steps that the Potter Code might suggest to deal with them. So it becomes another opportunity to reinforce the message."

"That's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, channeling his inner Ron Weasley. Narcissa smiled.

* * *

After lunch, Lucius took Draco and Blaise to his study to make arrangements to deal with the Daily Prophet; Narcissa looped her arm through Harry's, telling him there was something else she wanted him to see. She took him through a little gate at the side of the cottage garden. Instantly, the scene was completely different: they moved from English cottage garden to Japanese rock garden. There was no grass; instead, the ground was strewn with white gravel, raked to suggest waves in water. There was a small pavilion at the edge, and she led him there. They sat on low trestles, looking into the garden, which was surrounded by a stone wall. Set at apparently random points in the garden were large stones, some with mosses growing on them. At one end of the garden, a red bridge led out into the space beyond; behind the wall, they could see distant hills.

An intense sense of peace settled on Harry. "This is a beautiful place," he said to Narcissa. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"This garden is Draco's favourite," she said. "He loved to come here, especially when things went to Hell inside the house. The garden was warded so none of our – ah – guests could find it. Of course, he couldn't come often, or stay long."

Harry understood the oblique reference to the time they would all rather forget, and he was glad to learn that Draco had had such a place to come to for a little respite. And he could see another reason that Narcissa had for bringing him here: a reason that reminded him again how much she loved her son, yes, but also showed just how much she respected him, and wanted to help him.

They sat together in silence for a time, Harry drinking in the beauty of the garden, and the view, and Narcissa's love for her son, and her concern for him. It shook him quite a bit; but the peace of the place came into his soul, and he was grateful.

"Thank you," he said eventually, and Narcissa just smiled. She remembered the day in the Gryffindor dormitory when she had been so unsure of him. That day, that insecurity, she knew now, was long gone.

* * *

When they left the Japanese rock garden, Harry felt a change in the wards. He looked back to see the gate, and discovered that it was now barely discernable.

"Ah," said Narcissa. "The garden, as I said, could not be found by our guests; the wards are still there. I must remind Lucius to remove them."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why not keep having a secret garden?"

Narcissa mused a little about the idea; yes, Draco would probably enjoy it, she thought. But she would get Lucius to weaken the wards so Harry, at least, could go there whenever he wanted. They owed him that.

* * *

As they walked through the cottage garden on the way back inside, they found Blaise sitting by himself at the table they had had lunch at.

"Harry," he said, standing up as soon as he saw them; Narcissa looked at him and immediately realised she was _de trop_ here; Blaise had the look of wanting a private conversation.

"I'll see you inside," she said warmly, and went in through the French doors.

Blaise continued, grateful to Narcissa for her tact, "I want to apologize, Harry."

Harry looked at him, astonished. "What for?" he asked.

"I told tales about you. I should never do so. You are so good to me, Harry, so good to us all. We from Slytherin, we are not used to being treated so kindly by the other houses. But I know times have changed. I can see from Draco, we must work together; but I keep letting you down. My temper gets in the way; I assure you it is not deliberate, but even so, I am making things hard for you. I apologise."

"There's no need, Blaise," the green-eyed boy reassured him. "You don't 'keep letting me down'; you may have done it twice, but I'm sure we can work things out together. And Rita is impossible, I understand that; you got drunk and she took advantage."

"Yes, but I should have been smarter. I'm sorry; I seem to have brought you only pain. I wish there was some way to make it up to you."

Harry smiled; but there was something Slytherin about the smile, Blaise thought, and it wasn't exactly reassuring.

"Perhaps there is …"

* * *

Once they had finished their conversation, Blaise Flooed home and Harry rejoined the others in Lucius's study. He found that the three had been joined by four wizards. Two of them were introduced to Harry: Barnabas Cuffe, the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet, and Dempster Wiggleswade, the legal issues columnist for the paper, and employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There was, of course, no need to introduce Arthur Weasley or Filius Flitwick.

The two journalists cut very different figures. The Editor was a tall, very large, sandy-haired man with a ruddy complexion, a booming voice, and a bone-crushing handshake. He had, Harry decided, Presence. Which no doubt was an essential characteristic if you were going to be in charge of a rag like the Daily Prophet. The man presumably had a hide like a rhinoceros as well; Harry wondered for a moment exactly what Lucius had on the man before quickly deciding he'd rather not know.

Wiggleswade, on the other hand, though nearly as tall as his journalistic boss, was a lean, angular man, who came across as a bit fussy and pedantic. The handshake he gave Harry, while firm, was not at all unpleasant. Of the two, Harry thought, Wiggleswade was certainly the more trustworthy.

"It seems, Harry, that I was right about the article," Draco said once the introductions were concluded. "It was almost entirely written by Mr Wiggleswade; Skeeter only wrote the piece on the front page and the last paragraph, while Mr Wiggleswade wrote the rest from her notes."

"Then I must thank you, sir," Harry said. "It was a very accurate and well-written article, I thought."

"Thank you, young man," the older wizard replied, his voice quiet and incisive. "And please, call me Dempster. I'm delighted to have your approval of my writing because I was hoping to write a further article, following up on your comments about He–Who- … about Voldemort."

"Dempster works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry, as well as being a columnist for the Daily Prophet," Arthur explained. "So we'd be delighted for him to interview you in his capacity as a Ministry employee and then write an article for the Daily Prophet. The article would be vetted by the Ministry, of course, to make sure that the text was appropriate for public consumption; though Dempster has always been fair in all of his articles."

"And Mr Cuffe has kindly agreed to allow us to preview and amend the article for tomorrow," Lucius said, trying hard to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Yes, well, I don't see that I have much choice," the editor began, rather huffily and self-important, but Arthur interrupted him.

"My dear Barnabus, you're getting a whole extra article from Mr Potter," he said smoothly. "And, if it goes well, perhaps the Ministry might see fit to allow you to publish some more details in the future."

"Very well then," Cuffe said, obviously understanding the implicit threat if he did not co-operate, as he produced the proof copy of Rita's article for the following morning. He tried to look disinterested, but the glint of greed in his eyes was all Harry needed to know that he desperately wanted more from them. Arthur had hit pay-dirt.

Lucius used a simple copying charm to create a copy of the document for each of them, and they sat in his study reading it. It was obvious to Harry what needed to be changed; and when they got together, it turned out that they all pretty much agreed on how the article should be amended for publication –everyone except Cuffe, of course, he quite liked it as it was; but he was immediately overruled by a simple lifted eyebrow from Lucius.

Not wanting to cause a rift and break the delicate peace they seemed to have brokered, Narcissa, who had taken longest to read, spoke up.

"I wonder, Mr Cuffe," she began, and paused just a little.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, falling neatly into her little trap.

"Oh, I though perhaps that the article might work particularly well, especially now with the agreed changes, if it were accompanied by a photograph of Harry and Draco?"

Again, Cuffe tried to look unaffected, but they could all see he was practically jumping out of his skin at the prospect. As it happened, the photograph of Harry, Kingsley and Elphias published this morning had been commented on by many readers; he had a swag of Letters to the Editor already in his postbox saying how nice it was to see the Saviour working together with the Minister and Chief Wizard. Most of them, to be sure, were so sickly sweet they could have been written by Umbridge, but several of them had already been earmarked for publication in the Letters to the Editor page. He could already visualise the mail from a picture of these two young and, frankly, stunningly attractive wizards gracing the front page. It didn't matter to him that the mail would probably generally express disappointment that the two were now off the market, or outrage that they were together; he was, after all, a newspaperman, anything that sold more papers and generated more interest in the Prophet was money in the bank to him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Harry saying to him, "if we're going to agree to a photograph, there's just one other thing, Mr Cuffe."

"Please, Harry, call me Barnabus," the editor rejoined, ignoring the glower he got from the older wizards at using Harry's first name.

"Well, Barnabus, I would like to ask you to stop referring to me as the 'Saviour' please."

Cuffe choked. "What?" he asked. "Why the hell would we do that?"

"Because it's not true," Harry said. "Oh, I know I killed Voldemort, and I died first, and all that. But if we keep thinking we need extraordinary witches and wizards to save us, we're not going to build the society I want to live in. We need to believe, to know, that everyone is important. Everyone matters. Everyone has a part to play in rebuilding our society."

"Sounds like you've swallowed a Ministry propaganda pamphlet, Mr Potter," the editor said, not at all pleased to hear such a well-thought-out ideology from one so young. His paper thrived on people who didn't think very much and said things that they could bend to their own agenda; it wasn't much good having people with a clear voice of their own, especially if they were backed by the Ministry.

If Cuffe had hoped to anger Harry, he failed magnificently; for the raven-haired man threw his head back and laughed at this description. "Oh, I bet Kingsley wishes I would!", he said. "But for my part, I want to go back to being a student."

The mention of the Minister had brought a laugh from all of them, and Lucius took advantage of the break in conversation to suggest to Cuffe that he organise a Prophet photographer. Narcissa, spotting that his plan was to get the editor away from the conversation altogether, suggested that he might like to come and choose a spot for the photograph in the garden, which he agreed to happily.

Once he had left, Harry turned to Flitwick.

"Is that why you're here, Professor? To discuss the school year?" he asked, turning to Flitwick.

"Not quite," the tiny wizard twittered. "Of course, that will come up eventually, but right now we need to consider your safety, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, if you continue to work at Hogwarts, especially in light of the cowardly attack on Mr Malfoy on Friday."

"I think, Filius, it might be simpler to use first names, especially as there are three Malfoys present," Lucius interrupted.

"Very well," Flitwick agreed readily. "Harry, Draco has already accepted my apologies for what happened on Friday, and indicated that he wishes to continue to work at the Castle if at all possible. Of course, we are keen to have whatever help we can, and you are both particularly welcome, as present students, and as you have proven wonderful both for the quality of your workmanship and for the way in which you have encouraged your peers to work." Both Harry and Draco blushed under all this praise.

"Auror protection will be stepped up, and the Ministry has approved stronger wards for Hogwarts while the rebuilding continues," Arthur interjected. "With that in mind, Harry, are you happy to keep working at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded.

"Not a word in the Prophet, though," Arthur said to Wiggleswade, sternly. "It's dangerous enough without publicising where they are."

"Understood," Dempster answered. He didn't exactly like keeping secrets from Cuffe; but he had decided long ago that his main career was at the Ministry, and he had always made it clear to Cuffe that he would not jeopardise it. To give Cuffe his due, he had seen that a willing columnist from the Ministry's Department of Legal Enforcement was a huge bonus to the Prophet, so he had accepted these terms, if not exactly happily, then at least without complaint.

* * *

The Prophet photographer arrived soon after they had finished discussing the situation at Hogwarts and Filtwick had returned to the school. The photograph was taken with Harry and Draco sitting in the cottage garden, smiling at the camera and then moving for a very chaste little kiss. Barnabus and the photographer then returned to the Prophet office with the amended text that Lucius and Arthur had written up while the photograph was being taken; and Dempster was given his interview in Lucius's study.

No doubt Wiggleswade would have liked a cosy tête-à-tête with Harry; but Arthur and Lucius practically insisted on being present, and Dempster could hardly refuse his boss's boss and his host. Much of the material Harry shared was unknown to the Wizarding world; Voldemort had hidden his origins well. He discussed the Gaunts, outlining the events he had witnessed with Dumbledore in the pensieve, and how Voldemort was descended from Salazar Slytherin through his mother, Marvolo Gaunt's daughter Merope. He discussed Tom Riddle senior, the Muggle that Merope Gaunt loved and bewitched using a Love potion. He explained how he had left her once the potion had worn off, and Tom had been taken to an orphanage and found there by one Albus Dumbledore, who brought him to Hogwarts and thus began the known history of Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort.

And then Harry paused. "Um, I should probably discuss the dark magic that Tom did to try to become immortal; but I don't know how much should be published …"

"That's all right," said Arthur. "You tell Dempster everything and he and I will discuss later exactly what can be published and what can't."

And so Harry discussed the horcruxes, explaining how they made killing their creator difficult, as they had to be destroyed first; and that in order to create them, one had to commit murder; and the eyes of the other wizards went very wide to discover the lengths that Voldemort had gone to in his attempt to live forever. He explained how the first horcrux to be created, and the first to be discovered, was the diary that Lucius had slipped into Ginny's cauldron in her first year; and then suddenly realised who was in the room with him. But Lucius apologised profoundly to Arthur, confessing that he hadn't known the extent of its evil, or he would never have done it; and Arthur said he accepted this apology, and that Lucius acted in ignorance, and asked Harry to continue.

And so Harry discussed the remaining horcruxes. He traced the history of Slytherin's ring from the shack the Gaunts lived in to Dumbledore finding and destroying it. Likewise, he explained that the Gaunts had Slytherin's locket, which he and Dumbledore had visited the island in the cave to retrieve, which had eventually weaken Dumbledore on the night he was killed; to no purpose, as it was not there, having been at Grimmauld Place until Mundungus Fletcher had stolen it and Umbridge had taken it off him. He explained, somewhat sheepishly, about breaking in to the Ministry and retrieving it from the hated Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. He explained about Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem.

At this point, there came the pop of house-elf apparition, and Mappy stood there in front of them.

"Mistress is apologising to Masters for interrupting," he said warily, obviously not relishing entering Lucius's study unbidden, "but would be liking to know if Masters is wanting some tea soon?"

Lucius eyed Harry, who mouthed 'not much more' to him, so he replied to Mappy, "thank you, Mappy, please tell Mistress Narcissa that we should be finished in twenty minutes or so."

Harry was grateful for the interruption; it helped him to gather himself to tell the stories of the two living horcruxes. Nagini was easy; he slotted in the story of Snape's death as well, so they would understand just how much of a hero this double-agent had been. And he was glad again that it was someone else who had destroyed the horcrux; it only then occurred to him that he had destroyed only the diary: Dumbledore had destroyed the ring; Ron, the locket; Hermione, the cup; Vince – and wasn't that ironic – the diadem; Neville the snake; and Voldemort himself the last piece.

"Nagini was the last horcrux we destroyed, but there was one more," he said. "One that we believe Tom never knew he had created: when he killed my mother, he made one more horcrux out of the only living creature left in the house: me."

"You were a horcrux?" Arthur gasped.

"Yes," said Harry. "And so when Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra on me in the Forbidden Forest, he unwittingly killed, not me, but a piece of himself."

With that, Harry finished. He wanted to keep all the rest to himself: the hallows, meeting his parents, seeing Dumbledore in the replica of King's Cross Station; these would remain private.

Dempster, who had been making notes like mad, finally finished scribbling. "Mr Potter –"

"Harry," Harry corrected.

"Harry," the other wizard said, with a smile; Dempster had noticed how much the others had not liked Cuffe calling him by his first name, so had waited for the invitation. "This is truly amazing. I will write it up and discuss it with my superiors – Arthur, do you want me to run it by you?" Arthur nodded his consent. "Fine," Dempster continued, "and I will send you a copy of the article tomorrow night so you're aware of what will be published."

"Excellent!" Lucius said. "Mappy!"

The elf reappeared.

"Where is Mistress Narcissa planning on having tea? We are ready now."

The elf smiled, glad that he was obviously not in trouble. "Mistress Narcissa is serving tea in Master Harry Potter's garden, sirs," he said, bowing low and disapparating, not waiting for any reply.

* * *

At the tea table, Harry discovered he felt quite a relief at having gone through the story of the horcruxes in such detail, and knowing he would probably never have to again. Draco, noting that his lover seemed to be in a particularly good mood, suggested that they might go flying after tea. Harry's face lit up, but then he realised he still didn't have a broom.

"You can borrow one of mine, I have a spare" Draco said. _Of_ _ **course**_ _he has a spare,_ Harry thought, remembering the size of Draco's suite and how different their upbringings had been. But he wasn't going to let that spoil what had been, on the whole, a lovely day; so, when Dempsey went back to the Ministry to write up the transcript and Arthur went home, the two boys made their way to the field behind the Malfoy's garden and took to their brooms. Draco produced a snitch, and they spent a very happy couple of hours chasing it. When they returned to the manor, Harry was leading five-three and Draco was pleased to see that all of the angst he had had at the start of the day had vanished. He had thought of tackling Harry about the nightmares; but somehow there hadn't been time during the rather busy day, and he certainly didn't want to remind him of them now.

Narcissa didn't miss the happy face of her son's lover, either, as they came in to have a shower.

"Would you like to stay to dinner?" she asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble you," Harry said.

Narcissa smiled at him fondly. "You never have, Harry. Please, do stay. And you're welcome to stay the night, of course."

Harry thought about this for a couple of seconds; he really did want to, he realised, especially as Draco's parents would almost certainly love to have their son home for the night; so he happily accepted Narcissa's kind offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help.
> 
> I hope the interview wasn't too stodgy! And that you enjoyed my tournament! All ideas for further Weasley pranks would be welcome.
> 
> Thanks to all who are subscribe and comment! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. A big thank-you to vernie_klein, I'm glad you enjoyed it.


	30. Returning to Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a while. So comment, it encourages me!

30 Returning to Type

_Monday, 1 June 1998_

Harry came awake slowly. He lay in bed with his eyes closed. There was definitely something different. Something about the room. The light playing over his closed eyelids was wrong, somehow. And the smell wasn't the same. There was still the intoxicating, marvelous smell that belonged to Draco, to be sure; but it wasn't quite how he remembered it. Stronger, somehow.

He opened his eyes to survey an unfamiliar ceiling; and it all came back to him. Of course, they had spent the night at the Manor; and, for the first time ever, he had slept in Draco's bed.

"Morning, sleepy-head," a voice drawled next to him, and Harry turned and gazed into the beautiful silver eyes of his lover. "I'm guessing, from the lack of nightmares," Draco continued, "that you slept well last night?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling. He had very much enjoyed their – ah – activities after bedtime; Draco had insisted on christening his bed as it was the first time they had slept in it together. Harry hoped that the silencing charms were up to the noise they had made as they had used their hands to bring each other to orgasm.

But now it was a new day. And, he remembered, today was the day that Skeeter's article about them would be published.

"I suppose," he said, "we'd better face the music."

Draco looked puzzled. "Muggle saying," Harry explained. "Meaning we have to go and take what's coming to us. Today, through Rita's article."

The blond's look of incomprehension was replaced by one of calm resignation, mixed with a small amount of fear: the witch had never posted nasty things about **him** , Harry remembered. Well, they just had to face it and see how bad it was. It should, of course, be exactly what they had agreed on; but somehow he didn't trust Skeeter that much.

-#-

_**THE BOY WHO LOVED!** _

_**By Rita Skeeter** _

He skimmed through the article. It was nauseating, just like the picture of the two of them emblazoned on the front page. By the time he had finished reading, he had nearly lost his breakfast. Twice.

Yaxley despised this new 'let's all love everyone' philosophy they called the Potter Code. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than idealistic twaddle. The collective brains of the Wizarding world seemed to have turned into mush; they had all become a mob of sycophants, desperate to fawn all over Harry Sodding Potter, the Boy Who Could Do No Wrong.

But did he have a real plan? Something that would last? No. Wizarding society had to be built on a solid, firm foundation; that was obvious. And whatever they said, it was the Pure-bloods who understood how things really worked. This rallying-cry of "all together", this idea that blood status did not matter, was palpable nonsense. It was self-evident that the Mudbloods had no clue; how could they possibly know about being wizards, when everything they learnt in childhood was irreparably tainted with Muggleness? They had no history to guide them, no idea what it really was to be a wizard. Yaxley convinced himself that he did not actually despise them; they just needed a firm hand, careful guidance. They needed to be taught properly. Carefully. Kindly. But the idea that they might have something to add, some wisdom to impart, that was beyond stupidity.

And that idea came from the witches and wizards he did despise: the half-bloods, who mixed pure heritage with unspeakable Muggle ideas to produce abominations like the Potter Code. And the thrice-cursed blood-traitors, who had no excuse, they should have known better, but sided with the Muggle influence. He was sure it was this latter group who were promulgating this new heresy that the Dark Lord himself was half-blood. The lie had been given by Potter; but Yaxley was sure it originated from the hated Muggle-loving Albus Dumbledore.

No, the Wizarding world needed to be based on the tried and true Wizarding ways, and that meant pure-blood ways. Voldemort had had the right idea: pure-bloods were the natural leaders of their world. They knew how to lead. To give proper direction, not this endless popularity contest that they seemed to be stuck in right now.

It was time to wake them up. Time to show them what real leadership was like. What a proper leader with a firm hand was like, not that vacillating fool Shacklebolt. To begin with, he would show them what should be done with traitors. As always when he thought of the revenge he had planned, a hideous grin spread over his face. He scanned the article again to see if it gave him any hope. _Hmm.. What was this?_ A paragraph in the middle caught his attention:

_Your reporter, knowing how eager you all are for news of our hero, has been interviewing_

_friends of Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy to gain some insights into the lives of our favourite couple._

_I was privileged to chat with the elegant Mr Blaise Zabini, class-mate of Draco Malfoy's and fellow_  
Slytherin House member. Mr Zabini, it seems, visited Mr Potter's house, and tells me that he was  
not entirely the gracious well-bred host; leaving his guests to go to bed! But surely we don't mind  
\- no doubt our hero needs his sleep!

His first thought had been that that it was Skeeter's usual tittle-tattle, but on rereading it, he saw another possibility. To bad-mouth Potter, there must be some feeling there. A little jealousy, perhaps? Zabini wouldn't be a Slytherin if he wasn't a bit miffed at Malfoy taking up with the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors. The friend scorned, perhaps? His grin sharpened as his ideas crystallised into a direct plan of action. Perhaps our Mr Zabini might be receptive to a little friendly persuasion …

-#-

Harry and Draco came downstairs to find Narcissa eating breakfast in the cottage garden. It was the perfect day for it: sunny, but not too hot. There was a slight breeze, and the trees planted as a border were swaying slightly, creating a delightful dappled sunlight effect. And the scent, particularly from the roses, was delightful. Narcissa fitted into this scene as though it had been made for her: her striking looks and blonde hair offset beautifully by the lavender bush behind her.

"Good morning, boys; I hope you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you," said Harry, as they sat down together, across from her.

"Tolerably well, thank you mother," Draco drawled; and Harry half-suspected he was simply being disagreeable for the hell of it, especially when he saw the amused smile ghosting Narcissa's lips. "Where is father?"

"Behind you," the aristocrat's voice said, as he stepped into the garden and came over to sit next to his wife. A house elf appeared and took orders for breakfast, which was swiftly delivered.

"I'm surprised at you, father, eating so informally," Draco teased him, as he and Harry tucked in to the pancakes they had ordered.

"Well, while Harry is here, we thought he might enjoy spending time in his garden." Harry blushed, and Lucius smirked to see it. But the warm feeling inside him reminded him that the Debt was still there, and thinking about it still made him a little uncomfortable. At least Mr Potter was happy, though, so all was well for the moment. And if all he had to do for the boy was to eat breakfast in the garden, instead of seated at a proper dining table, then really there was nothing to worry about. His concerns of weeks before were slowing ebbing away, now seeing silly compared to the reality, as Draco's hunch was proving correct: Potter's character made him a much more pleasant house-guest than Voldemort! "It seems silly to sit cooped up in the dining room on such a lovely day," he went on, and then paused to eat some of his breakfast.

Narcissa continued the conversation by asking Harry, "have you seen the Daily Prophet yet?"

"Well, no, we only just got up," Harry murmured.

"We were otherwise occupied earlier this morning," Draco added, with a straight face. The confession did nothing to help the redness of Harry's face, much to the amusement of all the Malfoys. Lucius, his eyes twinkling, produced a copy for each of them, and told them not to stand on ceremony; reading at the breakfast table was quite acceptable now.

Draco looked shocked. "Father? Is this really you? I mean, eating in the garden? Reading at the table? You told me you would have been whipped! I would have been beaten!"

Lucius threw his head back and laughed. It was a glorious sound.

"Well, Draco, we both know just how well that approach worked. I confess when your mother suggested it I wondered if the house would fall done in protest, but I find I rather prefer being less uptight about things that really don't matter. Now, please, you read, I'll eat."

They spent a few minutes in companionable silence, doing as they were bid. Harry finished the article first.

"I see that the interview with Blaise survived intact," he remarked.

"Yes, I suspect it was a sop to Skeeter," Lucius answered. "Really, Cuffe did a good turn by us, though. He obviously took your request of not calling you 'saviour' to heart; and simply changing 'saviour' into 'hero' seems to have worked well. We'd missed that altogether. I'm glad he thought of it."

Harry smiled. It was amazing to get to see behind the sneering, pompous Lucius Malfoy façade and find that the man did have a heart after all. And a big one, at that. He was very generous with his praise. No doubt that got him a long way in wheeling and dealing, Harry thought. But perhaps that was unfair. Why not take the man at face value, especially if he was being so pleasant?

"It's a lovely photograph of you," Narcissa remarked. "I must see about getting some copies of it."

Harry went red once more, and Lucius smiled at his wife affectionately. "My love," he said, "you do say the most amazing things."

Narcissa smiled back. Her husband was happier than he had been in years, probably happier than she had known him since they left Hogwarts. At last the horrors of his narrow-minded father seemed to be falling away. The only decent things about Abraxus Malfoy, as far as Narcissa was concerned, were that he hadn't stood in her way of marrying Lucius, and then had the good timing to die of dragon pox before Draco was born, so that he couldn't pass on his bigotry another generation. Lucius was becoming like his grandfather, one of the old Malfoys: a genuine man, full of bonhomie and tact; a proper aristocrat. She could see the same winsome traits coming out in Draco; and, not for the first time, she felt very grateful that they had Harry. The Debt might be there, and Lucius had not entirely lost his fears about that; but they were receding, and Harry kept bringing out these lovely traits in her men at every turn.

-#-

Rita Skeeter was absolutely furious. She had written what she thought was a brilliant article, and that blankety blank blank no-good low-life Cuffe had edited it to death. True, he'd managed to get a photo, and a pretty good one too, but that hardly made up for what he'd done to her text. Hers! All hers! No-one ever touched her articles!

She stormed into his office, and was instantly hit by a silencing charm. Her fury reached hitherto unknown heights at this indignity; but Cuffe just told her to sit down (on a chair he conjured for the purpose) and shut up (as if she had a choice about that!).

When he thought she'd calmed a little, he removed the spell.

"You BASTARD!" she screamed. _Too early,_ Cuffe thought. But he was stuck with it now, he had to brazen it out, he knew, as she continued, "you ripped the heart out of my article! What the HELL did you do that for?"

"Rita! Shut it! And what happened is three words: Lucius Sodding Malfoy."

"What did he threaten you with?" she asked, instantly spotting an interesting line and latching onto it like the seasoned gossip-monger that she was.

"Never you mind. But at the moment he and the Ministry are working together on this, so you know we have no chance if we want to ever get more on Potter. Wiggleswade has already been given another interview, he talked to Potter yesterday about Volde–"

"BORING!" Rita said, speaking over the top of her boss. "And for this, you emasculate my prose? You even changed 'our Saviour needs his sleep', I was proud of that line!"

"It's not like you're writing great literature here!" he yelled in reply. "And Potter doesn't want to be called the 'Saviour' any more."

Rita looked dumbfounded. She knew he was publicity-shy, but really? Refusing such a title? "Why the hell not?" she asked.

"God knows," he replied. "He gave me some crap about it's not him, it's how everybody works together, blah, blah, blah, sanctimonious bullshit. Could have come straight from Scrimgeour. I thought you told me he didn't want to be the Ministry spokesman?"

"He doesn't," she replied. "Maybe he actually believes it."

The look on the Editor-in-Chief's face was priceless. But he pulled himself together. "He can believe anything he wants, I suppose. Perk of being the bloody boy-who-didn't-die-twice. Meanwhile we daren't stir up wizardry against him. Not openly, anyway. Why don't you see if you can dig up some more dirt? That Parkinson girl should be good for something. Go off and become her chum."

Rita grinned, evilly. She didn't need advice on how to do her job, but she could see how to put the knife in. Cuffe had told her to make friends; that made the inevitable bar tab a legitimate excuse …

He really did make things too easy for her sometimes, she mused. But then, she was a sensationalist journalist who took pride in a long heritage of milking everyone she met for all they were worth.

-#-

Kingsley Shacklebolt was worried. He was quite happy with the turn of events at Malfoy Manor yesterday; but nonetheless, there was still plenty to concern him. He didn't believe that Skeeter would take the affront to her journalistic pride lying down; so he had sent word through the Ministry network of informers and helpers to ensure that whatever she did, he was told about it. And they had not had any word of Yaxley; he still did not know what he was up to. He only hoped Harry was right about his plans.

And there was Crockford to consider. The healers had discovered that he, like Thicknesse, had been under a very deep, undetectable form of the Imperius curse. Harry's 'Signum Revelare' charm had now been used by the healers on all of the Aurors to see if they could discover whether anyone else was a hidden death eater. But somehow, the charm didn't seem as effective as when Harry had used it. One old witch had been positively identified; but as she had had quite a bit to do with Thicknesse and had been all but pensioned off anyway, they simply talked her into retiring for good. Since there was no evidence of criminal activity, and having the Dark Mark was not sufficient proof, it would have been hard for them to take any further action, so this was probably the best possible outcome. There were a couple of people who the healers had suspected, but not been definite about; they had been put under very discreet surveillance. But it was not entirely satisfactory; and there was no real reason anyone could see why the charm was not particularly effective for anyone other than Harry. Kingsley wondered if this was just because Harry's magic was so strong, or whether there was something else at play.

And that idea worried him too. He knew about the Debt, of course; he was impressed at how Harry had managed to keep Skeeter away from the details, though others would look them up, of course; it wasn't going to stay secret forever. Skeeter was a sloppy journalist, but it would not be wise to rely on that. No, the worry was more that he felt there was something else there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. That shield, it had been so strong; that must mean that his magic and Malfoy's were highly compatible. But how did it stay strong? He didn't believe the Debt was entirely responsible for that. But if not, then what?

However, he had to leave his musings. However much Harry was his friend, and despite how much he wanted to help him, however he could, he was still the Minister for Magic; he had a job to do, and that job demanded so much of his time. He sighed. Some days, he would give anything to be an Auror again, off on a case, worrying about one thing at a time, not having to answer a thousand questions on a hundred matters every time he walked into his office. At least he could draw some of the fire, he thought; he had insisted that Arthur stay home today, as he had had to work over the weekend. He sensed that Molly was getting a bit fed up with it; and he didn't blame her one bit. He had promised that he wouldn't let the Ministry take over Arthur's life; but Harry had needed the help over the last couple of days, and he knew Molly could see that. He hoped that making sure he was home today would smooth things between them.

-#-

Molly heard a strange little 'ding' and a loud cry of excitement as Arthur yelled "Molly!" from his 'Muggle-den', as his children called the isolation cell he had set up inside his garage, so that the magical energy of the Burrow did not interfere with his Muggle devices. _What is he up to now?_ she wondered. He had been playing with Muggle technology for his whole life, and she'd put up with it; every now and then it turned out to be useful, and she could tell from his tone that this might just be one of those times.

As she entered the room, she was careful to place her wand in the grounding-box next to the door to keep its magic away from the 'electrickery' Arthur loved so much. As she did so, she was a little surprised that his wand was not there; but she didn't say anything. There was no point; she could see at a glance that her husband was too agitated to listen to anything that anyone sensible might say to him. No, he was sitting over the strange machine he called a kumputer, or whatever the word was, and all but bursting with excitement.

"What is it, Arthur?" she asked.

"I've done it, Molly!" he almost shrieked. "We've got email!"

"What?"

"It's like an owl, Molly, only you can send it across the world in seconds. Look, I've got a message from Ron!"

He pressed some buttons on his kumputer, and the bizarre contraption next to it roared into life, producing a piece of Muggle paper with writing on it. He handed it to her, and Molly took it, rather suspicious. It wasn't proper parchment, and the writing on it was very plain, not at all like a proper message written with ink and quill like she was used to … But all this was instantly forgotten as she read the words and knew instinctively that they had indeed been written by her youngest blood-son.

 _Hi dad!_ The message read. _So glad you've got email! Hermione's dad let me type this on his computer, it's brilliant! You'd love their house; it's full of every possible Muggle device! Hermione managed to give them their memories back and everything. It took a lot of explaining, but eventually they've forgiven her and all five of us are returning to England together. Yes, five! Hermione has a little sister called Miriam! She's just two months old and she's absolutely gorgeous! The muggle doctors have said that she's allowed to fly now, so we've all booked tickets to come back leaving here on the nineteenth of June and arriving in England on the twentieth. Tell Harry – no, actually, I'll send him a separate email. Hermione's mum was a bit teary at the thought of leaving Australia, and having to pack up the house and everything, so we told her magic would make the packing up easy at least._

_Tell mum hi! We're loving it here, even though it's autumn the weather is lovely and we've even been to the beach. Miriam has to be slathered in sunscreen and wear this funny coloured paste on her face, called zinc cream, because she's even fairer skinned than Hermione! It's brilliant, you can get it in lots of colours, and it stops the sun burning her nose at all. And even with all this stuff on, they insist on her being in the shade the whole time! H's parents insisted on us being covered in sunscreen too, even though we told them a protection charm would work just as well._

The message prattled on in this vein, with details about the trip and the house they were living in, and asking about everyone, with special greetings for each sibling.

"It's lovely," Molly sighed. "It's almost like he was here; I can hear him saying it."

Arthur agreed; he knew just what she meant. "What would you like to say in reply?" he asked.

"Reply?" Molly said, puzzled. "OH! You mean we can send a – what was it? He-mail?"

"Email," Arthur corrected, chuckling.

"Whatever. You can send one back to him?"

"Of course!" Arthur said. "What would be the good of messages only going one way?"

Molly was so taken by the idea that she could send a reply that she insisted then and there that Arthur teach her how to do it. He chuckled and set her down in the seat in front of the computer, then, to her surprise, fetched her wand.

"I've worked out how to do a little magic that works with the computer," he said, affecting modesty; but Molly knew this was a major thing. He had been working on trying to integrate Muggle ways and magical ones for most of their married life; it seems he now, at last, had achieved success.

"Really? Show me," she said, her voice projecting excitement and encouragement. He pretended he didn't care what other people thought of his love of things Muggle; but she knew that he took it very personally if his obsession was criticised, so she was always careful to be positive about it whenever she could. And the smile on his face that her words elicited was priceless to her.

Arthur puffed up with pride, buoyed by the simple words. "It's taken nearly fifteen years of tinkering, but I've finally worked out what you have to do to get magic to work with electricity! You have to be very careful with the way you cast spells; our normal spells leak out a certain amount of extra magic which interacts with the electrical field, but …" Molly tuned out at this point. It was a big deal, she understood that. And she was very proud of him that he was the one who had worked it out. But that didn't mean she was going to understand a word of the details; so she smiled and nodded and let him burble away happily.

After his explanation, he spent the next hour teaching her the spells, which involved intricate wand work and some magic that she had never heard of; Arthur tried to explain it, something about an 'inverted phase signature' that she simply could not follow; but it didn't matter. In the end, she mastered the spells, and using the strange new _Dictato_ incantation that she suspected he had originated, found that her spoken words were transcribed onto the computer screen, just like automatic writing with a quill. It wasn't an entirely reliable process yet: the magic and the electricity would still give out sparks if she wasn't careful enough; but even so, twenty minutes later she had dictated a five page resume of everything that had happened since they left. Arthur wondered what Ron would think about such a huge message; but there was an easy way to find out, he decided: he pressed the 'send' button.

"Oh no!" Molly said, dismayed as her long message vanished off the screen. "It's all gone!"

Arthur chuckled. "Yes, it's been sent to Ron, dear! Oh, and look, there's another email from him. Oh, hang on, it's for Harry."

"How can you tell?" Molly asked.

"He's given it a subject, to tell us what's in it; and it says 'For Harry'," Arthur replied simply, as he opened the email and printed it out. "Let's get this off to him."

He placed the print-out in an envelope and went off in search of an owl to send the whole thing to Harry.

Molly smiled as she watched him go. Her mother had warned her that the Weasleys were simple people, and Aunt Muriel had been very vocal on the subject: Molly was a Prewett, Muriel had insisted, she could have a hundred better men. But she hadn't wanted a better man: Arthur, to her, was perfect. What they had called 'simple' was, to her, warm, and uncomplicated. She loved her man devotedly; he might be the Deputy Minister, but he was still that loving man she had married. He had simple pleasures, it was true; but he was so honest and straightforward about them that she couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm. And his love for all things Muggle seemed to now fit with the times; perhaps, she thought, the truth was that he was ahead of everyone else, and it was the rest of them catching up to him.

The computer dinged again, but she had no idea what to do about it, so decided it was time to retreat to the kitchen. Arthur would no doubt be coming in search of a cup of tea soon enough. When she got to her domain, she found that Ginny had beaten her to it: the kettle had just boiled, and a fresh pot was brewing nicely.

"Oh thank you, Gin, I was just coming to do that."

"That's a pleasure, mum," the younger witch answered. "Um, mum … we need to talk …"

-#-

Once they had finished breakfast, a house-elf appeared with a stack of mail for Lucius. He grimaced as he read the first couple; he seemed to tune out for a minute, and then shook his head as he seemed to come to a decision.

"Draco, would you spare me an hour? There are some accounts here I'd like to walk you through. It's about time we got you introduced to the business of running the Manor."

"Of course, father," Draco said, rather in the manner of a prisoner invited to his own execution. Lucius laughed.

"It won't be that bad, I promise," he said, as he rose. Draco did too, with an apologetic look at Harry.

"I do apologise for stealing Draco, Harry," he said, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"That's alright, as long as you leave me Narcissa, and don't keep him too long!" Harry rejoined, his tone and words answering the twinkle rather than Lucius's words. Lucius snorted, smiled, said "touché!" and the two Malfoy men went back to Lucius's study.

"More tea, Harry?" Narcissa asked.

"Yes thanks," he answered, and she poured him a cup.

"I'm glad to know that you see me as a suitable replacement for Draco, if only temporarily," she said teasingly. Harry began to apologise, but she smiled at him and assured him that she wasn't in the least offended.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you," he confessed. "I know that we've been keeping our plans for Friday and Saturday under wraps; but I did promise Draco I wouldn't keep secrets from him …"

Narcissa understood immediately. The poor boy had never grown up understanding about dealing with people properly; every secret had probably been destructive. How could he know how to deal with normal, loving secrets? She decided she should probably give him more or less the same talk Draco had had when he was six.

"Harry," she began gently, "you need to learn about secrets. There are two types of secrets: good secrets and bad secrets. We tell our children that good secrets make you happy; bad secrets make you sad. You're keeping our ideas for your dinner and the party a secret because that makes you happy, knowing that when Draco finds out, he'll be absolutely delighted. You're not planning on keeping them secret forever, just till the time when he'll be most happy. That sort of secret, a good secret, is essential in a relationship; you keep it because Draco is special to you, and you want to give him a lovely surprise. But if knowing it would be a nasty surprise, that's a bad secret, you shouldn't keep that. He needs to know that nothing nasty will suddenly surprise him that you knew about beforehand; but he doesn't need to know the nice surprises until the right time. Does that help?"

"Very much," Harry agreed. He was, once again, amazed at this woman, who was a better mother to him than his aunt had ever been.

-#-

Molly and Ginny took their cups of tea into the front room together. Molly's mind was racing; they needed to talk, Gin had said. _Oh Merlin, she doesn't mean …_

"What's up Ginny?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Her daughter blushed bright red, and Molly feared the worst. "Are you … pregnant?" she asked.

Ginny look shocked for a second, then relaxed, her face visibly cooling down as the blush faded. "No! Mother!" She decided, now that her mother had jumped to the wrong conclusion, she would have a much better chance, so pressed on immediately, "Robin and I have been talking about things, and he would like to court me; but he wants to do it the Continental way."

Molly looked puzzled. "The Continental way? What is that? And why would he want to?"

"He was brought up in Germany, remember? He explained that the fashion now, if two magicals love each other, is to live together for a little while, to see if they are compatible. So he's asked me if I would move in with him."

During this speech, Arthur had come in, having sent off his owl, and now joined them, bringing the cup of tea that Molly had left in the kitchen for him. He caught the tail-end of the conversation; but he was not particularly surprised.

Molly turned to him. "Did you know about this, dear? Living together? It would never have happened in our day! What would Muriel think?"

Arthur sat down carefully, thinking hard about how best to keep the peace. He loved both his girls dearly, but they were both rather determined to get their own way, which made his life very … interesting … at times. And this was definitely one of those times.

"Did I know about what? Living together? Yes, it's definitely the done thing on the Continent these days. I take it Robin has asked you to?"

Ginny nodded.

"Well now. Your mother is right; it would never have happened in our day."

Ginny looked mutinous, but Arthur pressed on, "but that doesn't mean that it shouldn't. He's a lovely young man, and you'll be seventeen in August, when you can do what you like; it seems rather stupid to say no for the sake of two months because of old-fashioned ideas or old-fashioned relatives, don't you think, dear?"

The last question was aimed at Molly, who made a pretense of considering this carefully. In fact, she secretly admired Ginny's pluck in coming to her at all and had thought Arthur would demur. Now that he seemed to be happy, or at least comfortable, with the idea, she could acquiesce gracefully. Not that she wasn't going to try a little emotional blackmail anyway …

"Yes, I suppose, if you put it like that. He is a very nice young man, after all. All right, Ginny, if you insist on leaving us all alone here …"

But Ginevra Weasley had her mother's measure, and simply answered, with a sickly-sweet smile, "well, I wasn't going to insist, but if you really want me to …"

Molly laughed. "I'm glad to see my daughter is no push-over!" she said. "Even if I'm sad to see her using the skills I taught her against me! Now, you will both come to dinner every week, of course, won't you?"

And, to Ginny's very great relief, the conversation went on into the logistics of moving out and how it would all work. She had been dreading a huge fight with her parents; but apparently her six siblings had prepared them for this better than Ginny could have hoped.

-#-

After a very restful morning at the Manor, Harry and Draco spent the afternoon at Hogwarts. Draco had been very concerned about the article and possible feedback; and Harry became worried as everyone suddenly went quiet as they Flooed in for lunch. But then Neville had given them a wolf-whistle, and, after a few cat-calls, it was clear that the general feeling was a positive one. To be sure, Seamus still looked rather put out; but Harry felt sure he would get over it in time.

And there was not really any time for animosity to be expressed after lunch: now that the Eighth Year Tower was complete, they returned to the Astronomy Tower and continued to repair the external stonework, now that the interior was quite safe and renovated, in company with Neville, Dean, Seamus, Pansy and Millicent. Four of these five, at least, were warm and friendly towards them, and Harry was filled with hope that, if the rest of the students were half as friendly, they might actually have a fun eighth year.

And so it was that they did not return to Grimmauld Place until after six o'clock. As they Flooed into the drawing room, Harry was rather taken aback to see the table; or rather, not to see it, as it was entirely covered with letters.

"What's all this?" he wondered aloud.

Kreacher must have been listening out for them, for at this point he apparated into the room. "Master Harry and Master Draco are being receiving hundreds of owls," he said, by way of explanation. "Nasty persons is even sending Master Draco howlers, but Kreacher destroyed them," he said, proudly.

Harry groaned. He should have known: it was simply too much to hope that everyone would approve. But on the other hand, if Kreacher had destroyed the howlers, it meant they didn't have to deal with them.

"I suppose we should look at these …" he said, his voice despairing.

"Harry," Draco chuckled, "have you never heard of magic?"

And with that he cast some incantations that swiftly sorted the letters into two files, each containing four piles.

"These are your letters, these are mine," he said, pointing to each file in turn. "The first pile is from people you actually know; the other three are from strangers. The second pile is positive, the third negative or neutral, and the last might actually be interesting. Now, I suggest we send the letters in the second and third piles back to sender, with a polite, or not so polite, message."

Harry readily agreed, and Draco cast a quick charm; four of the piles vanished. Draco picked up Harry's 'from known contacts' pile and handed it to him, then picked up his own, much smaller pile. To his surprise, the first letter he came across was from Arthur Weasley.

"Here's a letter from Mr Weasley," he said as he opened it. "I wonder what he could want?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "What does it say?"

Draco read the letter out loud; it was short and to the point: _'some members of the Wizengamot have expressed concern that you might not be being supervised properly by Mr Potter',_ Arthur wrote, _'so I'd like to suggest we meet on Thursday mornings; not that I have any such concerns, just to keep in touch and make sure the members feel comfortable."_

"That sounds like a great idea," Harry said.

Draco agreed. It couldn't be a bad thing that the Deputy Minister for Magic was taking a personal interest in him!

Harry skimmed his mail and found that he too had a letter from Arthur, which he proceeded to open.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's from Ron and Hermione! Ron's sent an email!"

"A what? And what do they have to say?" Draco enquired.

"An email – it's a Muggle sort of message. Like an owl, only it's much quicker. I wonder how Arthur got it … Anyway, there's lots of news here," he said, and proceeded to read out all about the trip, and Hermione's parents and new sister, and that they were all coming home together.

"Wow," he said; then, being Harry, wondered aloud if they had enough money for the extra ticket. But then he read on.

 _Hermione's parents were gobsmacked that you'd paid for their tickets, Harry. They don't really need it, they said, and there's no problem with Miriam's ticket either, so don't worry._ "Too late," Draco murmured softly as Harry read this bit out; which made Harry blush at how well Ron knew him.

There was a bit more, but it was personal; so personal that Harry didn't want to share it with Draco. Not yet, anyway. It was, he decided, a good secret. It was certainly good to know that Ron and Hermione approved of his decision and, even though they didn't know his plans, didn't mind him going ahead without them. Which was just as well, really.

Harry was **really** looking forward to the weekend now.

-#-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help.


	31. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a birthday and Harry asks a couple of rather personal questions.

**31 Many Happy Returns**

_Tuesday, 2 June 1998_

Harry decided that he quite enjoyed not working every morning; so over breakfast on Tuesday morning he suggested that they pay Andromeda and Teddy a visit. Draco was delighted with the idea, and Floo-called his aunt once they had finished their pancakes.

"How lovely!" she replied. "I have to go to Diagon Alley this morning, perhaps you could come with me?"

Draco wasn't sure about this; Diagon Alley was still a bit daunting for a wizard who had been attacked murderously twice in public. But he wasn't going to let that stop Harry going if that was what he wanted; if necessary, he could stay at Andromeda's house and mind Teddy for them, he thought, as Harry went to fetch one of the Aurors at the front step to accompany them.

Draco had Flooed through before Harry got back to the drawing room, so it was only when they were both there and Andromeda had bustled out to the kitchen to make the inevitable cups of tea that he discovered that the Auror with them was Robin Banks. This firmed his resolve. He knew Robin liked children, he'd heard all about him having lots of cousins from Harry when the silly name had been explained; and he liked the Auror a great deal and would welcome the chance to get to know him better. So he asked Robin if it was possible for them to stay with Teddy and send the other two off to Diagon Alley.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Robin said warmly. "I'd love to get to know Teddy better; and you as well. We will need another Auror for Harry, though. Hang on a minute." He turned to Harry, and explained the plan, which Harry agreed with readily, the more so when he discovered that it was Draco's idea. Harry called Kreacher, and asked him to go and ask the other Auror on duty to come through the Floo. He was not surprised when it was Toby Proudfoot who stepped through; it made sense that Aurors had particular partners, so that he and Robin would generally work together.

At this point, Andromeda reappeared, to discover the two additional men.

"I'm sorry, Robin, Toby, I rather forgot there would be Aurors," she said. "Can I get you some tea?"

"Thank you, ma'am," they said, rather gobsmacked that she had remembered their names.

* * *

 

Once they had finished their tea, Andromeda, Harry and Toby apparated to Diagon Alley, where they had a brief consultation about how they would spend their time. Andromeda told Harry she wanted to visit Twilfitt and Tattings as she had an important engagement on Saturday, which put a smirk on his face; he said he would visit Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, then, as he needed to have a word with George.

He was still smiling as he walked in the door. Fred was standing at the counter, and George was busy moving stock into the shop from the back room. He looked up as Harry entered, and grinned. Harry was already happy; a good start to the morning.

"Hey little brother!" George called out to him. "Nice to see a smile!"

Harry grinned even more broadly in return. "Hey, yourself!" he replied. "Though I hear straw is cheaper …"

Fred groaned at the hoary old joke, and Harry ignored him.

"Anyway, is Neville around? I was hoping for a word with the two of you."

"I'm here!" a voice called from outside the back of the shop, and Neville walked in, carrying some of his coloured bell flowers. "Special order," he said, by way of explanation. "Shall we go on up?"

* * *

Harry was amazed at how clean the twins' living quarters were; of course, his own were always perfectly clean, but he had a house-elf to do that for him. He mentioned this, and George smirked, saying "we may not have a house-elf, but we have a house-Neville."

Neville blushed, and then thumped his fiancé. Harry made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of Neville; his right hook looked particularly dangerous.

They sat down together, and Harry declined a cup of tea, having just had one; but he found soon after that he rather regretted doing so, as it meant he had nothing to distract him. He wanted to talk to George and Neville about some rather … personal … matters, and he would have been glad of something to distract him. Something, other than them, to focus on.

But he was there now, he decided; he had their undivided attention; and he wasn't going to bottle out. And so he began …

An hour later, his face only just beginning to cool down from blushing the whole time, he left the shop, having received all the advice he had wanted, and more. Neville had promised to get him all that he would require, and George had produced some toys, for mature wizards only, that weren't on public display. He agreed to come by on Thursday morning to pick everything up; that way, he could smuggle things into the house without Draco finding out.

He made a couple more stops in Diagon Alley, then went to see if Andromeda was still at Twilfitt and Tattings. She was; she explained that she had got way-laid at the baby-wear shop, having spotted some irresistibly cute baby clothes in the window. "But I'm glad you're here now, you can give me your opinion."

It took another twenty minutes before they got out of the shop (or, in Harry's thoughts, escaped); they met up with Toby Proudfoot again at Fortescue's before returning to Andromeda's house with a tub of ice-cream that Floriana insisted on giving them. To Harry and Draco's disappointment, Andromeda insisted on feeding them all lunch before they were allowed any ice-cream. Draco huffed about 'aunts being worse than mothers', but Andromeda merely laughed and replied that she certainly was.

* * *

They spent a happy afternoon at Hogwarts. By now, the major work being completed, they found themselves repairing tapestries, fixing up suits of armour, and generally working on the interior furnishings of the castle to bring them back to standard. Harry loved it; and Draco seemed to have a real flair for the work. His efforts received praise from everyone who looked at them, and while he received it with the coolness that befitted a Malfoy, Harry could tell that secretly he was chuffed.

The only downer was that Blaise was not there; it occurred to Draco that he hadn't been there on Monday either. He asked around, but even Pansy didn't know what the Italian was up to. It was strange; Blaise was normally in on anything they were doing together.

Returning home, they found another huge pile of mail awaiting them; but once more, Draco's sort-and-return-to-sender spells got rid of most of it. Kreacher reported that there had been many more howlers; but since they weren't home to hear them yell, and the house-elf seemed to quite enjoy setting fire to them, they didn't really mind. Harry did hope that the flood would die down soon; he hated that people thought he was public property and wrote to criticise his life. They should try living it, he thought.

* * *

 

_Wednesday, 3 June 1998_

It came as no surprise to Harry that Draco asked if they could spend the whole day at Hogwarts on the Wednesday. What did come as a surprise was when, over lunch, Angelina Johnson sat next to the blond.

"Draco," she said, "I've been watching you and Harry, and I've decided that you do deserve trust."

Draco blanched a little. _Nothing like the direct approach,_ he thought. "Thank you," he said, affecting a calmness that fooled no-one.

"And I wanted to ask you if you would teach me how to do the spells you cast," she continued.

Draco went very red. Teaching Harry renovation spells was one thing. They were, after all, already close; it wasn't too hard to teach him as he already knew how to relate to him. But for someone else to actually ask him to do so, someone who didn't have any reason to trust him, that was something that touched him deeply, and he agreed at once.

By the end of the day, Angelina was being praised to the skies for the new-found quality of her spellwork; and Draco was as proud as a peacock of his new student.

* * *

 

_Thursday,3 June 1998_

Draco was quite nervous at the thought of meeting with the Deputy Minister. His confidence had not been helped by some of the 'interesting' letters that he had received the previous evening: they had been rather more negative than he would have liked. He wondered if perhaps some of the 'negative' writers had worked out what was going on and had rewritten their letters accordingly. He would, he decided, have to revisit the spell. He really didn't need people asking him if he agreed that former Death Eaters who flaunted themselves in public might not have brought attacks on themselves, nor wondering if it really was appropriate for the Ministry to take an interest in people who had shown they had nothing but contempt for society. He'd simply burnt those letters, and sent the ashes as his reply; but it was probably a pointless gesture.

Harry was getting quite exasperated; Draco had spent nearly an hour choosing the right robes, after all.

"Really, Draco, it doesn't matter. I bet Arthur won't even notice!" he insisted.

"Maybe not," the blond countered, "but I will know!"

In the end, Harry got him to the Ministry for ten o'clock, and even then at the last minute he would only go if Harry went with him. But if Draco had expected Harry to stay with him, he was disappointed; once they had Flooed in to Arthur's office, Harry bid them farewell, and Flooed out to the Leaky Cauldron before Draco could say a word.

"Draco, lovely to see you," Arthur began gently. He could see how nervous the younger wizard was, so smiled at him encouragingly and lead him over to the comfortable chairs around his coffee table, on which was waiting a tea service and a large pile of pastries. "Can I get you some coffee? Tea?"

Draco's eyes lit up as he saw the pastries; Arthur clearly had his measure! Trust a Weasley to understand food, he supposed. He happily accepted a cup of coffee, which he loaded with sugar; while he generally preferred tea, he had to admit that sweet coffee and sweeter pastries was a wonderful combination.

Arthur began by discussing recent events, and the renovations at Hogwarts; it seemed that Fred and Angelina had been for dinner at the Burrow the previous evening, so he had heard all about the spells he had taught her. "She seemed very enthusiastic about your teaching, Draco; is that a career you might consider?"

Draco was taken aback, wondering if the Deputy Minister was trying to steer him into it. But Arthur's face didn't look at all manipulative; he seemed to be genuinely interested in what Draco had to say.

"I haven't thought about that at all," he replied honestly. "What I would like to do is to get a Mastery in Potions; though as a former Death Eater I can't imagine anyone would take me on as an apprentice," he finished sadly.

"An _acquitted_ former Death Eater," Arthur insisted. "Not all Masters out there are prejudiced against the Dark, you know. After all, Dark wizards have contributed a lot to our potions knowledge. I rather gather that Libatius Borage might be interested in taking on an apprentice next year; would you like me to have a word with him?"

Draco smiled. He well understood the value of patronage. "Thank you, Arthur," - he'd nearly said 'sir', but remembered Arthur didn't like it just in time - "I would appreciate that very much."

"Right. So, you'll be studying potions then; and I should tell you that in discussions with Headmistress McGonagall we are looking at adding a new subject, to replace 'Muggle Studies', which would include its curriculum but also broaden it out to include material about our society and other wizarding societies as well."

"That's interesting," said Draco, more politely than honestly; "what would it be called?"

"Not decided yet; something like 'Studies of Society' I suspect. It will, however, be compulsory."

 _Oh,_ Draco thought. "I see."

Arthur chuckled. "Doesn't appeal to you, I can tell. Well, we have to have some guidelines in place. Dumbledore was great in his way, but he's not there any more; and while what he did was instrumental in defeating Voldemort, we don't want to have trolls in the castle again, or students left to their own devices to solve adult problems. So, in agreement with the Headmistress, we will be trying to build a strong support structure for students, so they aren't left to their own devices as much as they have been in the last ten years or so."

Draco could see the sense in that; but there was a flip side: "but don't students need to learn how to be autonomous?"

"There, Draco," Arthur replied, "you have put your finger on the central problem of parenting. We need to be flexible and firm. We need to provide freedom and safety. It's a difficult balancing act, and we will need the eighth year students to help us get it established. So we will be relying on you, and the other returning students, to step up to a new level of maturity."

Draco wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. "What would that involve, exactly?"

Arthur looked thoughtful. "That's really up to the Hogwarts staff, I suppose. But I suspect they will want to instigate some sort of mentoring system. You know, have each eighth year responsible for a group of first years, something like that. Of course, the Ministry would expect you to be involved with that; we certainly won't put up with any 'no Death Eater will teach my child' nonsense, I assure you. No, Draco, we look on the eighth years as an integral part of this programme, and you are just as important to the success of this year as any other student."

Draco was rather stunned that so much was being expected of him and his peers, and took another pastry to avoid having to say anything in reply.

"Now," said Arthur, "another topic that will interest you: Theodore Nott."

Draco's ears pricked up. He certainly was interested in Theo. "Mmm?" he said, encouragingly, unable to say anything as his mouth was full of apple turnover.

"The Healers have confirmed that he was indeed under the Imperius curse, and he is recovering. It's a slow process, I'm afraid; he won't be ready for July and may not even make September. At the present, he, Crockford and Thicknesse are all in the same ward; apparently it's better to have them together, there's some improvement in healing when they are able to return to full health together. Well, as much as possible; as you know, Theo will never have full use of his arm again. Not that you should feel guilty about that;" – Draco did, and his face must have shown it – "it was Yaxley's fault, not yours or Harry's."

"Are you any closer to finding Yaxley?"

"Ah," said Arthur. He wondered how much Draco knew about the trap Harry had set up. "Have you and Harry discussed this?"

"Yes, he said something about setting up a 'honey-pot trap' at my birthday celebration." And then, astonishingly for a boy who had always been fixated on his birthday, he suddenly realised that it was the following day. "Which should be tomorrow! Have you set things up?"

"Yes," said Arthur, relieved that this wasn't a secret, "we have a comprehensive strategy in place, I assure you. You shouldn't have to worry about anything. Just enjoy the celebration, and we hope to surprise Yaxley and make the arrest early in the evening."

"Well, I'll try," Draco said, concerned. It was all very well that they hoped for surprise, but Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the honey in this particular trap, which was not a pleasant thought at all. He returned to the subject of their studies, asking if the term dates had been decided.

"Yes," Arthur replied, retrieving a piece of parchment with dates written all over it from his desk, "let me see now … eighth year students will be moving into the Tower from the first of July; first term classes will be starting on Monday the sixth; there'll be ten weeks of teaching followed by a week of revision, which takes us to Friday the eighteenth of September. Then you'll have two weeks holiday, and then another term the same, starting on the fifth of October and finishing on the eighteenth of December. Next year," he said, turning over the page, "term three starts on the fourth of January and exam week starts on the twenty-second of February. So there you are, all decided. But of course you'll get a letter detailing all of this; was there anything in particular that you wanted to know?"

"Well, I wanted to know the holidays; I guess I'm hoping that Harry and I …" And at this point, Draco's confidence seemed to run out, and his voice trailed off.

Arthur smiled. Harry had had a chat about just this subject, quietly, on Sunday, and he knew exactly when Harry had in mind. In fact, Arthur had suggested the date to him. But clearly, Draco didn't suspect a thing about that, and Arthur was rather proud that he had managed to keep a Slytherin in the dark. But Draco was still floundering for words, and Arthur decided to help him out.

"… might need a date for a celebratory event?" he supplied.

"Um, yeah," Draco replied, not sure if he was getting too forward. He loved Harry so much; he wanted to be bonded to him legally, but he didn't really know Harry's thoughts. He knew that Harry's fears about the Debt were receding; so it helped if he knew what dates were in play.

"I think you might find the twenty-sixth of September is an appropriate date," Arthur said, with a twinkle. "But now! It's nearly lunch-time, I wonder where Harry has got to?"

And, as if on cue, the Floo roared into life, and Harry stepped through. He smiled at his lover.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yes, thanks, Harry," Arthur replied. "I think you'd better take Draco away and feed him a good lunch to help him get over the ramblings of an old man."

Draco snorted. "Thank you, Arthur, on the contrary, I've really enjoyed this chat. Um, were you planning on meeting regularly? Your owl made it sound lke this was a permanent fixture."

"During June, I think it would be good to meet weekly, if Harry can spare you," Arthur replied. "Once we get to term-time, of course, things will be more complicated; but we can discuss that when we get there. Are you happy with that, Harry?" he asked, turning to his adopted son.

"That's fine, of course," Harry replied. "But I think I will take him off to lunch now."

* * *

 

They discussed where to go for lunch. Draco was rather distracted, so Harry suggested it might be a good idea to might duck into a restaurant for a quick meal, rather than bother with the trip home, or going to Hogwarts where there would be more people. But Draco was still rather shy of being seen in public, so they went to Hogwarts for lunch. Harry could tell that there was something bothering the blond and as they sat down, Draco decided to come straight out with it.

"Well, guys, I hope you're getting me nice presents for tomorrow?"

"What's so special about tomorrow, Draco?" Neville asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh nothing," said Draco, affecting a modesty they all knew perfectly well he did not possess. "Just the small matter of my birthday. Am I having a party, Harry?"

The question was asked diffidently, apparently as an afterthought; but Harry knew perfectly well what his lover was fishing for. And he certainly wasn't about to give it to him.

"That depends, Draco," he answered; "have you organised one?"

Draco looked daggers at him. _Harry_ _had better have organised something_ , the look said. "When would I have done that?" he asked.

"Don't know," Harry replied, piling chicken curry onto his plate. "When would I?"

Draco didn't really have anywhere to go after that; there was, of course, no reason why Harry should organise anything. On the other hand, Arthur had as good as promised that there was going to be a party …

While he was debating with himself, the conversation moved on to what they would be doing that afternoon, and he found himself kept busy the whole time from then on.

* * *

 

_Friday, 5 June 1998_

Draco Malfoy was very unhappy. Harry had woken him with a lovely kiss, it was true, and said "happy birthday" very nicely. He had been served breakfast in bed, and it had been pancakes, and they had fed each other, and it was very enjoyable, even if Harry did have to perform cleaning charms on the bedsheets. But it wasn't a present.

Harry had got his robes ready for him, and run him a bath, and let him take an hour over his grooming without whinging once. It was lovely. But it wasn't a present.

His mother had Floo-called to wish him a happy birthday from her and his father. They couldn't get his present to him just yet, it was too big to take from the Manor; so would he call tomorrow before they went to dinner at Molly's to collect it? Which was nice, and was at least the promise of a present. But, nonetheless, it was not a present.

Harry had asked him what he wanted to do that morning, and he'd immediately said "open presents". But apparently he wasn't allowed to do that. Nor, it seemed, was he allowed to go back to bed and sulk. Honestly! What was the point of asking him what he wanted to do if they weren't going to do it?

But eventually he decided that they had neglected their work on Grimmauld Place long enough, and they spent the morning happily on further renovations. By lunchtime, the ground and first floors were finished, leaving only the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs needing more work.

"Excellent job," Harry said happily. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course. And just in time to have a party," Draco commented. "One with presents."

"We'll see," was all the reply he got, before they Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch.

* * *

At least at lunch he found that there was a cake waiting for him. It was a nice surprise. But it wasn't a present.

"I hope you have more surprises for me later," he said to Harry.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," Harry replied, with a smirk.

* * *

Once they had finished at Hogwarts, they Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. Draco came out of the Floo, expecting to find a surprise party waiting for him in the drawing room, espeically as Harry yelled, "surprise!"

But the house was empty.

"What's the surprise?" he asked.

"Well," said Harry, "this surprise is that there's no surprise. But I'm not out of surprises, not by a long chalk."

"What are we doing this evening?" Draco asked again, and Harry smirked at him. Again. But he still wasn't offering Draco a present.

"I'd like to take you to dinner," he said. "You'll want to wear some nice robes; you should find something suitable in your room."

They went upstairs to change. Draco entered 'his' room to find a new set of robes laid out on the bed. At last! A present! He put on the silver shirt and black dress pants, and looked in the mirror. If Harry had chosen these, the Gryffindor's taste in clothes had improved immeasurably. The robes were very simple and elegant, a no-nonsense very dark green. Draco smirked at this simple appropriation of Slytherin colours; it had his mother's touch written all over it, but the overall effect, he thought, was stunning.

"Do you like them?" he heard Harry ask, and the insecurity in his voice was palpable.

"Harry," he said, coming out of the room, "they're …"

But whatever he was going to say was completely lost as his eyes met Harry, dressed in the new robes he had bought while Draco was at the Ministry the day before. The raven-head was wearing a beautiful peacock-blue shirt and black dress trousers, together with robes in the same dark green as his own, and the effect made Draco's mouth go completely dry.

"They're …?" Harry prompted.

"Never mind," said Draco, as he strode over to his lover and almost swallowed his lips in a kiss.

"Wow!" Harry said, once they had disengaged and some feeling had returned to his face. "That was amazing…"

"Well, what do you expect if you strut around looking drop-dead gorgeous?" the blond asked.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Really." Draco answered. "Harry, I love both sets of robes."

"Thanks," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Your mother helped me choose them, but still…"

Draco smirked. His instincts had not betrayed him, it seemed.

"Well," he said, "where are we going?"

And now it was Harry's turn to smirk. "Well, to begin with," he said, then paused to maintain the suspense; "… the drawing room."

* * *

Harry managed to say the destination very quietly, so Draco didn't hear; so it came as a complete surprise when he came out of the Floo into a beautifully laid out reception area.

"Good evening, Monsieur," a tall elegant man, obviously the _maitre d'hôtel_ , greeted him. "Mr Malfoy, I believe? Dining with Mr Potter?"

As their host said this, Harry fell out of the Floo – you couldn't put it any other way; and Draco, who understood well his lack of grace in Floo travelling, caught him without any sign of fuss, and if the _maitre d'hôtel_ noticed anything, he was far too polite to comment.

"Yes, thank you," Harry answered, not missing a beat.

"Excellent! Welcome, gentlemen. Your garden awaits."

"Garden?" Draco asked, comprehension beginning to dawn on his face.

"Yes, indeed," the _maitre d'_ said. "Welcome, Mr Malfoy, to _Le Jardin Magique_."

* * *

They were shown into their dining room. It took Draco's breath away; he was standing in a Japanese rock garden, modelled, he could see, on the zen temple garden of Ryoan Ji, in Kyoto, Japan. He knew it from all of the research he had done before making his own garden at the Manor. It was arranged just as he had seen it often enough in pictures: a simple arrangement of a large rectangle of white gravel, with, he knew, fifteen weather-beaten stones inset in five groups. Around the back, a low wall ran, with a tiled roof on top; and above the roof he could see cherry blossom.

It was beautiful. Simply, starkly, beautiful. He turned to Harry and could tell at a glance that the raven-haired youth was very nervous. Draco simultaneously loved and hated this. He hated that Harry was so unsure of himself: he had done an amazing job to get this garden organised, and to keep it a secret until now. And he loved it that Harry didn't take Draco's response for granted.

"Harry," he said at last, when he got his breathing under control, "it's beautiful."

"You think so?" Harry said, his voice teetering on the brink of relief. "You like it?"

"No," Draco said, "I love it."

* * *

Their dinner was exquisite. Even Draco, used to fine dining, was amazed at what the chef had been able to do with quails and truffles. They had chatted about the week gone, and the plans for the term; and Draco finally managed to weedle out of Harry that there was going to be a celebration, tomorrow. As Draco knew that they were due at the Burrow for dinner, he guessed that it must be there. He would probably have preferred the Manor, but really, if Harry had gone to so much trouble to organise everything, he wasn't going to criticise.

Dessert was served under a cloche in the centre of the table. When Harry lifted it, there was a box underneath; the sides made of thin slabs of white chocolate, and filled with chocolate ganache, chocolate mousse, and a light strawberry cream, in layers. There were two spoons; and by unspoken consent, they fed each other. It was truly amazing; and by the time they had finished, and Harry had put the cloche back on top of the now sad-looking box, Draco felt very full and entirely satisfied.

He looked over the garden, trying hard to count all the stones; but he could only see fourteen. He remembered that you weren't supposed to see all fifteen unless you had achieved enlightenment, and explained this to his dining companion.

Harry chuckled. "Guess I'm just unenlightened, then."

Draco smiled in return, and they sat together in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, looking at the simple garden in front of them. Harry found, after a while, that its very simplicity gave it a beauty he hadn't expected. It was completely different from his cottage garden; but he could see why Draco loved it.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, softly, interrupting his thoughts.

"What for?" Harry asked, having an idea, but wanting to hear it from him.

"For everything. For organising this beautiful garden. And this incredible meal. For managing to keep it a secret."

"It was a good secret, right? Narcissa said that was all right…" Harry said, worry about keeping secrets in his voice.

"No, Harry, not all right; brilliant. Perfect. Yes, a good secret."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "That's not all," he said, and lifted the cloche. Underneath, instead of the remains of their dessert, there was a beautiful velvet-covered box. Harry picked it up and opened it, to reveal a platinum ring, inset with emeralds and diamonds.

"Draco, I know five weeks ago we were best enemies, and we've only been living together for two; but I also know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you, Draco. Will you be my husband?"

Draco could not speak. There were no words good enough, he decided; he took the ring and put it on his finger, then they both stood and rushed into each other's arms. Tears flowed freely as they each accepted the other's love, now both entirely certain in their own minds that this was what they really wanted.

And finally, Draco found his voice.

"Oh, yes, Harry!"

* * *

When they got back to Grimmauld Place, Draco wondered if there would be another surprise; a party there, perhaps? But no-one was waiting for them. The house was quiet; and only dimly lit. Draco wondered at this; the lamps usually gave plenty of strong light, but this was a different kind of light altogether, flickering, tentative.

All was explained when they reached their room. As he walked in, Draco found their bed surrounded by candles and strewn with rose-petals.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Draco," came the answer. "I was hoping … I've been wanting for a while .. would you make love to me?"

Draco looked at him. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I mean, I know how worried you are about the debt and everything; but that would be the best birthday present ever …"

"Well," said Harry, "I guess we just have to get used to the debt. So, I want to if you do."

In answer, Draco started to remove his robes, but this was too slow for Harry; with a simple wave of his hand, the robes went into their cupboards, and they were both standing naked beside the bed. Draco, filled in equal parts with admiration for Harry's magical strength and desire for his body, gave out a low moan, and moved him back onto the bed.

* * *

They lay together in bed, naked, and Draco touched him, caressed him, murmured sweet words into his ear, and Harry was swept away in the moment. He was grateful to George and Neville for their advice; he used the charms they had told him, and the necessary preparation. Draco was sweet and gentle, taking his time, making sure his lover was truly ready; and when his fingers entered Harry's body …

Oh Merlin! "Yes, Draco, yes!" he yelled, pleasure and desire running through his veins, filling him with an aching want to feel his lover inside him. And as they made love, he felt his magic reach out, swirling around him, and saw green tendrils reaching out, and silver bands of magic coming from Draco; and as they met, they seemed to be tied together with a thin red band. Then, as they came to completion, Harry felt all his angst about the Debt slip away, and an aching loneliness he had never known was there, because it always had been, slipped away with it, and he felt comforted and loved like never before as Draco's strong arms and hot body encompassed him, and for the first time in his life he surrendered fully to the love of another person.

There were no words, just cries without words. There were no distinct feelings, just a throb of love between them. It felt as if they weren't even really two any more: they had become a single organism, their hearts beating as one. Harry felt like he did when he was flying, that feeling of being totally free from the world, as if he had slipped out of time and space altogether, living in a moment, a bubble of freedom suspended on the edge of reality. He could no longer move; it was as though his bones were no longer solid, but now liquid. He felt the magic and the giddy freedom coursing through his veins, warming him, like liquid fire: nothing else could feel so hot. Draco held him close, caressing him, still making sounds, but Harry had no idea what they were. He knew what they meant, though: they were one. They now belonged to each other. He held Draco, their passion weaving them together as surely as their magic had.

Finally, after a minute, or an hour, or a day, who knew how long, Harry spoke.

"You're mine, Draco. I never want to let you go. I love you. Happy birthday."

And the blond, sated and spent, kissed him in agreement. "I am yours," he agreed, "and you are mine. Thank you for the most wonderful birthday ever. Sleep now, my love."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help. 
> 
> **FACEBOOK:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> And to Saheed and vernie_klein for their kind words. I hope this chapter lives up to your hopes!
> 
> As always, comments are love, and much appreciated.


	32. Trouble Returns

**32 Trouble Returns**

_Saturday 6 June 1998_

Draco woke with the sun. He lay in bed, remembering the night they had had. He was still astonished at the love that had been lavished upon him. Harry had gone to so much trouble to plan the night, and every detail had been perfect. The robes were beautiful; chosen with such evident care and taste. The restaurant had been magnificent; the food, stunning; the garden, an inspired choice. Obviously his mother had shown him his garden at the Manor, and Harry had extrapolated brilliantly to make a garden that had taken his breath away. The ring was exquisite; he loved the stones, they were set so well, and the green emeralds reminded him so much of Harry's eyes. And then coming home, and candles and rose-petals and … Oh Merlin, Harry had asked him to make love to him, and he had thought his heart would explode. But in the end, it was something else that had exploded, and no other orgasm had ever been like it.

It had all been so personal. So obviously done with him, and him alone, in mind. How did he deserve to be so much the centre of Harry's thoughts?

But he still wasn't one of life's optimists, and the uncertainties began to raise their ugly heads again. The first set of thoughts was about control. Harry had organised the whole thing, without input from Draco at all. Was this what their life would be like? Was Harry going to dictate how everything worked? Was this the effect of the Debt on them, that Harry would be the boss, and Draco would just go along with everything, finding his life mapped out for him?

But even as the vague thoughts became clear ideas, he knew it was all rubbish. Harry had organised it all, yes; but he had sought input from his mother, who had kept the secret too. And that wasn't so they could control him; it was because they loved him. If Harry had wanted to control him, he would have been the one dominating in sex. But he had given that role to Draco. And it hadn't been an order; Harry had been nervous, diffident. He'd asked Draco to make love to him; and Draco hadn't obeyed an order so much as accepted an invitation. No, Harry wasn't trying to control him. He was trying to love him.

The other set of thoughts that came were angry thoughts. His mother had shown Harry **his** garden. She had advised on robes for him. She must have known Harry was planning to ask Draco to marry him, and she had kept the whole thing a secret. She and Harry had kept secrets from him, even after Harry had agreed they weren't going to do that.

But again, this was rubbish. Harry loved him. He was keeping good secrets. Secrets that meant Draco was loved, and blessed, and surprised in a wonderful way. And even then, Harry had seemed worried about having kept it a secret, not wanting to have broken his promise. His mother had shared his garden, but only once she knew how much Harry meant to him. And Harry had not used that knowledge to ridicule him, or wound him, as he had always been afraid would happen if any of his friends found out about the garden. He hadn't told the world about Draco's private obsession with Japanese rock gardens, or treated it lightly. On the contrary, he had taken it very seriously, and used the knowledge only to Draco's advantage. Only to create a private, special moment for them.

At the root of it all, Draco was still insecure. He knew that Harry wanted him. He knew that something had happened last night, and it wasn't just making love. He had felt his magic reaching out, seen silver and green and red wrapping together, and he had known it was special. But how special? Could he bet his happiness on it? His life? And what was the red band, anyway?

He told himself this was silly. Here he was, loved by the most wonderful wizard in the world. Instead of being reviled for his past, instead of being dead by Voldemort's curse, or kissed by a Dementor, or spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, here he was sharing his bed with the one he loved more than anyone else.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. Or that he didn't feel grateful. But why did he feel like it was all so precarious? That it could all go away in an instant?

-#-

Harry woke slowly, and his gorgeous green eyes bored into Draco's silver ones.

"You're thinking too much," he said, and reached over to kiss his lover. As he did, Draco felt a tingle go through his body, and he surrendered to the feeling of ecstasy that coursed through him.

"Oh, Harry, what did I do to deserve you?" he asked, when he had managed to draw breath.

"Draco," the answer came, the voice deep and quiet, "you don't have to do anything. I love you. That's it. I want you. Always. We're tied together by this," he said, holding the ring that was still on Draco's finger, "and more. By love, and by debt, and by magic, and by choice."

They lay together, cuddling, for a long while, and Draco felt courage returning and reassurance blossoming in his heart.

"Thank you so much," he said. Then, a little less soppily, "Harry, I read about _Le Jardin Magique._ It's supposed to be impossible to get into. How did you manage it? Come to that, how did you even think of it?"

"It was the day of Umbridge's trial," Harry replied. _And the day you were attacked by Flint_ he didn't say, but they both knew it, and thought of it. "After she had been sentenced, Kingsley and Elphias Doge invited me to lunch, to thank me for the help I had given them. Not that I helped much …"

Draco snorted. Harry was too modest; Arthur had discussed this while they were at the Manor together and made it clear to Lucius and the two newspapermen that Harry's advice was instrumental in helping the Wizengamot see its way clear to justice being done, a fact that Dempster Wiggleswade had noted down, in case a follow-up article was ever required.

Harry, oblivious of Draco's thoughts, continued, "So we had lunch at _Le Jardin Magique,_ and the _maitre d'hotel_ came and asked if everything was to our satisfaction … and I realised that it wasn't. Draco, after that day, after Umbridge was gone, after the Chief Warlock has praised me to the skies, and the Minister had expressed his delight, I realised that I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted one thing. I wanted you there. So I asked if I could come back, with you, last night; he seemed to be delighted. I hadn't realised it was hard to get in …"

 _I bet he was delighted,_ Draco thought, rather sourly, _to be asked to host the hero of the wizarding world._ But there was no reason to feel aggrieved; there hadn't been any press coverage, or awkward questions, so perhaps the man was simply happy to do what he could for a customer.

"And," Harry continued, "I decided then and there I wanted to propose to you on your birthday. I wrote a letter to Narcissa on the spot, asking for her help; I didn't think I could tell her to her face to begin with, I couldn't have got the words out. I'm sorry to have told her but have kept it from you, but I felt I needed some advice. And she was the best person to go to. As it happened, I didn't get to owl the note, but slipped it to Blaise, and he took it to your mother that afternoon while I was comforting you here."

"I'm glad you told her, Harry," Draco decided. "She helped you do a wonderful thing, and now you know that she is prepared to be on your side, and keep our secrets. I was sure of that; but it's good that you know it too. So, she knows that we're engaged?"

"Well, not exactly," Harry said. "I mean, she knows that I was going to ask you, and that's why you didn't get a party – and you will get one tonight, I promise, but you have to act all surprised, all right?"

Draco laughed. He didn't think that would be a problem. And if his parents suspected anything, they would be too overjoyed to see the ring on his fingers to comment. After all, his mother would have to hide that she knew beforehand, she wouldn't want him to know that she had known. Of course, he did know that she knew, but she didn't know that he knew that she knew; unless Harry told her. Which he should do something about, he decided, his complicated Slytherin thoughts finally resolving into action.

"I'll try, Harry. But you can't tell my mother that you told me she knew, all right?"

Harry didn't know, and probably wouldn't have understood, the intricate reasoning behind this request; but he didn't need to.

"Sure," he replied.

-#-

Eventually they had to get up. Harry would gladly have stayed there all day; especially as he could feel Draco's uncertainty, and he just wanted to lie with him, and stroke it all away, and let his lover know that it was all going to be all right. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had no doubt at all that he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the person he wanted to be with; indeed, the person who he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

But they had to get on with things. So, reluctantly, they went through the morning rituals of bathing and dressing. As they walked downstairs to the kitchen, they stopped at the drawing room; Harry suggested that they should let their mothers know the happy news straight away, and Draco agreed.

Which is why the Floo in Narcissa's study erupted into life just before eight o'clock, and Mappy rushed off to find his mistress, convinced, by the urgency in Draco's voice, that some great disaster had befallen. Narcissa walked into her study and a single glance at the image of her son's face in the fireplace told her everything.

Draco, without a word, held up his hand to show her the ring on his finger. She smiled; it was a huge, warm, genuine smile that involved her whole face. "Congratulations, darling," she said. "May I come through?"

In answer, he retreated from the fireplace, inviting her with a gesture. She threw in a pinch of Floo powder and went over to Grimmauld Place, stepping out of Floo and into her son's arms. Harry enveloped them both, then made his own call, and in a very few minutes, Molly Weasley was there, hugging them both too and crying tears of joy.

-#-

After admiring the ring, the mothers pleaded that they had to get back to their families; Draco wasn't quite sure he believed this from his mother, but she explained that the call had come while she was at the breakfast table, and Lucius would become anxious if she didn't return soon.

"Don't forget, you have to come and fetch your present before you go to the Burrow this evening," she reminded them. "It should be ready by half-past five, so come then, or just a little earlier if you can spare the time."

"Do we really have to have the party at the Burrow?" Draco whined.

"Dragon!" his mother said, sternly. She'd never put up with him whining at her, and she wasn't about to just because he was an adult, nor because it was his birthday party. "You know that Saturday nights are at the Burrow, you agreed to that, and you should be grateful that the Weasleys are being so accommodating!"

Draco looked abashed. "Sorry, mother," he said. "Mrs Weasley – Molly - my apologies. Mother is right; I'm very grateful to you for hosting my party at the Burrow."

"Of course, dear," Molly replied. "No harm done. We'll be delighted to see you, and I'm sure everyone will have a wonderful time."

"But you will come to the Manor first? And we'll Floo to the Burrow with you once we've given you your present," Narcissa added.

"We'll be there, Narcissa," Harry promised.

-#-

Lucius Malfoy was having a very good morning. The plans for the party were well in hand; of course they would be, Narcissa was involved, but of course this party was rather more important than usual. Mappy's entry had made it quite clear that the developments Narcissa had been expecting were progressing nicely. Not that she'd said anything about it to him, but he'd been married to the woman for over twenty years and he knew how to read the signs. The boys had got engaged last night, or he was a Hippogriff.

His mind turned to the other matters in front of him. Over the three weeks since his trial, he had been working with the Ministry to help with reparations, in a very direct way: Malfoy money was being used to rebuild the homes of wizards and witches who had been dispossessed by the Dark Lord. He was doing it quietly; Kingsley had been concerned that the money might be refused if people knew where it came from. That had stung his pride; but he couldn't fault the logic. And he was discovering that a little altruism was in fact good for the soul; something of Harry Potter's Gryffindorishness was rubbing off on him, and to his surprise he was finding it felt quite good.

He had also been working through Muggle builders, seeking to help where-ever the Death Eaters had attacked. But this was a little less altruistic; he was putting out feelers, looking for a man. A man he suspected worked, if not in the building trade, then in some allied industry. He wasn't sure quite why he suspected this; but his intuition for such things was generally spot on. He couldn't imagine the man would work in an industry that required brains or charm; no, it had to be some sales role or supply company for building or perhaps those horrible motor things the Muggles used.

And this morning he had hit paydirt. He had found the company; and its board had last night recommended his offer to its owners. By Monday, he could have it in his grasp.

Yes, a very good morning.

-#-

It was eight o'clock in the evening in Sydney before Ron got around to checking his email. There was, as usual, an email from his father; at least, it came from his father's email address, but he was pretty sure that his mother would have written it. Molly had really taken to sending him email; it was lovely to have the connection back to his family, though he did rather wish she could keep her letters a bit shorter. After all, she should have twigged after eighteen years that reading wasn't really his thing.

Not that it mattered much; he simply printed the emails out, skimmed them, and handed them to Hermione, knowing that his fiancée would read every word and then make sure he knew everything of importance in them. He'd managed so far to keep to the pretence that he too had read assiduously; but if Hermione believed that, she didn't know him well either. In fact, Hermione knew her man quite well; she knew he hadn't read carefully. But she was happy to make a point of discussing everything in the emails with Ron and her parents; and she could see that her parents loved to hear news from the old country, and news about Ron's folk. It was helping them all to feel like one big happy family.

But this email was different. This time, it actually was from Arthur; this time, there weren't too many words; and this time he did read every one of them.

"OI! Hermione!" he yelled. "Come quick!"

"What is it?" she replied, rushing into her father's study.

"It's Harry and Draco!" Ron replied. "They're engaged!"

-#-

Minerva McGonagall sat in her office, a smile twitching on her lips. After two weeks of negotiation, she finally had a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She was very grateful to Filius Flitwick; it was his brilliant idea to write to old Professor Galatea Merrythought and ask her if she had any suggestions. Her reply had been crisp, and to the point, which had made Minerva smile; she and Galatea had always got on rather well as neither of them took any nonsense from anyone.

The reply had simply been to the effect that Galatea had taught her daughter everything she knew, and they wouldn't find a more competent candidate. So Minerva had set about trying to get hold of the younger Merrythought. She had had quite a time of it! The witch had pleaded age, and commitments to the Wizengamot, and lack of teaching ability, and generally being busy. To begin with, Minerva had replied politely; but after ten days of sending owls back and forth, she had lost patience and sent an owl that said simply that they needed a professor, Dalmatea was the best for the job, and Minerva would expect to see her in Hogwarts no later than Saturday the fourth of July, ready to begin teaching the eighth years on the following Monday.

To the headmistress's enormous relief, the direct approach had worked perfectly. The reply owl had arrived that morning; it laid out the conditions that Dalmatea had, all of which were entirely reasonable: time off for important Wizengamot considerations was the most troubling, but Elphias had reassured her during the week that he would make sure, as much as possible, that that did not interfere with teaching, so they would have to wait and see.

There was a knock on the door, and Flitwick entered. "Ah! Minerva!" he twittered. "You look happy?" he said, as he took a seat in front of the desk. Despite its hard appearance, the chair was surprisingly comfortable, and he wasn't surprised that it rose up so that they were at eye level. He had loved Albus Dumbledore; but he had to admit that the Headmistress was, on the whole, much more approachable and easy to deal with.

"Don't sound so surprised!" she rejoined. "Yes, we now have a DADA Professor!"

"Merrythought?" he asked.

"Indeed," she replied. "She will be taking up residence on the third of July. I take it that will pose no problem?"

"Of course not," the tiny man replied. "I shall write to her and ask how she would like her rooms."

"There's no need," the headmistress replied. "She's sent a detailed sketch." And with this, she levitated a piece of parchment over to the Charms professor, who studied it carefully. "Is it achievable?"

"There should be no problem," he replied. "So, is that everyone?"

"Just about," McGonagall replied. "The biggest difficulty remaining is Muggle Studies, but the Ministry is looking into that for us."

"And you are happy for that?" Flitwick asked, puzzled. "After all, the last professor they provided was Umb-"

"Yes, Filius, yes," Minerva said, cutting him off. She **really** didn't want to hear Umbridge's name ever again. The woman was a disgrace to teaching. Scratch that, the woman was a disgrace to **women**. Minerva did not like name-calling, but in Dolores's case she made an exception: in her mind, the witch was a poisonous old toad, and there was an end to the matter. "But Arthur Weasley is not Cornelius Fudge!"

"About that," Flitwick asked. "Why are you dealing with him, and not the Minister?"

She looked at him a little askance. "I think that Kingsley has rather a lot on his mind," she replied. "And frankly, Arthur has proved to be perfect to deal with. I know you were worried that he wouldn't have the clout to get things done; but that doesn't seem to be the case. And he knows about teaching from the parents' point of view as much as the Ministry's, which is enormously helpful. His ideas about pastoral care are excellent; you do realise that the mentoring programme is all his idea?"

"Really?" Flitwick asked. "I hadn't. In that case, why has he suggested me for Mr Potter? I would have thought he would want to look after him himself?"

"I think he sees himself as Potter's father," the headmistress replied. "Which is rather good, don't you think? The poor boy has had such a woeful family situation for so long, shut away with the Dursleys, who hated him by all accounts; and I think Arthur wants to be there as a father for him now that it's all coming out into the open. So perhaps he thought it would be good for Harry to have a different mentor?"

"Yes, I agree. Well, that's all to the good. So, then. We still have to wait on a Muggle Studies professor; but we have four weeks yet to fill the position. Now, this evening. Are you all ready for this party?"

McGonagall looked abashed. "Oh! Yes! It's tonight, isn't it!"

Flitwick looked at her, concerned. The woman spent altogether too much time thinking about the school, and not nearly enough looking after herself, he thought. "Yes, it's tonight. And don't even think about crying off! Have you bought some robes?"

"No," she answered, surprised to be asked. "I thought I'd just wear these?" she continued, pointing to her standard school robes.

"Oh no you don't!" Flitwick said. "Draco deserves you to make an effort! We're going to Madam Malkin's!"

-#-

It was all coming together at last. MacNair had joined him last night, quietly; he had been impressed that the man had stayed out of the Ministry's clutches for so long, and even more when he walked into the wards around the hideout without being discovered by any of the outlying spies beforehand. This was definitely the sort of ally he needed. If they were going to take down the traitors, being able to come and go unobserved would be crucial. Especially, tonight, the going part, he thought, and went over the plans in his mind again.

MacNair had provided the portkeys, and they were perfect. He could tell at once that the Ministry Aurors had not managed to get their grubby hands on them; no, these were left over from the Dark Lord's days, and still had his protection spells on them. Excellent. They would be able to do the deed and escape before anyone had realised what was going on.

Those fools at the Ministry had left Flint in the holding cells, ripe for the plucking; he would liberate him just before they left for the ambush site, so that there would not be time for the Aurors to react. He did, of course, still have his spies in place, just in case they needed to divert the hunt; the _Signum Revelare_ spell was, apparently, not foolproof. But he always liked to have a plan that relied on as few people as possible. The Auror spies were just a smokescreen, a fail-safe measure, not integral to the success itself.

He wondered again what had happened to his own little traitor. The man seemed to have gone completely to pieces after he had reported on the date, time, and state of the wards. The report had been a good one; as he had foreseen, the Ministry had not allowed Malfoy to touch the wards, and their own spells were quite insipid. There was no-one left with the brilliance of Mad-Eye Moody, and his informant had managed to remove the plugs that the Ministry had made to the wards. So the Dark Lord's followers could get in freely again. As for Flint, they would smuggle him in as one of the revelers. He had wanted to use his traitor, but as he had gone to ground, the next best thing was available: they had poly-juice, and a strand of his hair, so Flint would take his place.

Yaxley smiled to himself. It was all going swimmingly.

-#-

Minerva was making a fuss, but secretly she was rather pleased that Filius had insisted. She hadn't set foot in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for many years; and Madam Malkin herself, still there, had bustled round, commenting on how delightful it was to see Minerva again, and how she must come more often – to which Flitwick had agreed, making her blush to think about how old her robes were. But they were perfectly serviceable still, she insisted; why would she go to the expense of buying new robes when the old ones were still good to wear?

Madame Malkin chuckled, not at all offended by this. The robes she sold were good quality; they outlasted the fashions, at least, so that people bought new robes because they wanted to, not because they had to. If McGonagall didn't want to, that was, of course, her business; but the robes she was wearing were so old that if Malkin didn't sell her new ones soon, there was a danger that they would be fashionable again!

Flitwick was magnificent, commenting critically on the robes and not allowing McGonagall to simply buy the first thing she saw, which she had the last three times she'd visited, to Madam Malkin's certain knowledge; and the seamstress had to admit that the man had taste. The outfit the headmistress ended up with struck exactly the right balance between the gravity of her position and the fact that she was supposed to be going to a party.

Once they had left the shop, after Flitwick had insisted she buy two more sets of robes for normal wear, they strolled along Diagon Alley. Minerva was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia; she hadn't simply strolled along an alley, having nothing to do, for she couldn't remember how long, and it reminded of her of going shopping with her grandmother, who would say things like "let's pop into Zonko's!" and when asked "why?" would reply, "just for fun!"

"Professor McGonagall!" a voice called out, and she turned to see George Weasley standing outside of what she knew at once must be his shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She was instantly torn. As the Headmistress of Hogwarts, it was her duty to disapprove of many of the items the twins sold; as their former housemistress, she was proud as proud could be that they had made such a success of themselves.

"Mr Weasley!" she replied, turning to him and stopping outside the shop. "I'm surprised to see you here, instead of helping set up for this evening. And I do hear congratulations are in order? Where is Mr Longbottom?"

"Thank you, Professor," George replied. "Neville's helping to set up for tonight. Um, would you like to come into the shop?"

"Thank you, no," she replied; "people might think that I approved."

George laughed.

"But I don't understand – why are you here, if he's not? Or is there Trouble in Paradise?"

This got another laugh. "Oh, not at all," he replied. "In fact, Mum specifically said she wanted Fred and Neville to help, and me to mind the shop, as she knew she wasn't going to get much work out of us if it was Neville and me, or Fred and me!"

And this remark even managed to elicit a laugh from the headmistress, which George counted as a major success.

-#-

At four o'clock, Draco was fretting more than a little. He normally allowed at least two hours for the process of getting ready for a major event. They were supposed to be at the Manor in an hour and a half at the most, and he hadn't even decided what to wear.

"I thought we could just wear the robes from last night?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him. "Wear the same clothes two days in a row?" he asked, scandalised.

"Yeah, why not?" Harry asked. "They were quite clean, and I spelled them so anyway as I put them back in the wardrobes. Please, Draco, I bought them for your birthday, it would mean a great deal to me."

Draco decided that he was getting soft. Harry's begging face was too much for him to resist.

"All right," he said. "But can I at least wear a different shirt?"

"Of course," Harry said, reaching into his wardrobe and pulling out a shirt. "I bought this for you as well."

Draco took the shirt, and loved it instantly. It was a pale green, with silver strands through the material; and when he put it on, he could see that it complemented his eyes and hair beautifully. Once again, he was amazed at Harry's new-found taste.

"So, did my mother help you choose this?" he asked, teasingly.

"Actually," Harry said, "this one was all me." And then he added, diffidently, "do you like it?"

"Oh Harry!" he said in mock exasperation. "It's lovely! But you have to lose this insecurity! What am I going to do with you?"

"Um … shag me?" was the cheeky reply.

Draco looked at him, seriously contemplating it. "You sure you don't want to shag me?" he replied.

Harry looked a little crestfallen. "Actually, I do. But I don't think you're ready for it."

Draco wanted to protest that he was up for anything, but the words stuck in his craw. Harry was right; there was something, some reservation in him that he hadn't even suspected was there, still to be resolved.

"It's OK, my love," Harry said, softly, and Draco found the tone comforted him and deflated the anger and guilt that were rising up. "I know you love me. I want us to feel totally comfortable together. It's not a test."

It really wasn't surprising, then, that they didn't actually get to the Manor until nearly six o'clock, both wearing their new robes; and both, if they only knew it, looking absolutely gorgeous. Though it might be said that Harry's hair was even messier than usual …

-#-

Elphias Doge sat in front of his fire. It might be a balmy June night, but he was an old man, and he loved being warm. It was very kind of Molly and Arthur to ask him to the party, and part of him wished he had accepted; but he had to be realistic. He liked his own company; and he liked being in his own house; and he was finding that his job was getting tiring enough without adding socialising on top. A few more years, that's all they'd get from him, and he'd be back in retirement.

He admired his dear friend Albus for his strength to keep the headmastership for all those years; but he couldn't be him. He was glad that Arthur had asked for his help with the curriculum, though. Somehow, being involved with Hogwarts, even if only tangentially, made him feel a connection to his first ever real friend. And Arthur had not only asked; he had also listened, and commented, and together they had built what Elphias believed would be an amazing unit, the likes of which had never been seen before.

Given the division in their world, it needed to be, he thought, rather ruefully.

-#-

Harry and Draco Flooed into Narcissa's study, which was completely empty of people. As they arrived, Harry called for Dippy, who appeared with a pop in front of them.

"Master Harry!" she said, with large, excited eyes. "And Master Draco! Please, stay here, and I will be informing the mistress yous is here!" And with that, she vanished.

Draco was amazed to be asked to wait, in his own house; but Harry neatly caught his attention by pointing out the chaise-longue. Draco laughed to see it.

"I hadn't realised it was here," he admitted, "but my mother was always good at getting her hands on furniture she liked; and it's a great compliment that she chose to keep it, and put it in her own study."

"You don't think she did so just because you made it?" Harry asked, teasingly.

"Not at all," said the lady herself, as she entered the study. "It is a beautiful piece, exquisite in detail, and I'm sure you agree, a wonderful addition to this room. It's lovely to see you, Draco dear, Harry dear," she said, kissing each of them on the cheek as she named them. "I'm happy to say that your birthday present is ready; please come into the garden and I will show you."

His curiosity well and truly piqued, Draco followed her out of the study, Harry bringing up the rear.

-#-

Narcissa lead them out to French doors next to the ones that lead into Harry's cottage garden. Through these doors, Draco knew, was a large expanse of lawn that was separated from the individual planted gardens by a high laurel hedge. But as he went through, he found that the lawn, instead of its usual pristine and vacant self, was filled with people, and a marquee, and tables and chairs. As they walked out, everyone rose.

"SURPRISE!" They all roared.

And so Draco realised he was to have his wish: his party was at the Manor. The first people to come up to him were his friends: Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, Greg and even Theo, let out from St Mungo's especially for the occasion. They each wished him a 'happy birthday' in turn, but he was too stunned to say very much. He did ask Blaise where he had been hiding all week, and the Italian pulled a face.

"Pansy has already grilled me," he confessed, "and I tell you what I told her: I just felt I needed a bit of a break after that interview with the horrible woman."

"A break for a whole week?" Draco asked. But Blaise grimaced, and Draco could see that he really didn't want to talk about it; and there were many more guests to greet, so he allowed Pansy to lead his friends away in search of drinks.

After this, all the other guests came up to wish him a happy birthday: Arthur and Molly Weasley led their children up, together with Neville Longbottom and Robin Banks, who commented on how glad he was to finally visit the Manor as an invited guest, rather than as an unwanted Auror!

"You were the best," Draco said, quietly. "We were so glad when you came instead of that horrible Crockford man."

"Ah," Robin said, "some, though not all, of Dandelus's behaviour was caused by the Imperio; he is still in St Mungo's recovering. He was under the curse for a long time, and the Healers say that the recovery time is related to the time spent under the curse. We'll see what he's like when he gets out."

Draco was pleased that Robin tried to see the good in people; he was, after all, a beneficiary of that attitude himself. So he smiled agreeably.

As Draco was talking to Robin, Harry looked around the garden. Narcissa and Molly had done an incredible job decorating it, he saw; the silver-and-green theme they had agreed on was everywhere: the tablecloths, napkins, bunting on the marquee all had the same motif running through them, the same understated elegance worked through. As he looked around, he noticed Neville's bell-flowers were draped over the hedge, giving a beautiful soft silver light, and he realised that this must be the 'special order' that Neville had referred to when he had visited the shop. He pulled his friend over to him.

"So this is what you were doing on Thursday?" he asked.

Neville smiled, pleased to be asked. "Yes. What do you think?"

"It's incredible," Harry replied, "really incredible. They're beautiful, Neville."

"Neville, beautiful? You trying to muscle in on my fiancé?" George asked, mockingly.

"Not at all," Harry asked. "I have a beautiful fiancé all of my own!"

"And don't you forget it!" Draco responded, now finished talking to Robin and becoming interested in this new conversation. "What were you talking about?"

"The bell-flowers," Harry replied, pointing them out. "Neville made them."

Draco looked around. "You're right," he said at last, "they are beautiful. You made them for me?" he asked Neville.

"Of course," Neville replied. "Narcissa ordered them, and I knew Harry was planning something, so it didn't take much to put two and two together."

"Thank you," Draco replied, a little teary at the thought that Harry's friends really did accept and love him.

George had looked like he was going to burst during this conversation, and finally broke in, "now that you've stopped talking about flowers," (Neville glared at him, but he pressed on), "fiancé? So you really did it?"

"Yes!" Draco said, all smiles, and showed George and Neville the ring Harry had given him.

"Best to keep that quiet for the minute, though," Harry warned. "I think Lucius wants to make a big announcement about it."

There were still plenty more guests to meet, and Harry pointed out that one of the tables was given over to presents. Draco smirked to see that it was there, and that there were so many gifts on it. The table had to be propped up with magic; there was no way it would still be standing otherwise. He loved presents. But they were going to be hard-pressed to top the ones Harry had given him last night.

-#-

Lucius showed a beautiful sense of theatre, Harry thought; instead of announcing the engagement as soon as they had got there, he had let everyone greet Draco and have a few words about the birthday before he stood up, cast a Sonorus charm, asked everyone to make sure that they had a drink in their hand, and began to speak.

"Thank you all for coming to help us celebrate Draco's eighteenth birthday," he began. "We are truly blessed to have survived the last year; and it's amazing to think how different the world is to when Draco turned seventeen and we were all living in fear of a madman. Narcissa and I are very pleased to welcome you all today; many of you have not been our friends in times past, and we hope that we will be able to build firm relations with you in days to come. And we want to salute Harry Potter," he said, looking straight at Harry, who blushed; "without him, we would all probably be vassals of that madman. So, congratulations Draco, and thanks Harry. And we do have another happy occasion to celebrate," he said. "Arthur, Molly, Narcissa and I are delighted to announce that last night Harry asked my son to marry him – and I understand that the offer was not entirely unacceptable?" he asked, teasingly, looking over at Draco.

Draco walked over to his father, holding Harry's hand as he did so. As they got there, he turned to all the guests and showed off his ring.

"Thank you for coming, and your warm wishes, and love," he began. "I too am overwhelmed by the number of new friends we have made. And yes, Harry is the most wonderful romantic," he said. "He gave me an amazing dinner, and then topped it off with a beautiful ring, which I fell in love with immediately. Really, how could I say no? If I had said no, I would have had to give it back …"

There was a general roar of laughter, and everyone clapped madly and cheered them both. Draco's face flushed with pride at being so accepted and loved, and Harry was overjoyed to see that the nervousness of the morning seemed to have vanished altogether.

-#-

Harry and Draco sauntered around the garden, happily chatting with their friends, as everyone came up to offer congratulations. They were standing by the French doors that led into Harry's garden when Narcissa called for Harry to come inside. Draco followed, but came out again a moment later.

"That was quick, Drake," Pansy said. "What did your mother want?"

"Harry," he replied. "She said with her eyes that she just wanted him without me. I think we're going to have the cake now. Come for a short walk?"

They strolled over to the old oak that served as the focal point for the cottage garden, and Pansy left Draco alone there, going to fetch drinks for them.

Harry walked out of the French doors, looking over to Draco. And then it happened.

"STUPEFY!" A voice yelled. Draco thought he recognised the voice. Could it be? Blaise?

"CONFRINGO!" A deeper, older voice. MacNair?

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

* * *

 _**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _ _Mwah hah hah hah hah …_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for all their help. And for saying particularly nice things about this chapter!
> 
>  **FACEBOOK:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it. If there's enough interest, I'll post teasers and stuff, OK?
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to all who comment. More, please!


	33. Returning to their True Friends

**33 Returning to their True Friends  
**

As Draco had come out of the house and walked back into the garden, the watcher knew that this was the moment. The tension in his body was so tight he wondered that all the guests at the party didn't hear it. He watched the blond, accompanied by that Parkinson bitch, walk over to the tree. They were sure that the blond boy traitor was going to do that. Blaise had gone over the plans with them in detail: Draco was to stand by the tree, Narcissa would then light the candles and bring the cake out through the French doors and place it on the table in the cottage garden. 'Potter's garden', apparently. How soppy! But it lent a nice touch to the proceedings he thought; despatching Draco in the very garden that the traitorous family had given his ... fiancé. The word sounded abominable, even in his mind. _The world will definitely be better off without this filth_ , he thought.

But they hadn't counted on Draco having company at this point; he was supposed to be alone to receive the cake and applause, that was the pure-blood tradition. If that girl didn't move soon, she might be a threat to the plan. They didn't have much time; Potter was sure to appear and walk back over to him soon. And they had to get Draco while Harry wasn't there; they knew that penetrating the shield was impossible. MacNair had been all for just casting Avada Kadava and being done with it; but he was sure that the wards would not permit the words to be spoken. The Ministry might be staffed with fools; but there were still some competent Aurors. Not so many, though, he thought, remembering how they seemed to have overlooked completely the fact that the wards were still set to allow Voldemort's Death Eaters through, a very useful hangover from the Wizarding War. Auror Barnes had been most helpful in this respect. He had ensured that Lucius was never consulted about, nor allowed to touch, the wards; and he had hidden the little rift in the wards that they had used to get through, so that only a truly clever Auror would ever have found it.

His thoughts broke off abruptly as he saw that, happily, the bitch had moved; Parkinson was now walking over to the refreshments table, obviously in search of drinks. Excellent. Potter walked out of the French doors and was now looking over to Malfoy. Perfect. The Boy Who Lived was now in prime position to watch his boyfriend's death.

"STUPEFY!" a voice yelled. Blaise's voice, he thought, an evil grin passing across his face.

"CONFRINGO!" A deeper, older voice. MacNair. They were right on time.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he yelled, and the air filled with magic as the three curses pulsed together, heading for the blond, who stood still, seeming stunned by the sound of the spells.

-#-

It only took half a second for him to know that something had gone badly wrong. Potter was still standing on the step, looking towards Malfoy, to be sure; but the latter was no longer visible. Instead, surrounding the blond was a cloud of light. Green, and silver, and red strands swirled around him, pulsing ominously, full of power and possibility. It quite took the watcher's breath away. And then the light streamed out, seeming to seek the three spell-casters. The watcher activated his portkey, but it failed completely as the light struck him and he found himself in the grip of strong magic, holding him, binding him, stopping him from speaking or casting any spell; even moving was beyond him now. He could only watch.

 _SHIT!_ Everything they had read said that the shield would only be produced if the two of them were physically touching. And yet here it was, more powerful than the last time he had seen it, even though Potter was on the step, nowhere near Malfoy …

Potter. He looked across at the raven-haired man. All of a sudden, as he watched in horror, the spell faded, and the enemy's strategy became plain to him. He had been played; the biter had been bit. The one whom he had courted and turned traitor had turned out to be playing a double game. For there, standing on the step, was not Harry Potter, but Blaise Zabini.

The coloured shield started to fade from view, and he could see that Malfoy had been joined by Potter. The two were kissing each other! A wave of revulsion coursed through him at the sight. As he looked back at Zabini on the step, he saw exactly the same emotion portrayed on that man's face, and wondered what was going on. Was Blaise perhaps also disgusted by this unnatural liaison? But then he realised that Zabini was not looking at Malfoy and Potter. His revulsion was directed, not at the couple kissing under the oak tree, but at the three attackers, the ones who had tried to kill Draco Malfoy. He had never seen such a look of pure distaste, and then hatred; not even Voldemort had been so fiercely and implacably set against his enemies. In that instant he knew that Zabini had never, not for one moment, been on his side. He had been a double agent from the very beginning. All of Yaxley's plans now lay open, exposed, betrayed. The careful trap he had set for the Malfoy brat turned out to be a trap set for him; and he had walked straight into it.

-#-

Harry had put his hand on Draco the moment that Pansy had walked away from them. He had been trusting that they would not attack before the blond was, or seemed to be, alone; and the invisibility cloak was proving its usefulness once again. He heard the curses being sent and a part of his brain noted that it was the same three spells as last time, and wondered why; there must be some reason for those three particularly, you wouldn't choose them at random twice, especially since the first time had failed. But mostly he was caught up with the incredible feeling of magic as it pulsed through him. The shield sprang into being, more colourful than ever, swirling around them. It was much stronger than last time; the Sectumsempra did not bounce off this time as the shield had no problem absorbing all three curses, and he directed the magic out towards the three curse-makers. Without even needing a conscious command, the magic seemed naturally to follow back along the lines that the curses had come, and impounded each person in a prison of pure power. As this was happening, he pocketed the cloak; the fewer people who knew about it, the better. And then he grabbed his lover.

"I'm so sorry we had to do that," he said softly, his lips seeking Draco's. "I never want you in that much danger again."

"It's all right, Harry," Draco answered. "I signed up for it, remember?"

They kissed; and a huge wave of relief washed through them as they knew that the threat that had been hanging over them for weeks was now gone. They stood there, kissing, as the shield came down and a huge cry of relief and joy went up as their friends and family saw that they were together and unharmed.

-#-

The three were caught up in cocoons of magic, now pulsing with white light. The forms of Yaxley and MacNair were clearly visible now; the hoods they had worn pulled back and the Notice-Me-Not charms drained. The third cocoon was not quite so clear. The form inside seemed to be shifting between two different shapes.

"That's Blaise!" Pansy gasped.

And then the poly-juice finally failed, yielding to the powerful magic Harry had unleashed, and the form that had looked like Blaise Zabini resolved into a different wizard altogether. Marcus Flint stood, unmasked, silent because of the magic holding him, but shaking with rage at being caught.

-#-

The Auror response was swift; everything had been set up beforehand. Yaxley and MacNair were taken away immediately; as they had already been tried and found guilty of war crimes, they could be taken straight to Azkaban, and no formal courtesy was needed, or offered, as three Aurors swiftly marched the two of them away to the Floo point.

Flint, however, was another matter. As he had not yet been tried for previous attack on Draco, his guilt, though evident, was not, in the eyes of the law, proven. As he was already formally under arrest, he was now formally arrested for this new attack, and taken back to the Ministry holding cells.

Just before he could be taken away, while the other two were being dealt with and marched away and the Slytherin was still cocooned by magic, Harry walked up to him, his mind full of questions; but there was one above all he wanted answered.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" came the surly reply.

"Why attack Draco?"

Flint's eyebrows shot up. Did Potter really think he was going to tell him anything? "I don't have to tell you!" he spat out.

"No," Harry said, as two Aurors came to take him into custody. "But I had hoped you might want to. I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Don't you call me that, Potter!" the prisoner snarled. "I don't want your pity!" And with that, he was led away.

Draco came up and wrapped his arms around Harry. He could feel the guilt that was throbbing through Harry; hell, he felt the guilt when he was still walking towards him.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry, and it's not true. Yes, we set him up for this; but he chose to go through with it. Be glad that we were able to draw his fire, OK? He attacked us, and we were ready for it, instead of attacking some poor sap who didn't have the ear of the Ministry."

"I suppose you're right, Draco," Harry replied. "Perhaps there really is a good way to use my fame to actually achieve something."

And Draco thought that if he had finally got Harry to accept that, it was already an excellent evening's work.

-#-

It was all over inside two minutes. Flint had barely gone when Narcissa and Molly brought the cake out; they were determined not to let a small matter like the guest of honour being attacked by homicidal maniacs spoil the party. Everyone else seemed to take up the cue, and within minutes they were back congratulating Draco and Harry, drinking champagne and eating birthday cake.

Harry and Draco circulated. They too were determined to enjoy themselves and to take the evening's events in their stride. One thing that Draco was particularly concerned about was to make sure that everyone understood the role that Blaise had played in their little charade. To this end, he took all of their schoolmates together into a corner of the big marquee that had been erected on the lawn, and he and Harry explained the whole story to both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike (and the solitary Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood).

"We need you to understand exactly what Blaise has done for us," Draco began.

"So he's not a traitor?" Pansy asked, and Blaise blushed a deep red at the directness of the question.

"Not at all," Harry insisted. "Blaise was very helpful in setting up this party – and in keeping it a secret from Draco. After Skeeter's article came out last Sunday, I realised that we could use Blaise's comments to our advantage. I suspected that, given Blaise's comments, Yaxley might well approach him and ask for his help; and Blaise agreed to work as our spy with him."

"Yaxley did ask me for help, not till Tuesday, though," Blaise said. "I don't know if he trusted me till then, but the article helped, and Harry told me to visit pubs and bad-mouth him some more."

Draco smirked at the thought of Blaise playing the agent like this. He was sure that he would have done a magnificent job; apart from being an angry drunk, Blaise was exceptionally good at the Slytherin trait of keeping his true feelings hidden.

"I went under a glamour, and he found me."

"Not so good a glamour," Pansy interjected.

"No, it wasn't supposed to be. So anyway, I convinced him that I had gone to ground and didn't want Draco to know where I was this week, because I was embarrassed by the article. I told him that Draco would not be surprised if I was here for the party; he would know I couldn't resist. So I told him about the date, and the wards, and explained about the cake and garden. He believed everything I said; he had cornered me in the bar, and dropped veritaserum in my drink."

"Of course," Draco cut in, "the irony is that you lied to Yaxley by telling him the truth." He turned to the others, explaining further, "everything Blaise said was true; and everything he said was designed to push Yaxley the way we wanted him to go."

"And he didn't ask me if I was spying for Harry, only for Draco," Blaise continued. "And I knew Draco knew nothing of what I was doing, so I could truthfully say so," Blaise continued. "When Yaxley told me Draco was the real target and asked if I would cast the hex, I didn't have to pretend at all; I told him no way would I hurt my friend, and he took some of my hair for the poly-juice and told me to disappear and not let any of you find me."

"Since then, he's been staying here all week, kept secret by Ministry wards, which, by the way, are a lot stronger than Yaxley believed," Harry continued. "Then, when Flint turned up, poly-juiced as Zabini, we took a strand of my hair, and Blaise took some poly-juice himself so he could pretend to be me, while I hid behind the oak tree and waited for Yaxley and his minions to strike."

"What a brilliant plan!" a voice said behind them. Harry gasped. He would never find Rita Skeeter pleasant; nor her voice; nor, above all, her prodigious talent for turning up exactly when she was not wanted.

"Rita!" he hissed.

"Lovely to see you, too, Harry," she replied cooly. "I do hope you'll give me an exclusive?" she said, batting her eyelids and giving what was no doubt supposed to be a winsome smile.

At this point, Kingsley Shacklebolt walked in.

"Miss Skeeter," he boomed. "What a - _pleasant_ \- surprise." His tone made it quite clear that it was anything but. "I do hope that you aren't trying to force yourself on these nice young people – after all, this is a private party, and I believe I am right in thinking you weren't invited?"

"I don't think she's doing any harm, Minister," Luna said, and everyone except Skeeter turned and looked at her as if she'd just suggested they pose nude for a photo. "No, really," she said to Harry, "after all, you want people to know Blaise is no traitor, right? And that you and Draco are out of circulation?"

Harry thought about this, and smiled. Luna could be very strange at times, but she had an amazingly clear head for journalism. No doubt inherited from her father, Xenophilius, who was still publishing The Quibbler. He must be doing something right to still be in business.

"You're right," he replied, smiling at her, and receiving a rather knowing smile in return. "But do we really want it to be an exclusive? After all, I gave you a long interview only a week ago, Rita. And Luna is affiliated with your main rival …"

Rita licked her lips. She needed something; she'd been pursuing that Parkinson girl all week for an interview, but all she had to show for it was some rather hefty bar bills. She was a sly one, that one! And Harry wanted something, that was obvious. He was going to say yes, but he wanted a sop from her to make it a deal. She had played this game many times before; the only thing that mattered was to find the price that was acceptable. And, in her experience, not to exceed the price – surprisingly often, it was very low.

So, what could it be? Harry liked his privacy, she knew that. Right now, of course, he could run and hide whenever he wanted, so she couldn't make leverage out of that. BUT, she realised, in four weeks' time he would be sequestered in Hogwarts, unable to escape. Now she knew perfectly well that the Prophet had already been told by the Ministry, in no uncertain terms, to leave the students alone; but that was an order, not a deal. She knew Cuffe would have to abide by this edict; but how much better if it was a deal she had cut. They would then have the moral high ground – always a useful place, in her experience. Cuffe would be able to play it to the public as The Prophet, rather than the Ministry, defending Potter's privacy. And she would be able to play it to him as her deal to save his face – valuable currency in journalism, she knew very well.

"I'll tell you what, Mr Potter," she replied, suddenly all business-like. "You and Mr Malfoy give us a nice interview, we'll write a lovely set of pieces for you about the attack, and the sterling job the Ministry has done defending you, and how your friends are all behind you, and Mr Zabini's commendable actions; and in return we'll agree not to seek out interviews during the school term."

It was very clever of Skeeter to add the bit about the Ministry, Kingsley thought; after all, he knew perfectly well that the offer was making a virtue out of necessity as the Ministry would insist on a media blackout on the students anyway; she was making it easy for him to keep quiet about that. _A honey-pot trap of her own_ , he thought. But really, it was going to work well for all of them. He nodded to Harry to signify that he wouldn't object.

"Draco?" Harry asked, not wanting to proceed if his partner had any qualms.

"All right," the blond agreed. "But the Minister might want to read the article before it goes to press."

"That will be tight," the journalist replied, in her 'confidential insider' voice. "But I think we can make it work, if we start at once."

"Well," said Harry, "this is a party, so to be fair to our hosts and guests, we can only give you a very few minutes."

Skeeter didn't need to be told that twice; ten minutes later she had the workings of a good article. Fortunately, she had had the foresight to bring a Daily Prophet photographer along with her, and he had managed to take what she decided was a rather nice photograph of the pair, showing off Draco's engagement ring.

At this point, Lucius wandered into the marquee, wondering what had happened to his son and said son's fiancé, who he had not seen outside for some time. Of course he at once saw Skeeter, and his eyes narrowed. He was not fond of gatecrashers, especially ones who had caused Harry as much trouble as this woman. Rita, sensing that she was no longer welcome, at once assured him she was just leaving.

"Indeed," he said, his voice icily polite as his gaze swept over the journalist and the photographer. "Allow me to conduct you and your colleague to the Floo."

"Oh, Mr Malfoy," Rita said, fluttering her eyes at him, "please, don't trouble yourself. I'm sure a house-elf could take us there."

 _Yes, and you'd interview it on the way for 'a little colour', I'll be bound,_ he thought. But what he actually said was, "I couldn't possibly be so unchivalrous," as he steered them deftly to the Floo point in the public reception room.

-#-

Caterers arrived in the marquee at this point to set up tables for the supper buffet to be served later on, and Draco and Harry took the opportunity to lead their friends outside and mingle with the guests again.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, a lovely party," a familiar voice said, and they turned to find Headmistress McGonagall chatting with Professor Flitwick and Dalmatea Merrythought.

"Good evening, Headmistress, Professor, Madam," Harry said, nodding to the group. "So glad you think so."

"Now, Headmistress," Draco said, eyeing her robes approvingly, and deciding that it was a social occasion and he had had enough champagne to be able to blame his cheek on its effect, "do I detect a new wardrobe?"

The headmistress blushed. It was unexpected, and charming because of it. "Mr Malfoy! I'm surprised that you take such an interest in my attire!" she said, her voice mock-scolding; but he could tell she was really quite pleased that someone had noticed.

"Don't you think they are lovely robes?" Flitwick asked, and Minerva's blush deepened.

"I do," Draco replied, deciding to go down with all his guns of gallantry blazing, "and we feel honoured that you would go to the trouble for our party."

"Yes, well," the aged headmistress replied, "I may say I am delighted to see you two together. And you will look after him, won't you, Mr Malfoy? He's shown us that that is a full-time job …"

And now it was Harry's turn to blush.

-#-

The party continued happily, and Draco and Harry were very much enjoying talking to all their guests. Ginny and Robin were effusive in their praise for the gardens; Robin explained that his mother was very fond indeed of gardening, and had instilled a love of it in her son. Harry asked him what his favourite would be, and his answer, without hesitation, was the rock gardens of Japan, which he had visited over the previous Autumn. Harry gave Draco a look, and the blond nodded in return.

"There's something we'd like to show you," he said, and led Robin away. Ginny and Draco naturally followed along; in a very few minutes the four were sitting quietly in Draco's garden, watching the shadows changing as the twilight slowly deepened. Robin was stunned to find such an authentic Japanese garden in the wilds of Wiltshire, and expressed his appreciation for it so warmly that Draco, tickled pink to find someone who shared his enthusiasm, told him he could come and see it whenever he liked.

They were sitting there a few minutes later when Narcissa came in.

"Ah Dragon!" she said. "There you are! There's someone come to see you."

And with that she led in Theodore Nott.

-#-

Nott looked round anxiously, obviously uncertain of the reaction he would get.

"I'm very sorry Draco –" he began to say, but got no further as his friend raced over to him and hugged the very breath out of him. _Merlin!_ He thought, reeling in shock. _Is this the same Draco who never showed any emotion?"_

"Theo," Draco said, as he let go of his friend, "we understand. You were Imperiused, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry about your arm."

As he was saying this, Harry came up behind his fiancé and wrapped him in a hug of his own; Draco smiled as he leant back into the embrace. By this time, Nott had recovered somewhat, and was beginning to be very curious indeed. He had heard, of course, that Draco and Potter were now an item; but it was still something of a shock to see them there together, so obviously happy and comfortable in each other's company.

"So … we are still friends?" he asked, still rather tentatively.

"Of course!" And the thing that shocked Theo to the core was that these words were said, not by his friend Draco, but by their former enemy, Potter. Their former enemy, who was now smiling at him and extending a hand to him in a clear invitation of friendship.

Then Potter looked embarrassed. "How is your arm?" he asked, his tone expressing obvious care and gentleness.

He accepted the hand; there was really nothing else to be done. Things really had changed, he decided, if Potter was asking him in such a gentle way. It remained to be seen how things changed from there; but he knew he had just gone from being a prisoner in Azkanban, through being a patient at St Mungo's, to being under the protection of the Boy Who Lived. It couldn't, the Slytherin decided, be a bad thing.

"Much better thanks," he said, smiling at the pair, and they all went back out into the party, where Draco made sure that Theo was reunited with the other Slytherins, who accepted him readily.

As it turned out, Theo didn't stop smiling all night; especially when Pansy took him home …

-#-

By the time the supper buffet was served, the light was fading, and Neville's beautiful bell flowers were emitting a soft, silvery light that made the garden look stunning. Harry was not at all surprised that the food was beautiful; but what did come as a surprise was the desserts. For, in pride of place on a table laden with sweet treats were a spotted dick and a treacle tart.

Draco took a large helping of the former, and after only one mouthful, said, "I know this taste. Kreacher!"

"Yes, Master Draco?" came the reply as the elderly elf appeared with a pop.

"You made this?" he asked.

"Yes, Master Draco!" Kreacher replied; and by the tone of his voice he was obviously enormously pleased that Draco could tell.

"And this!" Harry said appreciatively, tucking into the very large slice of treacle tart he had taken.

"Yes, Master Harry! Mistress Cissy is being asking Kreacher what the masters like best, and Kreacher is making them for the masters!"

"Thank you Kreacher, we appreciate that very much," Draco said, and the elf was so beside himself to be praised by a Black family member that he squealed with joy, and vanished.

"Did I hear that right?" George Weasley said, as the twins came up to them, "you actually / thanked a house-elf? / We'll have to / write to Hermione about this!"

Draco's face paled in mock-horror. "Please don't!" he said, "I'll never hear the end of it!"

George grinned. Draco, he decided, could be a good sport. "You have won me over with your silver tongue," he replied.

"Hey!" Harry said, in mock-indignation.

"Straw is cheaper!" Fred replied, cutting him off. He could tell that Harry was about to make a comment about Draco's tongue and its uses that would be singularly unfortunate given that his future mother-in-law had just entered the marquee. "Lovely party, Mrs Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," the lady replied, serenely unaware of the moment she had missed. "I believe we are ready for your kind contribution?"

-#-

The Weasleys' fireworks had been amazing. The guests had all had a wonderful time. The horrors of the attack had been completely overcome. Draco and Harry lay together now in Draco's bed.

"Harry," said Draco, "I …"

"You want to, but you're still not sure?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," the blond replied, feeling guilty. That was it in a nutshell: Harry had been so loving, and so trusting, and making love to him had been just amazing. He so wanted to have Harry do the same for him; but he just didn't feel he could return that love. He so wanted to.

"It really is alright, Dray," Harry said; then remembered how Draco had responded when he had first called him that. "Um, you don't like that, do you? What should I call you?"

Draco stared at his lover. He couldn't believe this man. At every turn, Harry amazed him by how caring and concerned he could be. He thought back on all the vile names he had called him – Potty and Scarhead coming to mind most readily – and that made it clear what he had to say.

"Harry, I really think I don't mind what you call me, as long as it's you calling me it," he said, his cheeks burning with the shame of being so soppy… again. He was becoming a habit, he thought; but for Harry, he just couldn't help himself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice the soppiness. "May I …" he began, haltingly, "… call you Dragon?"

Draco blushed. Only his mother used that one. But he meant what he said. "Yes, my love."

"Oh, my Dragon, I do love you," Harry said, running his hands gently over Draco's body. Draco returned the gesture, and soon they ended up snuggled together, hugging and kissing; and so they fell asleep clasping each other tightly.

-#-

_Sunday 7 June 1998_

Harry was sitting in the cottage garden. He still couldn't quite think of it as his; but he accepted that he had the run of it, and he definitely found that, for him, it was the best place in the Manor to sit and think.

He nearly choked on his honeyed tea when he spotted the Daily Prophet headline.

_**SNAKE CHARMER!** _

_**By Rita Skeeter** _

_The Destroyer of Voldemort seems to have made another conquest! Last night, at a party held to celebrate his lover's birthday, the hero of the Wizarding world, our own Harry Potter, and the lover in question, his arch rival from school, Mr Draco Malfoy, announced their engagement. No doubt witches all over the country will be in mourning!_

_Mr Potter has won not only Mr Malfoy's heart but apparently that of another Slytherin house member: Mr Blaise Zabini was instrumental in helping Mr Potter foil a cowardly attack on his fiancé. Will our hero ever stop saving people? Let us hope not!_

He read on, his cheeks burning, but the rest of the article was even worse drivel than the beginning. Happily, he was interrupted by a blond head peeking over his shoulder; he turned his head for a good morning kiss.

"You slept well," he said. "I've been up for an hour already!"

"It's not my fault you were foolish enough to leave a comfortable bed when you didn't have to," Draco responded. It was, after all, Sunday morning; Draco felt virtuous to have got up before lunchtime. "How bad is it?" he asked, his eyes indicating the article.

"Utter nonsense," Harry replied. "But it's all syrupy sweet. She doesn't call you a 'Death Eater' once. And Blaise is at least mentioned positively on the front page," he continued, passing the paper to the blond.

Draco read the paper, while Harry ate the tea and toast that Mappy had brought him. They sat together in happy silence, and Narcissa, spying them through the French doors, smiled to see them so comfortable in each other's company. She walked out to the garden.

"Good morning Harry, Dragon," she said to them. At the mention of her pet name for him, Draco smiled.

"I'm afraid you'll have to share the use of that name now, mother," he said.

"With Mr Potter?" she asked, knowing full well it wasn't likely to be anyone else.

'Yes, um," Harry said, noting that she had used his surname and hoping desperately that she wasn't offended. "Er, you don't mind, do you?"

Narcissa laughed. Harry was just too easy to wind up, she thought. "Of course not, Harry," she said. "After all, if you two get married, I will have to share him."

Harry smiled, relieved, until she continued, "do you have a date yet?"

Draco looked at his fiancé. "Arthur Weasley did give me a rundown of the term dates," he said. "He seemed to think that the twenty-sixth of September would be a good date. Did you put him up to that?"

Harry went very red. "The other way round, really. Arthur said if we wanted to have some formal ceremony, a week to get organised and a week to relax afterwards might work best; so the middle weekend of our first holidays was indicated."

"And very sound thinking, too," Narcissa commented. "Will you have the bonding here?"

"May we?" Draco asked.

"Of course!" she replied, her face blossoming into happiness at the thought of organising her son's wedding. "I would be overjoyed!"

And so Harry found his wedding all sorted out for him. And if he felt railroaded into it by both of his families, he decided to keep his mouth shut; the look of joy on his future mother-in-law's face was too precious to risk.

-#-

Narcissa had decided that she couldn't keep the news to herself; she had Floo-called Molly, and the two of them spent the rest of the morning shut up in Narcissa's study, no doubt plotting The Wedding, as Harry had begun to think of it, in definite capital letters. Lucius was in his own study, busy with some project that appeared to require Auror input, as two of them were in there with him.

"Shall we go flying?" Draco suggested.

Harry thought about this at great length; it took him all of a quarter of a second to accept the offer.

Harry found it impossible not to compare the feeling of flying with the feeling he had had two nights before. There was definitely the same sense of being free from the world; but now he didn't feel that sense of being all alone. The loneliness was replaced by an incredible feeling that he was here with Draco, who held half his heart, and it felt so right, so good, that he cried with happiness, and the wind whipped away his tears and his face smarted and he felt so alive! To be flying with his love was the most wonderful thing. He felt his heart would almost burst with joy; he never wanted it to end.

He gazed over at his lover to find the same feelings of life, and love, and fierce joy reflected in the silver eyes.

And so they missed lunch; but neither minded at all.

-#-

When they had finished flying, and enjoyed each other's company in a very luxuriant shower, they found the three adults having afternoon tea at the table in the cottage garden.

"Do join us," Narcissa invited, levitating cups of tea towards them.

As he received his cup, a thought struck Draco.

"Mother," he said, "I seem to remember that I was promised a present when I came over last night …"

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "And the party was not present enough?" she asked.

He looked at her, and there was no need for words; the look said 'NO' louder than words could have.

She smiled at him, a thoughtful smile. The insistence on presents was a little childish, certainly; but secretly, she was pleased that he was getting over the need to always act like a grown-up.

"Well, we do have something for you, but I'm not sure you'll think of it as a present," she said.

He looked puzzled. Lucius turned to the other two. "Will you excuse us for a few minutes?" he asked.

Of course, they said yes, and the three Malfoys went into the house.

"It's a beautiful garden, Harry," Molly said, looking around; it had been lovely at night, lit up by Neville's amazing flowers; but now, on a summer's day, it came into its own: a simple, down-to-earth, English garden. They both stood up and wandered around, admiring the different plants, taking in the scents, and just allowing the peace of the place to seep into them.

"I do hope last night's events haven't tainted the garden, Harry," Lucius observed, as the Malfoys returned.

"Not at all," the raven-haired man replied. "They make it even more special; this is the place where the most wonderful man in the world showed everyone just how brave he is."

Molly smiled at the soppiness, while Draco made a face. But he couldn't really be angry with Harry. It was mushy enough for a Hufflepuff, yes; but his fiancé had said it, and Draco knew that, while he was teasing, at root he meant it.

"So, what was the present?" Harry asked him.

"Well," the blond replied, "it is a present; but it's really a present for you." He produced a small box, and inside was an exquisite ring, fashioned in platinum, with rubies and emeralds. "You asked me, Harry, but I want to ask you too. Will you marry me?"

And Harry gave Draco the same answer he had received two days earlier: he picked up the ring and put it on his finger.

"It's a Malfoy heirloom," Draco explained, "and it is the ring my father gave my mother."

Harry looked at Narcissa and Lucius, incredulity in his eyes at the thought of how much it meant that they had given Draco this to give to him. He really was speechless this time!

-#-

"So, will you come, then?" Molly asked Narcissa, obviously continuing a previous conversation.

To his wife's evident surprise, it was Lucius who answered. "We'd love to," he said.

And they did: for the first time in living memory, the Malfoys dined at the Burrow that night. And the world continued to spin on its axis, and the building didn't fall down, even when Lucius, who had heard of the Bouncy Beating Challenge, insisted on fighting against the twins. Draco was astonished to see his father in such a good mood; even when George bested him, he gave in graciously, congratulated the victorious Weasley, transfigured one of the silver buttons on his blazer into a small silver cup, and presented him with it, saying that a Weasley beating a Malfoy was a rare occasion deserving to be marked in some way.

Draco guessed that his meeting with the Aurors must have gone very well; and he was not wrong. Some of the light in Lucius's eyes was the simple joy of the sport; but more than a little was because of the plans he had for Monday. He was beholden to Harry Potter to protect him, and he had identified two menaces that needed dealing with.

One had been bested the previous evening.

The other's punishment was about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for another job well done!
> 
>  
> 
> The chapter title is pointing to Blaise and Theo returning to their friends in freedom, while MacNair and Yaxley will be returning to their friends in Azkaban ...
> 
>  **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'Achilles The Geek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Many thanks to Saheed, PerfectFour and vernie_klein for their comments. I'm not evil, just misunderstood.


	34. The Elder Wand Makes a Return Appearance

**34 The Elder Wand Makes a Return Appearance**

Twenty-four hours after being caught, Marcus Flint was still livid with rage. Not that it had done him the slightest bit of good. To begin with, he had been taken to an initial holding cell that was even smaller than the pigsty they had had the gall to incarcerate him in for the previous week; he had yelled and whined and raged and demanded "acceptable accommodation", and once he had yelled himself hoarse, the Auror in charge had looked in on him, said, "tough", and left him alone again.

After that he had appeared before a summary hearing to decide his immediate fate. He had expected to be asked to plead his case, or given a chance to explain, or **something**.

But the senior Auror charge had simply looked him up and down, and asked, "Marcus Flint?"

Shocked at the complete lack of interest in the man's voice, Marcus had snarled "yes". Before Flint could say anything else, the Auror, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork, had lazily said just two more things.

"Silencio. 14B."

They were the last words he had heard. The two Aurors at his sides had simply picked him up and carried him bodily to his new cell, not saying a word. The Silencio had, quite literally, shut him up; he had not been able to make a sound since. Even his fists beating on the door seemed to have no effect. Certainly, no-one seemed to pay him any notice. And as for the cell …

When he had first been imprisoned, the cell he was in contained a three-foot wide cot, with a hard, lumpy mattress on it; a toilet; and a washbasin, in a space perhaps three metres square. He had regarded it with total contempt at the time. The other inmates, for there was mesh they could talk through, and exercise yards, had told him to be glad he wasn't on level 14, and he had sneered, "how could it be worse than this?"

Now he knew. The cot in his new room was two feet wide, six feet long and took up at least a third of the floor space. He couldn't complain about the mattress; there wasn't one. The walls were oppressive, solid, and painted a soul-sapping grey. The room was damp, and cold, and poorly lit. There was, quite simply, nothing to do, and no hope of change. His prison record would read that he had made no complaint; how could he, as he had no voice?

He sat, and thought over the events of the previous day, which proved rather difficult for him; thinking was not really his strong suit, as the fact that he had failed his exams the first time gave testimony to. Over and over again, he returned to the same questions.

What had gone wrong? Yaxley was so clever. He had it all planned out. Blaise had assured them that the traitor would be alone. How had the Aurors known what they were up to? They hadn't seemed to have a clue when he was there before. Blaise had told them that Potter's spell wasn't strong enough to unmask the dark Aurors. How had Malfoy survived? He should have been destroyed. How had Potter got to him so quickly? He had been on the step.

It took a while, but eventually it dawned on him that he shouldn't trust what Blaise said. But the man had taken veritaserum? He couldn't lie, surely? Unless he was dark enough to have taken … No, surely not, only a few people knew about that. He must have told the truth. And anyway, what he said about the wards was true, they had let them in.

It was only after he had sat on the cot for the whole day that he realised the truth: Blaise had indeed told them the truth. A carefully constructed truth. A truth designed to lead them astray. The traitor **had** been alone. _As far as Blaise knew_. They must have had a plan he deliberately wasn't told about. The spell **wasn't** strong enough to unmask their confederates. _But it gave them enough clues to work it out_. The wards **did** let them in. _Because it was a trap …_

All in a rush, Flint realised that he had been duped. Outplayed. He felt shame; and the shame fuelled his anger, and a cold hatred grew in his heart: a hatred for Potter, the goody-two-shoes; and the Malfoys, the treacherous family; and most of all for Blaise Zabini, the man who had betrayed them in the end.

He sat there and his rage boiled around him. Of course, it did him no good; he had no magic, no voice, no hope. But he held onto the anger fiercely. He had to; the only alternative was to despair.

_Monday 8 June 1998_

The letter from the Wizengamot arrived while Harry and Draco were sitting at breakfast. It began directly enough but then tailed off into impenetrability, as formal missives will: 'Mr Harry James Potter and Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy are requested to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot at ten o'clock this very morning in Courtroom Ten for the purpose of assisting the Court in discovering the facts of incidents relating to the behaviour of one Marcus Flint, with particular reference to …" and the letter had continued for an entire page with mind-numbing jargon, becoming more and more convoluted. But the intent was clear: the Wizengamot wanted to interview them about the two attacks on Draco that Flint had been part of. And it was equally clear that, while the letter might be phrased as a polite request, it was in fact nothing of the kind: their presence was obligatory.

Arthur Weasley had Floo-called them a little before nine, rather apologetic that they had only been given two hours' notice of the meeting. He invited them to come through so that they could discuss how things lay beforehand; which they were both pleased to do. It was all a bit sudden, and they were eager to find out why things were moving so quickly, given that nothing had happened to Marcus during the previous week.

Accordingly, they Flooed into Arthur's office at ten past nine, and were offered tea and biscuits, which they accepted. Draco looked a little put out, and Harry guessed it was a the lack of cream cakes, but decided to say nothing. His lover was tense enough already. And they didn't really need cream cakes at nine o'clock in the morning, especially after the bacon and eggs they had had for breakfast.

"Now," Arthur said, once they were seated, "I suppose you're wondering why this is happening so suddenly."

They were, so they simply nodded and let him get on with it.

"The Wizengamot has been preparing the case against Flint rather aggressively, and were ready to bring him to trial on Wednesday of last week. Given your suspicions that Yaxley would attack at Draco's party, and that Flint might be part of the attack, we specifically asked for a delay; now that the weekend is over, the Wizengamot has decided it needs to expedite the trial, especially as we also arrested two Aurors on Saturday night."

"What?" Draco asked.

"There were two Aurors who helped Flint escape. They thought that we hadn't discovered them, as the Signum Revelare didn't make their hidden Dark marks burn. But we did detect them, so they were under observation, and their actions had not gone unnoticed, as they thought; on the contrary, we took them into custody only minutes after the party started, and they have been held _incommunicado_ ever since. The Wizengamot, understandably, is not happy about imprisoning them like this without trial; so the whole thing will be examined today."

Draco still looked confused. Harry spoke up, remembering that the details of the party had been kept a secret.

"Sorry, Arthur, you'd better explain fully. You must remember that we didn't tell Draco about the party, as it was a surprise." This wasn't entirely true, but the Deputy Minister didn't need to know that. "So all he knows about what Blaise did is the little bit that I was able to tell him while the shield was protecting us; which was really to reassure him that Blaise was never a traitor."

"Fair enough," Arthur replied. "Well, as Harry says, Blaise was always on our side, and we used him to manipulate Yaxley. I must say, he did an amazing job. We knew that Yaxley couldn't get Blaise to attack you, because Blaise had told him that. We knew he would want to use someone else he could trust, and suspected, rightly, that he'd want to use Flint if he could get him, since Flint had already attacked you and probably had nothing to lose by doing so again. That's why we decided to keep him in the Ministry cells, so it would be relatively easy for Yaxley to get to him, given that we knew he controlled two Aurors. And that's exactly how it turned out; which made things much simpler for our teams. After all, it's much easier to keep tabs on what the enemy is up to if you've pushed him into doing what you want."

Draco thought about this, and nodded as he understood, and admired, the subtlety of the Ministry strategy.

"Yaxley and MacNair, of course, were taken straight to Azkaban; their guilt had already been conclusively established, and they had been tried and found guilty _in absentia_ , so there was no need for any further process."

"I would be interested to know," Harry chipped in, "why they used those three spells. They used the same three at the Memorial service, so it must be deliberate."

"Interesting," Arthur said, "I don't know if anyone had made the connection, But now, it's half past nine, we should go."

-#-

When they reached Courtroom Ten, Arthur bade them farewell.

"I'm afraid I can't stay today," he said, apologetically. "Apart from having a job of my own, the Ministry doesn't want the impartiality of the Wizengamot to be questioned, and the Prophet has been giving dark hints about me always being present; so Kingsley and I agreed we'd both best sit this trial out."

There were two men waiting for them outside the courtroom. Arthur waved to them, inviting them to come over by gesture, as he continued, "so I shall leave you in the capable hands of two men you know well: Auror Tom Godwin, and Dempster Wiggleswade from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Dempster will be covering the trial for the Prophet, I believe?" The question was aimed at Wiggleswade, who nodded in response. "But as ever we shall vet the copy. Moreover, the Ministry has asked him to take notes with a view to writing an official history of the wizarding war; so he may wish to interview you both in that capacity."

Harry groaned inwardly, but was careful not to let his displeasure show on his face. He knew something like this would have to be done; and if anyone had to do it, Wiggleswade was a good candidate. His prose was a little dry, but he stuck to the facts and reported them fairly.

To Harry's surprise, Dempster congratulated them both warmly on their engagement.

"Thank you, sir," he replied; but Dempster told him not to mention it.

"In fact, you might as well get used to it," he said, and as they walked in, Harry saw why: all of the members of the Wizengamot were wearing badges that said 'Congratulations!' It was an amazingly silly gesture which brought tears to both boys' eyes.

"Welcome, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy" the Chief Warlock began. "May we extend our warmest congratulations on the occasion of your engagement?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry and Draco replied in unison, but the Wizengamot drowned them out as everyone cried out "hear, hear!"

'Yes, well, you've had your fun, Elphias, can we get back to business now?" Borage asked, snarky as ever; but Harry could see the smile fighting to come out at the edges of his mouth and knew it was a front.

"Very well," Doge replied, and waved his wand. Each of the badges was transfigured back into the silver W that identified the wearer as a member of the Wizengamot; it was clear that that was what the badges had started as.

Doge turned to address Draco, "Mr Malfoy, I must extend our thanks to you, particularly, for coming today; I appreciate that your memories of this room will not be particularly pleasant, and I hope that our little prank may help you to see that, while the business of this chamber is indeed serious, we do have our lighter moments. Now, Clerk of Court, kindly open the proceedings."

With that, the Clerk stood up and gave his usual dry announcement of the day's proceedings. The Wizengamot settled down to the trial, which turned out to be a very short event indeed. It did not take long to establish Flint's guilt, given the number of eyewitnesses. And his testimony was very sparse: he had been told what to do, and he had done it. He hadn't been told why, nor had he asked. But that wasn't all that Harry and Draco wanted to know. Once more, Harry asked Flint the question from Saturday night:

"Why attack Draco?"

Flint stood, trying to maintain a dumb insolence. But the eyes of the Wizengamot members bored into him, and he found himself unable to refrain from speaking.

"It was never him I wanted," he replied. Then, through clenched teeth, he added, "I wanted power! I wanted magic! I wanted … the Elder wand."

"You mean this?" Harry asked, producing the wand from the sleeve of his robe.

"You carry it with you?" Wiggleswade asked, evidently amazed that Harry would cart such an important wand around so nonchalantly. "Surely you don't use it all the time!"

"Yes, I carry it with me," Harry answered. "Just so no-one else can get their hands on it. Not that it would do them any good. Permit me to demonstrate?"

The question was asked to Doge, who nodded his approval.

"Thank you," Harry said, returning the nod. "Marcus, let's see what you can do with this."

And, to a shocked audience, with a wave of his hand he cancelled the magic restraining Flint, and handed the stick of elder to him.

Flint was no less shocked than anyone else. He took the wand and swished it. Nothing happened. He cast Lumos. Still nothing.

Harry took it back off him, and swished it himself, and also spoke "Lumos". And still, nothing happened.

"You see?" he said, to the incredulous Flint. "After the events at Hogwarts, it seems that all of the power has gone from it."

Flint looked sick, and angry, and deflated, all at once. He practically fell back into his seat with surprise. And he wasn't the only one; the entire Wizengamot was silent as well.

"You mean … all the time I listened to Yaxley, all the work I did to get hold of that wand was useless?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry said, as two Aurors came to take him into custody. "I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Don't you call me that, Potter!" the prisoner snarled. "I still don't want your pity!" And with that, he was led away; and, as though this were a signal, every member of the Wizengamot seemed to start speaking at once, and the din rose high as people were yelling questions at Harry, musing out loud, or, most counterproductive at all, yelling to their neighbours to be quiet. Eventually, Doge, his patience clearly stretched to breaking point, called for quiet; but even his authority was seriously tested, and he had to cast a Sonorus charm to be heard above the hubbub.

"My dear witches and wizards, please, calm yourselves" he said, the mildness of the words belied by a tone of steel. "I'm sure we're all most eager to know exactly what is going on here. Mr Potter, are you telling us that that is the Elder wand, from the legend about Death and the Three Brothers?"

"Yes sir," Harry answered as he stood up before the court.

"And it is no longer effective?" Doge continued.

"Yes sir."

"And can you explain this?"

"No sir," Harry said, regretfully. "I didn't even notice myself exactly when it happened; but I tried to use it a week after the battle of Hogwarts, and it had no power then."

"Extraordinary," Doge said. "I think we would all be interested in discovering the answer to this mystery?"

"I believe we need an expert," an elderly wizard Harry didn't know piped up. "I wonder if Mr Ollivander is available?"

"Capital idea," Doge said. "Mr Potter, would you consent to the Wizengamot seeking the assistance of Garrick Ollivander in this matter? It is, after all, your wand now."

"I think that is a brilliant idea," Harry agreed. "I'd really like to know what happened. If the wand truly has no power then we can tell everyone and stop people like Flint from attacking."

"Still not your fault," a voice said behind him. Harry smiled and reached over to his lover, twining their fingers together.

"Thank you," he said quietly to Draco. Then he turned back to Doge. "Will Mr Malfoy be welcome to stay as well?"

"Yes, of course," the Chief Warlock said warmly. "So, members, do we all concur in inviting Mr Ollivander to this chamber?"

The buzz around the room was definitely one of agreement, and a recess was called, during which the elderly wand-maker would be called and invited to assist the Wizengamot. During the interval, Harry and Draco were invited to join the members for luncheon, which was served in the room they used for morning tea. At lunch, by common consent, conversation was kept entirely away from the subjects of the day.

Harry was concerned that Draco might be overlooked; he had specifically asked about him being present because he had rather got the impression that Draco's evidence had been nearly irrelevant, given the speed with which Flint had been found guilty; and that the Wizengamot was no longer interested in him, but only in Harry. His lover did not deserve to be treated merely as an hanger-on to him, and he looked around to see what could be done about it. But his fears proved groundless: as soon as they entered the room, Libatious Borage called Draco over to him, and the two sat and ate together, spending the entire hour's recess deep in conversation.

Eventually they were recalled to the chamber, where they found Ollivander waiting for them, his eyes sparkling with obvious interest to be consulted by the body. Harry wondered how much he had been told. He also wondered exactly what Draco and Borage had discussed, but there was no time for that; as soon as they were seated, Doge asked Harry to produce the Elder wand.

A table had been set in the middle of the chamber, and Harry approached it, drawing the wand. As the wand was revealed, the light in Ollivander's eyes glowed fiercely, and he almost pounced on it when it was offered to him.

"The Elder wand," he whispered, though his voice was clearly audible as everyone else was quite silent in the chamber, watching his every move. "So it really does exist."

Like Harry and Marcus Flint before him, he cast Lumos with the wand. Or tried to; as before, nothing happened when he did so. This did not seem to deter him in the least, however; he cast a few more charms, and, seeing that nothing worked, picked up a bag that he had placed inconspicuously next to the table and took out a set of scales and weighed the wand, making some careful notes on a piece of parchment that he took from an old pocketbook he evidently always carried with him. Seemingly satisfied, he took out some very strange pieces of equipment from the bag, and proceeded to carry out what were obviously highly specialised observations on the wand. A couple of them produced lights of various colours, which he noted down very carefully on his parchment. As he worked, his face was a picture of concentration; but from time to time he made strange little noises, which nearly always sounded either extremely pleased or very shocked indeed.

After perhaps half an hour of this procedure, he put the wand down on the table, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He then opened his eyes, which Harry could see were shining in excitement, and turned to the chamber.

"Well, Mr Ollivander," Doge intoned, "are you ready to give us your findings?"

"I am," the wandmaker replied, and adopted a didactic tone. "In examining a wand, it is essential to begin at the beginning, cataloging each fact about it, proceeding with caution and care. Here is a wand, made of Elder, fifteen inches in length, with a Thestral tail-hair core. The wand is perfectly weighted; a firm grip is easy to establish and maintain, the wood pliant enough to accept being held, but not so springy as to need an excessive grip. The manufacture is exquisite; the core has been bonded to the wand perfectly, and the wood and core tuned with sufficient skill to indicate that the wandmaker was truly first-class. There is no evidence of defect or decay whatever in the wood of the wand. Normally this would be evidence of recent manufacture, but it is clear that this is not the case here; the spells that I cast to discover its age were completely defeated, meaning that its maker managed to imbue it with a longevity charm to never show age in any way during its existence. There is therefore nothing whatever that would give a true indication of the wand's age."

"And is it the Elder wand?" Dalmatea Merrythought, sitting next to Doge as usual, and turning fascinated eyes on Ollivander, asked.

"Well that is the question!" was the testy reply. "All that we know of the Elder wand leads me to say yes," the wandmaker answered. "Which is to say, it is made of elder, and the right length, and the core matches the legend. Moreover, it once held more power than any wand, perhaps than any two wands together, that I have ever possessed or known of. So, if the elder wand is real, which, as Mr Potter knows, I believe it to be, then there is every chance that this is it. Of course, we should consider its provenance and history to be certain – that is, how did this wand come to be here? Who had it last? Can we find a chain going back to a known, or suspected, possessor of the elder wand?"

"Fascinating questions, no doubt, to one in your line of business," Borage remarked acidly. "But it is now useless?"

Ollivander glared at him, clearly not wishing to be rushed.

"There is no doubt in my mind, witches and wizards, that this was once a wand of truly exceptional power. I have certainly never made, or known, a wand with the power that this wand possessed. But yes, that power has been removed. And that makes this the most exciting day in my life for many a year. Wands normally only lose their power when they are used in a duel and their wizard is completely destroyed. But that cannot have happened here; it would require another wand with even greater power than this one had, and if any such wand existed, we would certainly know about it. No, there is a great mystery here."

He turned to Harry, his eyes still showing the excitement of before, together with a rapacious thirst for knowledge.

"So, Mr Potter," he said, "you have set us a very pretty puzzle indeed. When we met last, under rather more humble circumstances" - here Draco blushed at the memory of Ollivander's incarceration at the Manor – "you told me that Voldemort was after this wand, and would certainly take it from Dumbledore's grave. What can you tell us of its history since then? And do you know how Dumbledore came by it?"

Harry stood, and began to tell of the history of the wand, as he knew it. He went back to Albus Dumbledore's possession of it, recounting what the headmaster had told him of the duel he had had with Gellert Grindelwald in 1945 and how mastery of the Elder Wand had passed to him at that point. He explained how it was that Draco Malfoy came, briefly, to be its master (which made his lover gasp; Harry was secretly delighted to have been able to do so, the first time he had seen Draco really, completely, shocked into silence); and then the day at the Manor when, without anyone knowing it, not even him, Harry Potter himself became master of the wand.

He told how Voldemort had mistakenly assumed that the wand passed by killing, while in fact it only cared about strength; and that because of this error, Voldemort believed that Snape was the master of the wand, a fact that had proved fatal, both for the Potions Master, as Voldemort had had Nagini kill him; and for Voldemort himself, as the wand did not give him the absolute mastery he had expected.

"So that's it," Garrick Ollivander interrupted, evidently excited by something. "The first law!"

"The first law?" Borage asked, clearly interested, despite his earlier comment.

"The first law of wandlore: the wand chooses the wizard. The Elder wand chooses, not the wizard who kills, but the wizard who is strong. It chose Mr Malfoy because he disarmed Dumbledore; and then Mr Potter because he won the allegiance of Mr Malfoy's wand; a ten-inch hawthorn, if I remember aright?"

Draco nodded, not altogether surprised; Ollivander was famous for remembering every wand he ever sold.

"That's why the wand wouldn't kill you, Mr Potter," the wandmaker continued. "And why the Avada Kedavra he cast killed him, even though you only repelled it with an Expelliarmus. You didn't repel the spell at all; you merely reminded the wand who was its master, and it did the rest."

Harry, respecting the wizard's age and expertise, waited for him to finish his little digression, and then spoke about the events of the morning he had given Draco his wand back. He told them of the spell Voldemort had put on Draco and Lucius through their Dark marks, to bind their magic so they couldn't betray him. And that when he died, Draco's magic was locked away. He told of the anger that had been kindled inside him that Voldemort would do such a thing. How he had no idea how to stop it, no clue what spells would be required to break the curse. And how, not knowing what else to do, he had laid the elder wand on Draco's wand and spoken the only words that came: "Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …"

"Fascinating," Ollivander said.

"Do you have an idea, Garrick?" Borage asked him.

"It seems," the wandmaker replied, "that Mr Potter somehow got hold of the magic inherent in the wand itself. That what he did was not so much to cast a spell as to pour out the wand's magic itself." He fixed his eyes keenly on Harry. "But there must be something more. The wand itself was not enough; not only were Mr Malfoy and his father released from the curse, but I hear a rumour that, at the same time, Mr Frederick Weasley came back from the dead. Is that not so? Did you do that too, Mr Potter?"

"Yes it is true," Harry agreed, speaking slowly, seeking the right words. "But I didn't do it. Or at least, I didn't try to do it. Perhaps it was an accident?"

Harry was, in truth, rather amazed that no-one had tackled him on this question at any time in the preceding five weeks; but that didn't make it any easier to answer, especially as his answer here would become known to the whole of the Wizengamot today and the whole wizarding world tomorrow. He thought back to that first Saturday in May, as he had stood there, shaking with rage that anyone would seek to destroy a fellow wizard in the way that Voldemort had done to Draco and Lucius. He remembered:

_The wand in his right hand started to glow with hot magic. Clearly it knew what was needed, even if he didn't. He felt something hard Apparate into his left hand, and then the two wizards were suddenly engulfed in a huge cloud of white light. It hit the column, which crumbled to dust at its touch, and then spread out throughout the Hall._

And as he thought, he realised that was all he actually remembered at the time; he had then fallen into an exhausted stupor, and wound up sitting on Draco's lap … He pulled himself away from that memory rather viciously. Not really the time or place to dwell on **that** memory, he told himself.

No, it was only later that he realised it was the Resurrection Stone he held. So, was he going to mention it? _NO WAY!_ A voice shrieked in his mind, and he completely agreed with it. He told them of the light, and the column, and the falling unconscious; but the stone, no, no-one needed to know about that. It was enough that the Wizarding world was aware that the Elder wand existed; the stone was surely the more dangerous of the two. For the wand gave power, but the stone could give information, knowledge from the dead. Who knew what could be discovered and how that knowledge might be used?

When he finished, there was another general hubbub as people expounded theories. Once again, it got too much for Doge, who demanded quiet.

Once he had got the members under control again, he spoke in his usual mild tones: "it seems rather stupid to have invited such an eminent professional as Mr Ollivander to this chamber and then not to listen to his advice." He turned to the wand-maker and asked, with grave and gentle courtesy, "would you be kind enough to give us your summation of Mr Potter's remarks, please?"

"It has long been believed that the wand was stolen from the wandmaker Gregorovitch," Garrick began, speaking very deliberately and pedagogically. "From Mr Potter's testimony, we have a clear line of possession from Gellert Grindelwald, who I am convinced was the thief, as it is known that he suddenly became very powerful indeed; through Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, and Mr Potter himself. As he now holds the wand, and is able to produce it, I think there now can be no doubt that this is indeed the Elder wand of legend."

"Then, it is clear that the wand, which once possessed great power, no longer does. Quite how is still somewhat of a mystery to me; but it is clear that Mr Potter used it to perform some very powerful magic: he released the imprisoned magic of two wizards, magic that had been locked away by Dark Magic performed by one of the greatest proponents of the Dark Arts who ever lived; and he also seems, _accidentally_ , to have managed to bring back a wizard from the dead."

Here Ollivander, having stressed 'accidentally' very heavily, fixed Harry with another stare, but Harry just looked back at him blankly.

"Well," the wand-maker continued, "Mr Potter is unable to provide any further explanation; but of course it is unfair to expect it. What he did was completely unprecedented, so there's no reason why he would be better placed to explain how it happened than anyone else. We are left with the inescapable facts that Mr Potter performed three amazing feats of magic, using the power of the Elder wand; and that that wand no longer retains its power. Can we conclude that the power was all used up in the acts of magic?"

Ollivander's style might be a little dry, and his voice rather monotonous; but at this point, he had all of the attention of his listeners. No sound other than his voice filled the chamber; the storyteller might be unskilled at rhetoric, but it didn't matter, they were all fascinated with the story.

"Here, the safe answer has to be, we don't know," Ollivander continued, and his audience let out a collective sigh at the cliched conclusion. "It would be so simple, so convenient, to say 'yes, the Elder wand no longer has power, and never will have again'. And in fact, I think that is true. But whether its power was destroyed, or has been moved into some other object, or has met some other fate, there I fear we must still keep an open mind."

Before anyone else could, Doge spoke. "Thank you, Mr Ollivander, for that masterly summation. And there, I fear, we must let the matter rest. Unless anyone has anything further to add?"

No-one did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for another job well done!  
> This chapter took rather a bit of licking into shape, and a chunk has been cut out and may appear in chapter 36.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks and cookies from McGonagall's jar to those who comment.


	35. Lucius Returns to the Fray

**35 Lucius Returns to the Fray**

_Monday 8 June 1998_

Lucius Malfoy was rather pleased with himself as he Flooed to the London office he had persuaded the Ministry to allow him to keep. A little over three weeks ago, he'd been on trial for his life; now he was definitely getting that life back on track. The Ministry was starting to listen to him again; more, to seek out his help. And he was careful to always give the best help he could, always to appear patient, and reasonable, and to listen, and present a humble persona. Of course, there were those who still didn't trust him; but the Minister was not one of them, and that meant a lot. With the Minister onside, a good deal of bad feeling could simply be manipulated out of his way.

And, of course, he had Harry Potter on his side, and there was absolutely no doubt that that counted for even more than the Minister's support. Especially as the Minister's was a little begrudged, while Harry was openly for the Malfoys. Well, for Draco, anyway. But he was getting the Malfoy name in the papers in a positive light, and Lucius would take that any day. Even though he had received plenty of angry letters and howlers about it; there were those who cursed him for turning Harry dark; those who claimed, despite the medical examination Harry had had, that the Malfoys had him under Imperius, or a love potion, or some other control; and those who berated him for allowing such an ungodly state of affairs in his family. He didn't actually read any of it, though; like Draco, he had simply set up a charm to reply to all the letters. He hadn't bothered to distinguish the interesting from the uninteresting; everyone he didn't know personally who sent him a complaining letter got a polite reply to the effect that Draco was of age, and what his son and his son's lover did in bed was neither his business nor the writer's.

He was dressed impeccably, as always on his infrequent forays into the Muggle world; his pin-stripe suit was elegantly understated and would not have looked out of place in any City boardroom. Many wizards had no ideas about Muggle clothing; Lucius was not one of them. There was no way that a Malfoy was going to wear anything but the best, the most fashionable, the most impressive.

He smiled as the limousine that would take him down to Surrey arrived right on time at ten thirty. The Ministry was at last getting the message that they had to make an impact on the Muggles. He could see two men in the car; the driver was wearing a smart uniform, and the man sitting in the back seat was dressed in a simple grey suit. His smile grew even wider as the man who was to be his chauffeur for the day got out and opened the door for him.

"Morning, Mr Malfoy," the man said. "I suggested that if I came as your driver today, and Mr Proudfoot as your personal assistant, we wouldn't need a separate Auror detail as well. I trust that is in order?"

"An excellent idea, if I may say so, Mr Banks," Lucius replied. "I may say I am very pleased to have the two of you with me today."

"Thank you," the Auror replied. "Please, do feel free to call me Robin – I think the first name might work better as I am your chauffeur?" he asked with a smile.

"Very well, Robin," said Lucius. He could see why Harry and Draco sang the praises of this man so loudly – he was positively devious, for an Auror. "You do both understand what I intend?"

"Oh, I think so, sir," Toby replied from inside the car. "And I may say, you have our full support."

"I'm delighted to hear that," Lucius said, as he finally entered the car and took his seat. And he meant it.

This was one luncheon engagement he was going to enjoy.

* * *

George Grunnings was not an exuberant man. His family hailed from Yorkshire, and he had inherited from his northern forebears both a rather gloomy outlook on life and the firm conviction that Yorkshire was the only place in the United Kingdom, if not the entire Universe, worth a second thought. Most people were too sensible to ask him why it was then that he had lived in Surrey for the last forty years. The starkly truthful answer was that in Yorkshire he would have been a nobody, working in the mines; the family had moved to London, where his father had started a building business and the young George had opened a small shop supplying various tools for him. That small shop had now moved to leafy Surrey and become Grunnings Drills, one of the major suppliers of drilling equipment to the building trade in the United Kingdom.

Which is how George, who had started life in a tiny one-bedroom mid-terrace house in the poorest street in Yorkshire, and grown up in the East End of London amongst that city's poorest, could now afford to live with his wife Betty in a five-bedroom detached house in one of the finer little villages in Surrey. And how he could afford to drive a very nice Jaguar motor car. And go on expensive holidays abroad twice a year. And eat his fish and chips in posh restaurants.

George had been born in nineteen thirty-four. His grandmother had been a fierce royalist, and his father, oddly for an otherwise one-eyed, strong-willed Yorkshireman, had bowed to her demands and named his first and only son after the then King, George V. Betty Bolton, later to be his wife, had been born four years later, by which time George VI was on the throne; her parents, also royalists, had named her for his wife, Queen Elizabeth, the former Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons. When they met in nineteen fifty-five, his grandmother had been overjoyed at the happy accident of them having the same names as the now former King and Queen. George had been less happy about it; he hated the Monarchy and what he saw as the oppression of the poor that it represented. But he knew better than to say any such thing to his father or grandmother, and so smiled sweetly and went out with the young girl.

It turned out that, despite this rather inauspicious beginning, they had got on well together, and they now had a very happy marriage. George had been a good provider, and Betty had kept house very well. George liked to grumble, and Betty learnt early on to just tune him out, let him rant. All she had to do to have a peaceful life was to murmur occasionally and hand him a cup of tea every half-hour; and all was well.

His world was organised on getting up early and getting stuck into the day. Some days he would sit in the front room and read the paper; some days he'd go in to work, yell at his staff, and come home at dinnertime – which for him was twelve o'clock noon; he never referred to the meal at the middle of the day as 'lunch', that was for those posh bastards he had no time for – and, as often as not, potter in his garden, not bothering to go back to the office. Of course, he would grumble about work wasting his time and keeping him away from home; but the truth was that, despite his gruff exterior, he really loved his staff. Almost everyone at Grunnings had worked there for years; you had to stuff up royally to get fired by George Grunnings. Everyone in the building trade knew this; so being sacked from Grunnings, which didn't happen often, basically meant you had no future to speak of in the industry. And very few people resigned; they were well-paid, and looked after. Occasionally, someone would be poached; but as often as not, they would return after a brief sojourn elsewhere, and be welcomed back with open arms. This, George had learnt early on, was a rich source of information about what his competitors were up to; so he didn't stand in the way of people leaving, but encouraged their coming back.

There was just one new boy; last year, following a nasty scare that might have been a heart-attack, and might not, he had been told quite bluntly that unless he wanted Betty to be a widow within the year, he had to work less. So he had hired a new Managing Director. It went against the grain to bring in someone new at such a high level; but the obvious choice for the job had not been very reliable for the past year, so reluctantly he had brought in this Collings chap. He wasn't quite sure about the man; he seemed to be a bit of a cold fish. But he couldn't dispute that Collings had had a marked positive effect on the performance of the company, so he swallowed his slight misgivings about the man.

And in the middle of all this, in the last week something had happened to upset the even tenor of his life and give him pause. He had had an offer for the business. And not just 'an offer', he thought; this was 'An Offer'. If he accepted it, he would be set for life.

Uncharacteristically for the self-made man who kept everything close to his chest, he had discussed The Offer with Betty. At first, she was flummoxed that he would ask her anything about the business; but she had then asked some very pointed and pertinent questions, all of which largely boiled down to two: "What do you think you'll do with yourself if you don't go to work every day?" and "What will happen to the staff?"

He didn't have an answer for either of these questions. And they both had niggled at him over the weekend, so he had just about made up his mind. That posh suit was coming down from London today to talk about buying the business; George was going to let him take him (and Betty; the man had all but insisted on that) for an expensive meal and then send him away with a flea in his ear.

"Serves 'im right," he muttered to himself as he sat drinking his elevenses. "Coming down here with kiss-me-'and ways, expecting us all to kow-tow to 'im."

* * *

"PETUNIA!" the fat man roared. "WHERE ARE MY CUFF-LINKS?"

Petunia Dursley closed her eyes. It was going to be one of _those_ days. "Third drawer down, left hand side," she called out to him. _Where they've been for the last twenty years,_ she thought as she plated up his breakfast.

A minute later, Vernon Dursley stomped down the stairs and entered the kitchen, violently pushing the offending cuff-links through the button holes. She sighed and reached out to help him. He kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, and sat down to his bacon, eggs and fried tomato. His wife heard the mail arrive, collected it, and sat next to him at her own breakfast of tea and toast, lightly buttered. As she did so, the front door opened, and Dudley, who was home from his boarding school, Smeltings Academy, for the rather late half-term holiday, came in from his morning jog.

This new son was taking some getting used to. Before, at half-term, they would be lucky to see him before lunch-time; it seemed like all he used to do was sleep, eat, and beat up The Freak, her nephew, Harry Potter. And, as she could see with the benefit of hindsight, get fatter and fatter, and less and less attractive. But now he was exercising, insisting on healthy meals, and had trimmed down to the point where he was now getting positive comments from the neighbourhood girls.

"Morning, Mum, Dad," he called, as he went upstairs to shower.

"Morning, dear," Petunia answered happily.

"Morning, Dudley," Vernon grunted. She could tell he hated this new Dudley. She strongly suspected that this dislike was largely jealousy; and in this suspicion she was entirely correct.

"So," she said, turning to her husband, and, taking stock of the care with which he had dressed, continued, placatingly, "you're looking very smart today, dear. Something special happening?"

"There's a rumour the Old Man might come in at three. Apparently he's got something big to announce."

"Ooh! Do you think he might get rid of Collings?" Petunia responded. 'The Old Man' was George Grunnings himself, the owner of Grunnings Drills, the company of which Vernon was now the Deputy Managing Director. He had been promoted to the role three weeks ago; but he had complained to her several times since then that he should have got Managing Director. That role had gone to a man he described as the 'hot-shot new boy', a man called Michael Collings whom Petunia had never met. Vernon blamed his failure to get the job on the fact that he'd had to be away from the office for so much time when they went into hiding just before The Freak's seventeenth birthday. Vernon had missed nearly two months of work, and even then they had been told not to return to the house, and had spent months in a cramped, uncomfortable, rented house in a vastly inferior neighbourhood.

All of this, of course, had not endeared Petunia's sister Lily Potter's son to either of the older Dursleys. But Dudley, who had only missed a few weeks of school, seemed to have been quite happy about it, and also seemed to have settled back a changed boy. The reports that came back were now praising him for 'stepping up and taking responsibility', which had made Vernon snigger and ask Dudley exactly what mischief he had been responsible for. Dudley had told his father, in an icy voice, that prefects didn't get into mischief, as he proudly showed off the new badge on his blazer. This surprise announcement produced strong, and quite different, responses from his parents. Petunia had cooed about how wonderful that her Dudders had been chosen for such an honour, while Vernon had exploded with rage; he had hated the prefects when he was at Smeltings and could not understand how his son did not feel the same way about them.

The atmosphere in the house had been rather frosty since then, and Petunia was getting a bit fed up with it. Of course, she blamed it all on The Freak, which is how she always referred to Harry; she was glad they had got the injunction, she only hoped he would abide by it. But, she worried, did wizards care for the law? They would have to, surely?

Vernon thought about her remark. _Get rid of Collings?_ He hadn't considered that possibility; he'd just assumed the worst. Meetings with Grunnings seldom went very well. Perhaps this would be the exception?

"I don't know, dear," he said, warming to the thought, "but … I guess, he hasn't been performing very well recently, it's just possible. Let's hope so, shall we?"

And he left for work in a more positive frame of mind than he had had for a week.

Such a shame it wouldn't last …

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy sat at the table in Harry's garden, drinking her tea. This was fast becoming her favourite place in the Manor to sit and think; something of the incredible strength and love that filled the young man they had given it to seemed to have rubbed off on the place, and she felt surrounded by it every time she came here. It helped that it was new; in this place, unlike most of the Manor, there were no associations of the Dark Lord; no shadows of the past to haunt her; no memories of evil to suddenly rise up and attack her.

She opened the Prophet and read carefully. Half an hour later, she closed it again, puzzled and worried. Not that there was anything particularly troubling in the paper; far from it. But that was the problem. This was The Daily Prophet. A scurrilous gossip rag. There **should** be something troubling. They **should** be raking some muck. But it was all sweetness and light, and how wonderful the Hero was, and gush gush gush.

Narcissa didn't trust them. They were sitting on something, she was sure of it. They were waiting for … what? Some misstep, perhaps? Did they have something ready, just waiting for someone to make a false move? Would some accidental remark from Harry – she loved her son's lover, but she was well aware that he was no political animal; if anyone slipped up, it would be him – spark off a huge fire?

She shook her head. Maybe she was just becoming paranoid. But a little voice in her head told her the current happy reporting was too good to be true. And the little voice that said that was usually accurate …

* * *

Robin had no difficulty finding the Dorking High Street; and as their destination was not at all inconspicuous, they arrived in plenty of time for their luncheon. Once they had parked the car, Lucius suggested they stroll around to take stock of the place, and they walked up and down the High Street.

It only took ten minutes to convince Lucius that the place was every bit as ghastly as he had expected, and they returned to the restaurant that Grunnings had chosen. Happily, there was an adjacent bar, which was open, and alcohol is alcohol no matter who serves it, so Lucius and Toby Proudfoot sat nursing glasses of scotch. Lucius was delighted to discover that, like him, Proudfoot believed that the only thing one should add to good scotch is more of the same; he was a little disappointed, however, when Robin ordered a lemonade; Lucius cast a Muffliato to cover up their conversation, and asked him about it.

"Ah," the Auror replied, his eyes twinkling. He had noticed Lucius's surprise at his order, especially as Lucius was paying. "Toby and I don't mind drinking on duty, if it's part of the façade; but I think our Muggle friends will expect that your chauffeur would refrain from alcohol. Muggles, after all, don't have the benefit of charms to remove the effects of alcohol on their bodies."

Lucius thought about this, and mentally gave the man top marks for doing his homework. "You seem well up on Muggle ways?" he asked.

"My parents feel strongly that we ignore Muggles at our peril," Robin replied. "They may be weak; but there are lots of them. I know most wizards dismiss them, assuming we can just alter their memories if necessary; but we can't Obliviate them all. And the more magic we use on them, the greater the risk of them finding out about it."

"An interesting point of view," the older man allowed, "and not one I have heard argued for recently. The Dark Lord did just dismiss Muggles as inferior vermin; but then, he dismissed Harry Potter too, and look where that got him."

The discussion ranged happily, and Lucius was so impressed with the two men that he opened up about his intentions for the meeting, which they responded to very positively. They even suggested a few tweaks; such as using a Muggle name that was close enough to his own not to cause trouble if any of them accidentally used his real one. He realised that his letter had been in a very flowing script, and signed rather illegibly, so he would easily be able to use the new name.

At quarter past one, a Muggle couple walked in, and Lucius could tell immediately that they were the two he was interested in. He walked up to the man.

"Mr Grunnings?" he asked, extending a hand in greeting, and then steering them to the dining room when he nodded. "Luke Malloy. Shall we go in?"

* * *

George Grunnings had enjoyed the lunch immensely. It helped that his host had proved to be extremely genial and rather generous with the wine; and that during the meal they had discussed many topics but steered completely away from talking about Grunnings Drills. The topic was only broached when they were seated in the bar after lunch, Lucius sipping a reasonable (by his standards) cognac and George and Betty having (by Lucius's standards, awful) port, with, in Betty's case, lemon, the thought of which had made Lucius's toes curl, though he managed (just!) to keep the disgust out of his face.

"Well, Mr Malloy," George opened, "it's very kind of you to come all this way, and there's no denying it's been a slap-up meal; but I believe you had something by way of a business proposition you wanted to put to myself?"

Lucius winced inwardly at the incorrect use of the reflexive pronoun; but then, the man wasn't that far away from a barrow-boy, really, he thought. He had also worked out that George wasn't in the mood to sell; he had used Legilimancy, but to be honest, he had hardly needed to. The man was an open book to anyone with the political acumen of a Malfoy. So, just to be on the safe side, he quietly began some small compulsion charms as the man began to speak; and found, to his surprise, that his charm met a similar one, which seemed to envelop it. He looked at the Aurors out of the corner of his eye; Proudfoot had a small smirk on his face.

"Yes indeed. Ah, Proudfoot?" he said, turning to his 'personal assistant'. The Auror placed on his lap the attaché case that Lucius had given him on the drive down, and opened it up to extract the required papers (which were, in fact, the only thing in the case); as he did so, his face was hidden by its lid, and they were able to whisper to each other unseen.

"What was that charm?" Lucius asked.

"Auror special," came the reply. "Made your charm undetectable when used on Muggles. Mind, I only let you do it because he'd had his mind changed by his wife, and your charm put things back on an even keel. There should be no more problems."

Aloud, he said, as he closed the case, "I believe these are the papers you require, sir."

"Thank you," Lucius replied, and handed them to his guest. "Now, Mr Grunnings, I believe the amount was made clear to you in previous correspondence; but what perhaps may not have been clear is that my company was rather hoping that you would stay on in an advisory capacity? We appreciate that you have a vast experience in the industry which we can't hope to match, so of course we'd be delighted for you to come in whenever it suited you to do so."

These words had exactly the effect that Lucius intended: Betty's question about what he would do with himself, which had been uppermost in his mind, now vanished away.

Grunnings puffed out his chest in pride. "I must say yours is a most handsome offer, Mr Malloy," he said, "a very handsome offer; and still being able to come and go is just the icing on the cake, so to speak. Yes," and his voice trailed off as he read the papers through. They were very simple; Lucius had guessed, correctly, that someone like Grunnings would appreciate a straightforward "cash on the barrelhead" offer, and that was what he had in front of him.

With a big grin, the man took out his very ostentatious fountain pen and signed the papers with a flourish. _Excellent,_ Lucius thought. But he knew better than most the importance of following through. The man had to leave the meeting today without the slightest misgiving that he was doing the right thing. Since he cared about the staff, Lucius would pump him for information. And that should naturally get him the information he wanted.

"Wonderful!" he said, enthusiastically, and waved at the bar staff to bring more drinks. "Now, Mr Grunnings, you must tell me about the staff. All those little things, who likes a little ego-stroke, who's at war with whom, you know what I mean."

"I do indeed," Grunnings replied, and, whether it was the wine or the pleasant manner of the man in front of him, he wasn't sure; but he soon found himself telling all about the query heart-attack, and the hiring of Mr Collings, together with long, and for Lucius and the Aurors very tedious, explanations of the difficulty of finding him and the need to treat him carefully; and particularly about the obvious bad feeling between him and his deputy, Vernon Dursley.

Lucius's ears pricked up. _At last, it gets interesting,_ he thought. "Mr Dursley? Has he been with the firm long?" he asked. And that was all it took – they were good for another half hour of discussion, explaining all the foibles of Vernon's over twenty years with the company.

"He must be an excellent employee to have lasted so long," Lucius suggested. And, as he hoped, this brought out the tale of the last year, when Vernon had rather blotted his copybook by disappearing for months under special police protection, apparently.

"It was all down to that no-good nephew of his," the man ranted, and Lucius had to fight to keep a lid on his temper. "I told him over the years to sling the boy out, he's a wrong 'un through-and-through; but Vernon always seemed to have a soft spot for him." It was as much as any of the three wizards could do to keep cool at this remark; and it got worse … "So I told him straight, 'you can't allow him back, Vernon. You've got to make sure the police know all about him, and get a Court Order to keep him away.' And I'm glad to say he's taken my advice, and the boy has dropped out of the picture altogether. The Dursleys, Vernon, Petunia and their son Dudley, are back in their lovely house in Little Whinging, and he hasn't put a foot wrong for the last month, so I'm hoping we're over the worst. Of course, I couldn't make him Managing Director after all the absenteeism."

"I don't suppose he took that well," Lucius suggested, as he effortlessly threaded through the man's mind with a mild Legilimens, finding the address neatly attached to the thought of Little Whinging: 4 Privet Drive, the man's mind obligingly told him, and he filed it away.

Grunnings snorted. "That's putting it mildly, Mr Malloy. No, there's no love lost between those two. Anyway, there you have the main lie of the land, so to speak. The rest of the company runs like clockwork; keep those two happy and away from each other's throats and it will all go swimmingly. Cheers!" he said, draining his glass. "Hmm," he continued, "I was going to go and talk to them this afternoon; but I think it can wait till tomorrow."

"Oh, that would be fine," said Lucius, taking the hint and standing up to bid goodbye. "I thought I might pop in later in the week to spy out the land, introduce myself around and make sure everyone knows that there won't be massive changes – you'll still be around, and the company will still be producing drills just like before."

"Yes, yes, right," Grunnings said, and he and Betty went off, very happy, and more than a little drunk in his case; Robin hoped that she was driving.

* * *

Vernon got home a little after five. There had been a meeting, all right, but not with Grunnings. No, Collings had called him in and laid into him about the sales figures for the last week. Vernon couldn't see what the problem was – they were a bit low, perhaps, but they would pick up. The man was a slave-driver, expecting constant perfection, he muttered under his breath, as he entered his house from the garage. He grunted at Petunia, raided the kitchen for snacks, and sat down in front of the television with an ale in one hand and a bowl of pork scratchings in the other.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs; and then a voice behind him asked, "How can you eat that revolting rubbish?"

"Dudley?" he asked, flabbergasted. He turned around, not believing that his son, of all people, could say such a thing; Dudley loved pork scratchings as much as he did. Or, it seems, used to, but no longer; there he was, standing with his arms folded, clearly not impressed.

"Come on, boy, get yourself an ale and sit down," Vernon barked, waving his son to come and sit in the other armchair in the room.

Dudley looked him up and down. He had once hero-worshipped this man; but the scales had rather fallen from his eyes when Harry had left. It had become clear to Dudley, when they had left the house to seek safety from that horrible wizard they were told about, that his parents loathed his cousin; always had, always would. And it had also become clear to him that Harry had done exactly nothing to deserve that loathing; and that his own behaviour to his cousin had been despicable. He only hoped he could find the boy and make it up with him.

As a result, he now had very little respect for the walrus-sized man in front of him. He considered his father's offer, mostly so the man would not think he was being impetuous. No, he was rejecting him quite deliberately. "I don't think so," he said eventually. "I'm going to stay with Piers for a few days. See you."

And with that he picked up the duffle-bag he had brought downstairs with him, and walked out the door.

 _What's got up his arse now?_ Vernon wondered to himself.

* * *

The three wizards had sat chatting in the bar for an hour after the meeting. The Aurors had asked Lucius what he had planned; he had explained his plan, such as it was. It all hinged, he stressed, on what Harry wanted. Left to him, Vernon would be hanging from a gibbet by morning; but it wasn't his revenge that was being plotted.

Truth to tell, the Aurors were rather relieved to hear this. As long as Lucius didn't breach the Statute of Secrecy, by letting Muggles know about magic, it would be hard to stop him doing what he wanted; the Ministry was not likely to be interested in prosecuting Lucius at the moment, given how important he was to the rather sensitive negotiations with the pure-bloods.

As they prepared to leave, Robin piped up, "so, you want to spy out the land? A quick visit to Little Whinging, then?"

Lucius smirked inwardly, but his face remained impassive. The man was gold, pure gold. "Did you get the address?" he asked.

Robin looked at him as though he were mad. "What do you think?" he asked.

* * *

The three wizards had pulled up across the street from Number 4, and had sat watching for some time. So far, they had been strictly observing, not taking any action. This visit was only to reconnoitre the area, Lucius had insisted; and the Aurors agreed with him. They would not want any action taken against the Muggles without Ministry approval, and a firm plan with a very high degree of success in place.

So they had sat quietly, not drawing attention to themselves, noting the perfect lawns and gardens, the well-maintained houses, and the general air of sterility that permeated the street. This was no place for children, Lucius thought; it was clear that there was no-one here who would love them the way they needed to be loved, who would tolerate footballs kicked through windows or rough-and-tumble play messing up the immaculate strips of lawn.

And as they watched, Dudley came out of Number 4, his duffle-bag slung over his shoulder, and a general air of discontent settled on him. He had been given a nice little Toyota Corolla for Christmas, having passed his driving test, with the help of a little bribery, in November. It was parked in front of the house; his parents worried that it made the street untidy, but in fact it was not the only car parked on the street every night so even if Dudley gave it a thought it would not have worried him. He was rather over worrying about what the neighbours thought. He was nearly eighteen years old; the neighbours were not his problem and he couldn't stop them thinking whatever they wanted.

He was engrossed in what he was doing; and he would never have seen the other car, anyway, with the Notice-Me-Not charm on it. As he came closer the three watching wizards could all feel the emotions pouring off the young man; it was all too clear that he was angry, upset, and desperate to get away from the house.

"That'll be Dudley, I take it?" Robin asked.

Lucius nodded.

"Might go for a walk," the Auror said matter-of-factly, and quietly got out of the car and strolled over to the Corolla. As he got close, Dudley looked up and saw him.

"Evening," Robin said, with an engaging little smile. "Lovely night."

"Yes," Dudley agreed. He wanted to get away; but there was something about this man. Somehow, Dudley felt, he would be worth talking to. He would help. He shut the hatch of his car and leant on it, striking up conversation with this new acquaintance. It wasn't twenty seconds before they were shaking hands, having introduced themselves, and talking away happily.

Proudfoot, watching from the car, shook his head in bewilderment.

"Every time!" he said.

Lucius gave him a quizzical look, and the Auror continued, "I just don't know how he does it. He goes over to people, says three words to them, and they pour out their hearts to him.

* * *

Dudley had been speaking to Robin for perhaps three minutes when something clicked in his head and suddenly he knew for certain that this stranger's appearance wasn't luck at all.

"You're a wizard aren't you?" he asked, his face containing equal parts wonder and fear.

"Yes," Robin said, with a smile. Of course, Dudley knew about wizards; he'd grown up with Harry, after all. But Robin had also already worked out that Dudley was coming to hate his parents and could prove to be a most useful ally; so he continued, calmly and candidly, "and a friend of Harry's."

The effect was exactly what he had hoped for. Dudley looked abashed, ashamed and hopeful all at once.

"How is he?" he asked. "Is he all right?"

"He's doing very well," Robin replied. "Would you like to see him?"

Dudley's head snapped up and his eyes came alive.

"Could I?" he asked, and Robin knew at once that the poor lad had all but given up hope of any relationship with his cousin. They'd have to work on that; meanwhile, Robin wasn't going to make promises he couldn't keep.

"I'll ask him," he said. "How can I get in touch with you?"

"Can you use a telephone?" Dudley asked.

Robin smiled, quite understanding that of course Dudley knew better than to assume that his new friend knew about the Muggle world. "Oh yes," he replied.

"Good. I'm going to stay at my friend Piers' house for the rest of the week; but you can ring me on my mobile."

He pulled out a scrap of paper, scribbled the number on it, and handed it to the Auror.

"I'll be in touch," Robin promised. "Stay safe, Dudley."

"Thanks, Robin," the boy replied, with his first smile for the day.

* * *

Robin gave a full report on the way back to London.

"I agree with you," Lucius replied. "A most useful ally. We shall have to consider how best to make use of this happy turn of events."

And he sat quietly for the rest of the journey, his face impassive, lost in his thoughts, letting them wander, letting a new plan come to him.

When they arrived back in London at half past six, there was a nasty twinkle in his eye and a broad grin on his face which boded no good for Vernon Dursley …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to Bicky Monster for another job well done!  
> And for some very kind words.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks and Bertie Bott's beans to all who comment.
> 
> This chapter takes us in a new direction, but I've had it in mind for a while, honest. What do you think should happen next? How should Lucius punish Vernon? Or will Narcissa have the best idea? Will Harry want to see his cousin again?


	36. Nightmares Make a Return Visit

**36 Nightmares Make a Return Visit**

* * *

_Monday 8 June 1998 (still!)_

By the time the Wizengamot proceedings against Marcus Flint had concluded, and Ollivander's testimony had been written up and signed, and the man sent home with many thanks from the Chief Warlock, it was already nearly six o'clock; so there was no question of Harry and Draco going to Hogwarts. As they stood together wondering what to do next, Libatius Borage came up to them.

"Mr Potter, my warmest congratulations on your engagement," he said, shaking a very shocked looking Harry by the hand. Seeing the look, and guessing its meaning, he smirked, and continued, "now, now, Mr Potter, while we Potions Masters have to be perfectionists – potions don't ever 'nearly work', after all, you have to get it exactly right every time – so we often come across as cold and demanding; but we are not entirely devoid of feeling."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, then, feeling like a complete fool, "sorry."

"That's quite all right," he replied. "Now, you two gentlemen look to be at a bit of a loss; what say we go off and have a bite to eat together?"

There are times when Gryffindor impetuousness wins out; Draco was still trying to phrase a polite refusal in his mind, not wishing to put the man out, when he heard Harry's "that's very kind, we'd love to."

There was, he decided, nothing to be done but grin and accept the situation. He would feel awkward, he knew, especially after the discussion he and Borage had had at lunchtime. On the other hand, Harry would be there; he could feel awkward too.

* * *

An hour later, they were seated in Borage's very well-appointed dining room, having eaten some truly succulent spring lamb, and drinking an elf-wine that Harry had not tried before. Harry found the meal to be a truly surreal experience; here they were, a complete potions numpty and a former Death Eater sitting with a Potions Master who just happened to be a member of the major court of the wizarding world. As the meal went on, Draco and Borage would discuss Potions, and Harry would be totally lost; then Borage would lean over to Harry, and discuss the ins and outs of the Potter Code, and Draco would look equally lost. In an attempt to complete the circle, Harry started discussing the Haussmann shield, hoping that he and Draco would now have a topic which they could discuss with Borage being lost. But it was not so.

"Yes, now this is a truly interesting circumstance," their host said. "I understand that you two have a fully functioning Endurant Shield between you?"

They nodded in agreement. "How much do you know about such things, sir?" Draco asked.

Borage waved away the use of the formal title. "Call me Libatius," he said, "at least until you're my apprentice. Now, I have done some research on the topic, largely because the Ministry was very interested, at one point, about shields of all kinds and whether they could be created, or strengthened, by any form of potions. I should imagine they also had experts in other fields working on other ways to improve shields, but I know nothing about that."

As Libatius finished this little speech, the house-elves appeared and served dessert, which was a deliciously refreshing fruit sorbet. As he started eating, it occurred to Harry that this 'one point' was probably when Voldemort had come to power the first time; but none of them would want to talk about that, he was sure, so he asked, "and what did you find, Libatius?"

"Not much," the Master replied, sounding rather rueful. "The magic behind potions and the magic behind creating shields are quite different, and somewhat incompatible; potions, after all, work by being ingested, or spread on some person or object; in short, they work by contact, whereas the point of a shield is precisely to avoid contact. I did have some success with strengthening shields, but nothing really spectacular, certainly nothing worth exciting the Auror corps over. As for a Haussmann shield, I certainly have no idea how to create one and there's not much point in even thinking about strengthening one, given that they are probably the strongest kind of shield there is. Tell me about it," he said, and the look that came into his eyes was, Harry thought, exactly like the look that Hermione got when she was hot on the trail of some piece of research, "have you noticed any change in the shield over time?"

"Well," Draco drawled, "I wasn't really paying attention, I'm afraid. I found I was rather busy dealing with the fact of being attacked, to be honest."

Harry chuckled. It was such a Draco thing to say. "I would say, yes," he replied, reining in his amusement for Borage's sake. "When Ron sent the Stupefy and the Shield was created, the curse seemed to sort of splat against it and spread out before it got absorbed. Then the first time we were both attacked, I felt like the shield was very strong, able to absorb the first two curses easily, though it sort of wobbled a bit. Then it was as if the Sectumsempra was too much to absorb, and it got bounced back to Theo. The second time was different. They were all just absorbed and the shield held stiffly, there wasn't any sort of wobble. And it went opaque for longer the second time."

"Opaque?" Borage asked, perking up. "It actually had some colour?"

"Yes, all three times," Draco said. "There were three colours: green, red and silver. They seemed to swirl together, didn't they, Harry?"

Borage's eyes shone with the excitement of an academic handed a whole new problem. He Summoned a quill and some parchment as he continued, "Fascinating. Tell me about these three times, especially about the colours."

So, for the next half-hour, they explained Ron's attack on Draco at Hogwarts, the attack at the Memorial, and the attack at their engagement party, while Borage took copious notes.

"I see," Borage said when they had finished. "So, the colours formed quite a large part of this story; one that I had not heard. I shall have to have words with my sources of gossip," he said, with a playful smile on his lips. "Mr Potter, your glass is empty. Some more dessert wine?"

"Thank you," Harry said. A different wine had been served with the sorbet, and Harry found it deliciously sweet and refreshing. "Do you have any theory about the colours?"

"The obvious hypothesis is that they have something to do with the magic of the participants," he replied. "That would certainly be how it would work if we were talking about bonding spells, and the Haussmann Shield seems to always be discussed in the context of bonding. In your case," and here Harry held his breath; would the man come out with some snide remark about their relationship?

"In your case," Borage continued, oblivious of Harry's concerns, "do you have any reason to associate the colours red, green and silver with yourselves?"

Harry thought over the times when the colours had come out. "Hmm," he mused. "I guess I've tended to see the colours in nightmares." It occurred to him that he really didn't want to talk about his nightmares at length with Borage; the man was likely to be clinical about them, and he wasn't sure he was quite up to such a discussion. "Um, I guess, I've seen silver bands encircling me, and woken up with Draco's arms around me; perhaps that means that silver has something to do with him?"

"That's plausible," Draco agreed. "And the other night, I felt your magic coming out, and saw long green strands; so maybe the green is you?"

Draco didn't say when this was, and Borage didn't ask; Harry was grateful to both of them for this, remembering well that this was the night he had proposed to Draco, and they had been very intimate …

"Well, that all seems quite possible," Borage remarked. "On the basis of your evidence so far, I would say that green stands for your magic, and silver for Draco's; but what the red stands for is anyone's guess, of course, as we have no information to base a hypothesis on. Unless you can think of anything?"

Harry thought back to the creation of the shield. "You don't think it could be Ron's, do you? I mean," he continued, as both the other men were looking at him rather strangely, "he was involved at the start, when the shield was created in response to his attack; and red, I don't know, maybe has to do with his hair? Or being a Gryffindor?"

Borage smiled at him. "An interesting idea," he replied. "And more plausible than you seem to think, Mr Malfoy," he said to the blond, having obviously noticed Draco's rather shocked expression at the idea. "Though of course, Mr Potter, both green and silver are Slytherin colours."

"I was almost sorted into Slytherin," Harry confessed.

"Indeed?" Borage said, his eyebrow arched, but he did not pursue the matter. "Interesting. That does lend a little weight to your hypothesis. But we have no data, so for the moment, it must remain just a theory. I understand Mr Weasley is currently abroad?"

They nodded.

"Yes," Harry replied, "they're due to return at the end of next week." And it was only as he said it that he realised just how soon it was.

"Then when he gets back we may find some way to test the idea. Until then, I think we must just wait. Now, you two young men have been very kind, but it's just on eight o'clock and I'm not getting any younger. Why don't you toddle off and enjoy the rest of the evening?"

With this obvious, but courteous, dismissal, the two thanked their host and took their leave and Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. For his part, Borage chuckled and waved them away, settling down in an armchair in front of his fire with a fine old cognac at his elbow.

"Two delightful young men," he mused to himself. "And obviously head-over-heels in love with each other. But poor Mr Potter is rather embarrassed about the whole thing. Delightful."

* * *

 

Barnabus Cuffe was even more livid than usual. First he had found out that Skeeter had made a devil's bargain with Potter. Not interview him or his friends while he was at Hogwarts? What the hell was she thinking to propose such a thing? And what made it worse was that he had to admit that she was right: painting the Prophet as the protector of Potter's privacy was a whole lot better than being kept away from him by Ministry decree. But that was a rational response, and a large part of being a successful newspaperman was gut instinct, which knew nothing of rationality; he might accept that making the bargain was the right thing to do, but that did not at all assuage his anger at the fact that it had been made on his behalf without his consent.

And now Wiggleswade had turned in his report on Marcus Flint's trial, which he had hoped would have some fire and life to it; he had already prepared in his mind a smart editorial about the evils that were still out there and the need for watchfulness. But it seems the trial had been a non-event; and without a sensational bit of news to hang it on, his editorial was useless. He supposed that hoping for sensational journalism from Wiggleswade was a long shot; the man was as dry as they came, but he did write surprisingly readable copy, and he was a useful link back to the Ministry, so Cuffe kept him on.

And then there was all this other guff about the Elder wand. Especially now that it was now apparently completely powerless. What was he supposed to do with this? All that Rabbity-Babbity nonsense rehashed? Really, did the Wizengamot have nothing better to do than listen to fairy-tales? And what was the point? "Potter has Useless Wand" hardly made for a good headline!

He sat slumped in his chair, nursing a shot of fire-whiskey. Boring, boring, boring. An editor's worst nightmare. And then he sat up. Nightmare. That was it. What had his former boss said to him? "When you've got a nightmare and you want to get rid of it, give it to someone else." Now that was an idea. Definitely an idea. Where was the little paper, which that intern - what was her name? _Susan Bones,_ he remembered, that was it – yes, where was the paper she had researched for him?

He recalled giving her the brief: telling her it was to 'flesh the story out, make sure they had some depth to it'. Well, of course he had said that. You could hardly say 'give us ammunition to fire at Harry Potter' to one of his schoolmates, after all …

* * *

As they came out of the Floo, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry.

"You're missing them, aren't you," he said, more a statement than a question.

Harry's eyes widened. Draco didn't have to say who 'they' were, of course; the truth was, he had been thinking about Ron and Hermione ever since they'd started talking about the colours, and it had struck him how much he was looking forward to their return.

"Yes," he replied, adding, keeping a very light tone that belied real concern, "not jealous, I hope?"

Draco snorted. "Of which one? I don't have reason to be, do I?"

And Harry could tell that, while Draco's tone matched his, this could be a real flash-point. His lover was worried about what was going to happen when Ron and Hermione got back from Australia. And fair enough, too. After all, Ron and Hermione had been staying here, which was fine when it was just him, and would even have been fine if he and Ginny had got back together; but the four of them, Ron, Hermione, Draco and him in the house together, that was a whole new dynamic. His friends had been very supportive of them before they left, it was true; but things were bound to be different now that they were engaged.

Draco was within his rights to have concerns; and Harry was determined to deal with them carefully. The last thing he wanted was for this to deteriorate into a 'them-or-me' scenario. He needed his friends, and he needed Draco. Most of all, he needed them all to know he loved them all. He pulled back from his fiancé, keeping his arms on his shoulders so Draco would know he wasn't being rejected, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Never. Absolutely not. They are my friends, like Pansy and Blaise are yours. They are welcome in this house and in my life because they are my friends. But you're different. I can't call you my friend; you're half of me. We're together now, and I mean that to be for good. And I won't say you're welcome in this house; you are, but because it's your house as well now, not because I say so."

"And Pansy and Blaise?" Draco asked, a bit shocked at this forthright declaration.

"It's your house, they're your friends, of course they are welcome here. And Theo as well, and anyone else that we can be friends with, regardless of house or history. That's what I want, Dragon, to put the name-calling and fighting and bitterness of the War behind us and thumb our noses at the old divisions. Our schooldays were a nightmare that made us enemies because of who our parents were, not who we were. We're going to change that, alright?"

Draco smiled. He had been concerned about the reception Pansy and Blaise would have in the future, especially when the other Gryffindors got back; Harry was very accepting of his friends, true, but they were his friends, not Harry's. But apparently that didn't make any difference; the friction he had foreseen simply wasn't there. Not from Harry, anyway. And by the sound of it, he wouldn't stand for it from Granger and Weasley either. As for the other way round, well, Blaise and Pansy were certainly being won round by the openness of Harry and Neville, even if Dean and Seamus were still a bit stand-offish.

"Thank you," he said, simply, and kissed Harry on the cheek.

"Welcome," Harry said, blushing slightly. Feeling the need to break the moment lest it turn more embarrassing, he picked up an overcoat and walked to the front door. Draco arched an eyebrow at this unusual behaviour.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just for a walk," Harry replied. "We've been cooped up all day."

"But it's raining," Draco pointed out, as Harry opened the door on a spring shower.

"Oh come on, Draco, we've played Quidditch in worse!" he jibed, and raced out the door. Draco sighed, and followed him out the door at a somewhat more leisurely pace. As he drew level with the two Aurors on duty, he saluted them, and asked, "is he going to be safe?"

"No sign of enemy activity, if that's what you mean, sir," the Auror replied. "But I reckon he's going to get wet, he'll want a warm toddy when he gets back in, I should think."

Draco sighed again, cast an Impervius charm to keep the rain off him, and sauntered out after the impossible, irritating, impetuous Gryffindor. The one he loved. _The one he was supposed to protect_ , a thought reminded him, and he knew it was the Debt announcing that it was still there and operative. Fortunately, Harry had not gone far; he was standing in the park opposite the house, arms stretched out, getting thoroughly wet.

"Isn't it lovely and warm!" he said, as Draco came up to him.

"Well, it is if you're sensible enough to ward off the rain," Draco said, his voice taking on the exasperated tone of scolding love perfected by mothers everywhere.

Harry just poked out his tongue, then decided that maybe Draco had a point; he was, truth to tell, getting saturated to the skin, so, being Harry, said "all right then, race you home!" and ran off, Draco following more sedately. When he got back into the house, he found Harry was in the drawing room, toweling his hair dry, having already spelled most of the water away. They both sank into armchairs, finding, to their surprise, that they were exhausted by all the testimony they had heard and thinking they had done during the day. Not to mention the pleasant food, fine wine, and tiny amount of exercise.

"What did you think of Borage? 'Not getting any younger', my foot," Draco said, caustically, imitating the older man. "He could tell we wouldn't want to stay much longer."

"He wasn't anything like what I expected," Harry observed.

Draco looked at him askance. "Why, what did you expect?"

"Snape, basically," Harry replied, shortly.

Draco laughed. "Two things, Harry. First, Borage isn't Snape, he doesn't have to act like him, and I think he's rather got a soft spot for both of us. And second, in a sense Snape wasn't Snape, either; the Snape you knew, always attacking and sarcastic, was largely a front. When he wanted to be, he could be quite kind …"

The blond's voice trailed off, and he was obviously thinking back over something that Snape had said to him, or done for him; Harry, sensing that it was rather private and special, gave him a moment of peace before continuing.

"So, Draco," Harry asked, when he judged that the blond had had enough time, and not him to begin feeling awkward, "what did you and Borage discuss at lunch? Doge and I rather missed your company, you know. Did it have to do with being his apprentice, like he suggested at dinner?"

The blond's eyes lit up at once. "Yes, exactly!" he said. "He wanted to know how serious I was about that," he said, excitedly. "He said that Arthur had discussed with him about how, now that the Wizarding world was trying to recover from the War, we need all able-bodied witches and wizards back on deck, not hiding away any more, and pressed him to come back out of his current semi-retirement. You saw what he's like, once you start a rational argument with him, he's going to follow it wherever it goes and damn anybody's comfort, even his own. So Borage agreed that he would take an apprentice if he could find someone good enough. Arthur must have suggested that I might be interested; Borage grabbed me at lunch and put the whole thing in front of me, telling me he'd decided to sound me out straight away."

"And …" Harry said, encouragingly.

"And …" Draco replied, teasingly. "And, I'm very interested, of course, you know that. He seemed very pleased; he said I need at least a top E for Potions and he would definitely consider me."

Harry smiled at him warmly. "Of course he was pleased! Congratulations!" he said. "You're a shoo-in for an Outstanding, after all. I bet he's guessed that too; surely one expert can tell another! And at dinner it certainly sounded like he thought the apprenticeship was only a matter of time."

"Thanks," Draco said, but he didn't look convinced.

Harry looked at him for a few minutes, wondering how to encourage his lover out of the blue funk he seemed, all of a sudden, to be sliding in to. It didn't help that Harry had no clue what the problem might be; he hadn't often seen such a lack of self-confidence from Draco Malfoy. But perhaps, he thought, the stresses of the last few weeks were telling on him. Being in prison, and attacked, and getting howlers and rude letters, and not wanting to go out in public; things had changed so much in the last few weeks, after all, even more for Draco than for him; it was no surprise, really, if he felt a bit insecure.

Perhaps he could get Draco doing something? Harry found that always worked for him, maybe it was worth a try for his fiancé.

"Look," he said, "you're brilliant at Potions. Why don't you go off and brew something just to remind yourself of the fact?"

Draco looked at him, a shy smile creeping onto his face. "What shall I brew?"

Harry thought for a minute.

"How about hangover cures? Then we invite the twins round, drink some of the elf-wine your father gave us, and use the potions later …"

"It's a plan!" Draco said, laughing at the sheer cunning of his lover, pulling the idea seemingly out of thin air. It was … magical …

As he made his way to his room to set up a makeshift potions lab, he wondered about the Elder wand. It had lost its magic; and Harry seemed to have gained a new magic. A magic that had captured his heart, and was changing him. He knew he was no longer the same mean, sarcastic git he had been at school. Oh, he was still himself, he knew that; but he had to face the fact that 'himself' wasn't the same person as a year ago.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at his desk, reading through the article that Dempster Wiggleswade had written about the trial, which was to be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. He winced as he read it. Cuffe was going to hate it, he knew that. It was circumspect, and informative, without pointing fingers at anyone or making any sort of sensationalist claims. Everything, in short, that Cuffe detested in a newspaper article.

Sighing, he turned to Tom Godwin's report. This corroborated everything Wiggleswade had said; well, of course, he hadn't expected anything else. He was well acquainted with each of them; he had always made a point of being on friendly terms with his colleagues in the Ministry, a habit that was bearing rich fruit now that he had become the Minister. Both men had high ethical standards, as one would expect for employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This was the main reason why Dempster was allowed, in fact encouraged, to write for the Prophet; without any overt force, the Ministry managed to inject the voice of common sense through him. Merlin knew that the Prophet needed someone to write sense for it! And this was also why Tom had been earmarked for senior rank in the Auror corps; there was even a chance he might well make it to Head Auror. He winced again as he remembered the interview he'd had on Friday with the current Head Auror, Gawain Robards. The man was clearly exhausted, and had indicated he intended to retire soon; even though he'd only been in the job for two years, the War had taken a great deal out of him. Kingsley grimaced at the thought of what Gawain must have endured under Pius Thicknesse as Minister.

Godwin's report went further than Wiggleswade's. Tom had appended a memorandum to his report; the report proper dealt with the facts of the case, while the addendum was more about people's reactions and how they had struck him at the time. He always did this, especially now that Kingsley openly encouraged him to. The facts were important, and had to be set down precisely; but to know the impressions, the thoughts he had had at the time, that gave a whole new dimension to the proceedings.

And there were a number of things in that report to worry him. Surprisingly, the details of the Elder Wand didn't concern him over much. After all, Ollivander had testified that it was now useless, so no-one was going to try to wrest it off Harry. Which removed a burden he hadn't even really thought about; but should have, perhaps. After all, Harry had announced that the wand was the fabled Elder Wand, and that he was its master, to the whole room at the Battle of Hogwarts.

But this wasn't really that important. No, more important, perhaps most important, was the almost complete non-participation of Draco Malfoy. What was going on there? Why was the boy, who had always come across as cock-sure, arrogant, and full of himself, prepared to sit quietly in Harry Potter's shadow? All right, they were engaged; but there had to be more than that. Was it something to do with this Debt, he wondered? He shuddered as he thought about what might happen if Cuffe got hold of that idea. After all, the Prophet already knew of the Debt's existence; but Harry had managed (rather neatly, he thought) to keep Skeeter away from any details when she had interviewed him here in the Ministry. But, knowing Cuffe, someone was going digging and sooner or later, they would find some dirt, and make a nice ball of filthy mud to throw at someone.

He sighed, and almost wished for the simpler days when all he had to worry about was pursuing murderous Death Eaters and trying to keep the Wizarding World safer. At least then his enemies were obviously villains. His life now was more tip-toeing around, trying to foresee and fend off attacks from all sides. He found most of his days were like waiting for a bomb to go off.

He could only hope it was later, rather than sooner, and not aimed at him, he decided, as he put things away and headed home.

* * *

Draco was still deep in his ruminations as he brewed the hangover potion. When he'd finished, he came out of his room to find that the twins and Neville had arrived, and were playing Exploding Snap with Harry. George took one look at him, and decided that Operation Delighted Draco needed to go into overdrive.

"Hey Draco!" he said. "Great party on Saturday! I specially enjoyed the coloured lights!"

Neville went pink at this remark, having made the flowers, as they all knew perfectly well. The sight made Draco laugh.

"Right!" said Fred, happy to hear the laughter; he had, of course, reached exactly the same conclusion as George, and was delighted that his brother had acted so promptly. _I must remind him to apologise to Neville,_ he thought. But to help things out, he continued, "are any of your friends free? We could have a big game."

A quick round of Floo calls found that Pansy and Blaise were free. Pansy told them that Theo was spending the night in St Mungo's, they were still monitoring him on and off, which apparently would continue until term started.

"Ooh," Fred twitted her, "how come you know so much about Theo?"

Pansy went red, and Blaise collapsed into laughter. "You Gryffindors!" he said.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, sure he didn't want this division back into houses.

"Oh, sorry," Blaise said at once, immediately taking his meaning. "I just meant, in Slytherin house, we would all have traipsed very carefully around the question; but here you are, charging in. I think," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, which was pointless as they could all hear him, "there might be a little thing going on between them. But don't tell her I said so, OK?"

"Blaise, how very dare you!" Pansy said, but it was the tone one uses to an exasperating but loved friend, and he took no offense. The others smirked, and Draco said that they had mentioned something about cards?

The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly; they all played cards, had cocoa and fruit-cake, and drank rather more elf-wine than was wise; though Draco noticed that Blaise was careful not to drink too much, keeping Harry's glass full instead. The hangover potion was going to get a good workout, he thought; and with that thought, his mind went back to his concerns of before, and he wondered again just who he was and what he wanted.

The others all went home happy enough, but Draco was still very pensive when they took the potion. It was, of course, flawless; all pain went straight away and they went bed, tired out, but happy.

And he was still thoughtful as he and Harry lay in bed together, cuddling.

"You all right, Dragon?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern. "You've seemed to be in an odd mood all night."

"Yes, not really," Draco replied. Oddly, the reply made sense to Harry.

"What's wrong? Can I help?" the raven-haired man asked, his arms gripping Draco tighter, trying to convey the love and concern that were running through him.

"You are helping," the blond replied. "Just … keep holding me. Please."

Harry smiled and kissed his lover. He fell silent; Draco seemed to need space to think things through, and that was OK with him. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, and Draco lay still, listening to his lover's even breathing, as Harry's arms fell away and they lay together, side by side.

What was wrong? He didn't really know. There was the Debt; was that still worrying him? He couldn't be sure. But somehow, Harry had given his all, and Draco wanted to do the same. He wanted Harry to make love to him, to fill him. He wanted to feel the deep connection that Harry had felt three nights before.

Who was he? Draco Malfoy, of course, that was hardly even a question. He had always known, always been told, what it meant to be a Malfoy. But Harry had changed all that. Harry was a breath of fresh air who had arrived into the Wizarding world from a Muggle hell and made people question all the things they had taken for granted about their world. He had come into Draco's life, and loved him, and made him his lover. His fiancé. How things had changed! Before, he would have sneered at being described as Harry Potter's fiancé. Now, he loved it.

What did he want? He wanted to surrender to his lover. But he was afraid. Of what? He couldn't say. But perhaps, just perhaps, he had found how to deal with the problem. He had to face his fear, whatever it was; instead of running from it, as he always had, he had to look it in the eye and grapple with it.

And that asked the question:

How does a Slytherin become brave?

* * *

Draco was still awake when it started.

Within the space of a heartbeat, it seemed, Harry went from gentle snores to full-blown blood-curdling screams. Draco, willing himself not to panic, threw his arms around Harry and held him tightly, and as he did so, images started pouring through his mind. Images of someone falling, falling into the Veil, and Aunt Bella's hideous voice shouting 'I killed Sirius Black'; and Professor Lupin being killed by a Death Eater, he wasn't sure who; and then himself, under the tree in Harry's garden, and it was only at this point that he knew what must be happening: Harry was having a nightmare and somehow the images were playing in his mind as well, and he heard a voice taunting: "you can't save them; they all die because you're a freak! Evil! Unclean!"

And he knew as he heard it that this was the voice of the pig-eyed man, Harry's uncle, who was at the root of so much of the hurt he had received; and he caressed his fiancé, smoothing his hands over him and whispering what he hoped were words of calm and comfort.

"Shh, Harry," he said, "I'm here, you're safe here, with me, shh, it's all right …"

He carried on; he had no idea what he was saying, only that somehow he wanted to break through the pain, shatter the images, silence the voice that was making Harry hurt so badly. He wanted his lover to live, really live, not to have fear or pain dictating their lives. He wanted Harry to be whole, beyond the reach of his uncle to ever hurt him again, even in his dreams, and free from whatever other demons tried to get at him in the night. He wanted Harry to know how important he was to all of them, how connected he was. Above all, he wanted Harry to know that he belonged to Draco. They belonged to each other.

And it hit him, all of a sudden, that **he** wanted this. This was his very own desire. It wasn't the Debt forcing him; it wasn't the bond pulling him in; it wasn't an expectation put on him by Harry or his parents or his friends. He wanted it for himself, not because it was something he was supposed to do as a pure-blood, or how he should behave as a Slytherin student.

This was purely, simply, the desire of his heart. That he and Harry would be together. That they would be one. He felt a strange release going through him, and knew it for what it was: he had finally, completely, given his heart to Harry Potter. He thought he had done so before; now he knew it was true. Now all he had to do was to work out how to make it real …

Completely oblivious to Draco's sudden epiphany, Harry blinked and tried to sit up. But Draco's hold on him was too tight; so Harry's eyes opened wide and he looked around, obviously wondering why he could barely move.

"What – oh, Draco? What happened? Did I -" and then it became clear to Harry what had happened. "Oh Merlin, another nightmare. Draco, I'm sorry, I don't know why you put up with –"

"Harry Potter," Draco began, his voice low and steady, but with a steely undercurrent, "don't you DARE apologise to me for ANYTHING!"

Harry could barely hold back a grin as he remembered these were the very words Andromeda had said to him weeks ago in the Burrow. "OK," he murmured, and the blond's wrath seemed to evaporate completely as Harry snuggled into him.

"That's better," Draco said, the warmth of his lover calming his own heartbeat down, so that they came down from the adrenalin high of the frightful dream together.

Five minutes later, they were both sound asleep, wrapped tightly in each other's arms, a smile on both of their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. 
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks to vernie_klein and abrat4u for their comments. I'm still interested in your ideas for punishing Vernon and Petunia.


	37. Narcissa Returns to the Gentle Art of Mothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's chill turns a bit more serious.

**37 Narcissa Returns to the Gentle Art of Mothering**

_Tuesday 9 June 1998_

"Mrum – gnurk," Harry muttered as he came awake slowly.

"And good morning to you too," Draco replied, highly amused at his lover's inarticulateness.

Harry opened his eyes to find Draco's silver orbs looking at him. There was a twinkle in his eye; but it seemed to vanish as soon as he saw Harry's eyes and Harry wondered what he had seen to make that happen. But he wasn't game to apologise for making his fiancé frown after the scolding he had received last night, so he decided on another tack.

"Morning," he said, though it came out a little muffled and croaky. "What shall we do today?"

"You, by the look of you, are going to spend today in bed," Draco said firmly, "which serves you right for rushing out into the rain without an umbrella or Impervius charm. Your eyes look tired and rather grey, and your throat is not too well by the sound of it."

"Are you going to stay in bed too?" Harry asked, a note of hope in his voice.

Draco laughed. "Maybe, for some of it. But first, I'm going to get us breakfast."

This made Harry giggle, which unfortunately made him cough. It seemed he really might actually be unwell, he thought. "You mean, you're going to get Kreacher to make breakfast," he pointed out.

"Of course," Draco said, mystified that Harry would think anything else; then he remembered that Harry had made him breakfast once. A very nice breakfast, too. Well, if Harry wanted to make them food, he wouldn't complain, especially as he certainly had a flair for it; but Draco certainly wasn't going to, not when there was a perfectly capable house-elf who would actually want to do it for them.

* * *

Half an hour later, having eaten scrambled eggs and bacon, they lay together, clasped in each other's arms. Harry closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of being held, and loved; Draco's scent surrounded him, and it was the most wonderful smell on Earth.

 _Was it the same as before?_ he wondered. Something had changed. Somehow it was more intimate; he felt they were more together than they ever been before. He didn't want to ask about it, though; the moment was too good to spoil with words. He nuzzled in to his lover's shoulder, and was rewarded with a kiss to the forehead.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, Draco was no longer in the bed; he was a bit disorientated. How had the blond had time to move, and how had he done so without Harry feeling it? A quick Tempus charm showed the answer to both questions: it was now eleven o'clock, he must have fallen straight back to sleep. Rather embarrassed with himself for doing so, he got up and headed for the shower.

When he got back, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, he found Draco sitting on the bed with a tea-tray.

"What exactly do you think you are doing?" the blond asked, stony-faced. "I thought I told you that you were staying in bed today?"

"Yeah, but you left, and I missed you, so I thought I'd get up and come find you."

Draco did not look entirely mollified by this, but clearly had decided that his sternness wasn't getting him very far, as his voice was now quite soft as he continued, handing Harry a clean pair of pajamas, "Well, I'm here now. So you can get back into bed and we'll have some tea together."

Harry thought of objecting; but the look on Draco's face was simultaneously entreating him to do as he was asked, and daring him not to and face the consequences. Harry decided he'd rather not know what the consequences would be, so he complied, putting on the pajamas and sitting up at the bed head, bringing the covers up under his arms.

"That's better," Draco said approvingly, handing him a steaming hot mug of tea. Harry sipped it appreciatively; it had just the right amount of honey, he discovered. Obviously Draco was getting very used to his foibles; or perhaps Kreacher had done it. He decided not to ask, and just assume it was Draco.

"What are you going to do for the rest of today?" he asked the blond.

Draco looked a little surprised. "I thought you wanted me here with you," he said, sounding a little hurt.

"Yes, but you ran away, so I assume you'd rather not be chained to the bed too," he said with a smirk to make it clear that he wasn't serious but was just playing with his lover.

"Very funny," Draco said sarcastically. "While you were asleep, I continued some of the renovations, so it's not like I'm chained to anything. And anyway, I'm not supposed to go anywhere without your say-so, remember?"

Harry blinked and looked at him. "Draco, I told you, I trust you. Do you want to go somewhere? We skipped Hogwarts yesterday; it would be good if one of us went – if you want to. I don't mind; and it would give you a chance to catch up with your friends without me breathing down your neck. I mean, it was fun with Pansy and Blaise last night, but I bet there are things you would like to say to them that were a bit difficult with the rest of us there."

Draco thought about this, refraining from pointing out that he rather liked it when Harry breathed down his neck. His lover was just too good to him sometimes, he thought. "If you really don't mind, I would actually like that," he finally admitted.

"Good," said Harry, his face breaking into a smile. They sat with each other in happy silence until they had both finished their tea, at which point Harry insisted on a kiss goodbye.

"Enjoy yourself," he told his lover, as he snuggled down into the bedclothes for another nap.

* * *

"Harry … Harry … HARRY!"

The concerned voice finally broke through into his sleeping subconscious and he woke up to find Narcissa in the room with him.

"Narcissa?" he said, shakily, pushing himself up to the bed head so that they could converse more easily. As he did so, he was rather glad that Draco had made him put pajamas on. "Um, not to be rude, but why are you here?"

She smiled at him. "You were having a nightmare, and yelling rather loudly, and Kreacher didn't know what to do about it, so he Flooed me for advice. So I came at once," she replied simply.

"Oh," Harry said, turning pink with embarrassment. "Thank you. I'm sorry to trouble you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. Really, he was too sweet. "Of course, Harry," she said, sitting next to him on the bed. "It's no trouble. And, not to be rude in turn, why are you here alone, and where is Draco?"

"Oh, he's at Hogwarts," the raven-haired lad replied. "I wasn't very well this morning and he told me I had to stay in bed; but there's no reason for him to have to stay here too, so I told him to go and catch up with his friends."

Narcissa was not sure about this. On the one hand, she loved it that Draco was being given such freedom. The level of trust that Harry was showing was truly wonderful: he was, after all, legally responsible for Draco's parole, and would be quite within his rights to insist on Draco being with him at all times. On the other hand, the world was a dangerous place for her son; he had, after all, already been attacked at Hogwarts. _And at the Manor, too,_ a little voice in her head said; but that was different, she decided: that had been orchestrated. And on the third hand ( _really?_ she thought; but what do you say when you suddenly think of a third thing? 'On the first foot?'), just what exactly did her son think he was doing leaving a sick man alone and going off and enjoying himself? Especially when it wasn't just anyone, it was her future son-in-law's health being endangered?

On balance she decided she wasn't going to be an interfering mother-in-law or a scolding mother. Both boys – men, now, really – were of age; they were going to do what they wanted anyway, and she knew in her heart it was better to graciously accept that and support them in their choices.

But it seemed she had taken a little too long in thinking about things, and Harry looked at her, worried. "You think that was stupid, don't you? He could be in danger. Maybe it was, but…"

"Harry," she said, cutting him off, "I think it's lovely that you trust Draco enough to let him go off without you; and I'm enormously grateful that you love him enough to want him to have his own friends, and not to be threatened by that. Yes, he could get attacked; but you can't live your life in fear. Now, no more avoiding the subject: tell me about the nightmare."

"It was nothing, really …" Harry began.

"They always are when you wake up," Narcissa agreed. "It's only when you're asleep that they have power. But that's the point, really, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Harry agreed. "It was about … about being back in my cupboard at Privet Drive."

"Yes," Narcissa said, soothingly, gratified that he was prepared to share with her – it would be so easy, after all, for him to clam up and send her away. But she sensed that he couldn't do that – there was something in his generous nature that meant, while he would probably never seek help on his own, he would never refuse anyone who wanted to offer it. _Anyone he trusts, anyway,_ she thought – and that was probably true, and the implication that he trusted her was quite staggering, but needed to be faced at another time. "And what happened?"

"Nothing, really," he said, slowly. "I was just locked in there, and a feeling of despair came over me, like I would never get away; I think I must have been yelling, crying for someone to come and let me out. That must be what Kreacher heard."

"I see," said Narcissa, hating those Muggles even more than ever for what they had done to that sweet, lovely child. "Did your aunt and uncle feature at all?"

"Um," said Harry, taking his time and thinking over the event again, "no, I don't think so … except, I heard Vernon's laughter. But he wasn't laughing at me. It was like he was happy outside, and I was totally insignificant, unimportant, unlovely and unloved, just locked away and ignored."

Narcissa reached out to him and enveloped him in a hug. As she did so, she started involuntarily at how hot he was. They would need to fix that, and soon. But first things first. "Oh Harry," she said, "I really don't know how anyone could think you were insignificant. You are just the most wonderful man and I'm so glad my Draco has you."

She kept on speaking softly, but really what she said was unimportant; Harry had dissolved into tears, and was no longer listening to the words, just soaking in the feeling that he was loved. That here was a mother who had been called to his bedside and had come for no other reason than that he needed her there. A family figure who didn't make him feel small, or useless, or weak, just because he was crying on her shoulder.

It took him a little while to calm down; but eventually he did, and took some deep breaths, and pulled away from her. He looked at her, loving the concern shown in those blue, blue eyes, and the love he felt in her touch.

"Thank you," he said, lying back on the headboard and taking a few more deep breaths. "Thank you for coming. I needed it."

Narcissa's heart leapt at this simple acknowledgement of his need, and also at the fact that he was comfortable enough with her presence that he had not apologised to her. Clearly, he now accepted that she loved him, and that said even more about his healing than the fact that he had trusted her enough to tell her about the nightmare. Of course, she knew perfectly well that there was more to tell; but one step at a time. She wondered if he had ever seen a mind healer. Probably not; the Wizengamot seemed happy enough to insist that the families of those killed by Death Eaters receive counseling, but the Death Eaters themselves hadn't, and she was prepared to bet that Harry and his friends had also been overlooked. She wondered just how much the boy had been through and never been helped with. It wasn't just his early family; there was a lot more going on in that head that never came out, she was sure of that. But this was all beyond her skill. And it was also for the future. For now, he needed some mothering; and she knew how to do that, even if she was a little rusty after the horror of the last few years.

"Of course, Harry. Now, how are you feeling? I don't think you should stay here all by yourself, even with Kreacher. Your fever is quite high; I think you should rest up for the rest of the week. I bet you haven't taken any time out since the War, have you?"

Harry shook his head, and she sighed. "You're not indestructible, Harry. The Ministry and the Wizengamot will run you ragged if you let them. But you need some down-time. Come to the Manor and let me take care of you? We can have lunch in your garden and then you can rest up in Draco's bed."

Harry thought for a second and decided that, yes, actually, he would like that. He told her so.

"Excellent!" she said, and he was bowled over by the way her smile lit up her whole face.

* * *

Kingsley frowned as he read through the Daily Prophet again. Not that he had much to complain about; Wiggleswade's article had been printed, if not in full, then only trimmed of material that he had to admit it was better without. And the editorial was a bit tame; all about how the Auror corps had responded promptly and how expeditious Flint's trial had been – Kingsley wondered if 'expeditious' was the Word of the Day and Cuffe had been challenged to include it, it didn't seem like the sort of word he would use otherwise.

There was just a little bit at the end, about how 'once more our hero has shown us all the way to defend ourselves' that he didn't like. While it was true that Harry was involved, the whole thing had been carefully planned, with the Ministry's involvement and approval; the article suggested – no, 'suggested' was too bold a word; hinted that this might not be so. That Harry was a vigilante, or that the Ministry was not competent to deal with threats.

Cuffe wasn't saying so yet, of course. But Kingsley had long ago learnt to anticipate what the press would do next – 'know your enemy' was a good maxim, after all; and politics demands the keeping of secrets while journalism demands their exposure, making the two at best uneasy bedfellows.

His misgivings from the previous day came back in force. Like Narcissa the day before, something was telling him that the current positive, almost deferential reporting was too good to be true…

* * *

For the first time in Harry's recent visits to the Manor, it was raining, though not as heavily as it had been in London the previous evening. Before he saw this, he had been beginning to wonder if they had charmed the place to avoid bad weather altogether. When he asked Narcissa about it, she laughed, and admitted that the wards were strong enough to keep inclement weather away from the Manor when they needed them to; but the grounds needed water, and natural rain was better than overuse of the water-making charm Aguamenti, so they did not use this warding facility very often.

The two of them sat in Harry's garden, underneath an awning on which Narcissa had cast an Impervius, enjoying the rain that was cascading around them. The rain seemed to amplify the earthy smells of the garden, and Harry found himself brightening considerably as a result. A house-elf appeared and set before them a meal of bread and cheese, gammon and pickles. Harry remarked on the lack of fanciness, which earned him another laugh from Narcissa.

"One has to have simple food occasionally," she told him; "if you eat gourmet food all the time, your palate becomes jaded." As she handed him the cheese board for him to cut off whatever cheese he desired, he considered that 'simple food' was in the eye of the beholder: there was cheddar, and brie, he knew those two, and a few cheeses he didn't recognise, some of which appeared to have gone mouldy. But all in all, this would have been called gourmet food when you compared it to practically any meal he had ever eaten at the Dursleys'.

Narcissa, noticing his reaction to the blue cheeses, told him to try them; "blue cheese has a flavour all of its own," she said, encouraging him to start with one she told him was from Ireland, called Cashel Blue. He tried it, and to his surprise, rather liked it; the mould was not slimy or unpleasant like he had expected.

When they had finished eating, they sat, drinking tea, and listened to the rain and the occasional bird call. Harry appreciated the silence, and that Narcissa didn't insist on talking to him; she could see that the calm and quiet was doing him the world of good. But it wasn't long before she could see he was beginning to tire; and rather than make him walk, she simply apparated the pair of them into Draco's bedroom and helped him into bed.

"If you wake up and need anything, just call Mappy and he will fetch me for you," she said, once he was settled to her satisfaction.

* * *

Narcissa was getting worried. Harry hadn't woken up by afternoon tea time; she had warded the room with spells that would alert her if he was yelling in a nightmare, but there hadn't been a peep out of him. She decided that she needed a second opinion; so she made a Floocall. The woman at the other end wholeheartedly agreed with her, and asked if she could come through, and they could both check him out.

"Of course, Molly," Narcissa agreed, happy that her own concerns had not been brushed aside. Not that she had thought there was any chance of it; Molly Weasley was even more protective of Harry than Draco was, and that was saying a bit, given that Draco was under the Debt.

Twenty minutes later, having visited the sickroom and performed all the diagnostic spells they could think of – which in Molly's case was a long list, she was used to sick children – they reconvened in Narcissa's study, concern etched on both of their faces. This, they agreed, was a job for a professional. And really, there was only one possible choice …

* * *

"Hey, sleepy-head."

Harry grinned at the voice of his lover.

"Straw is cheaper," he replied.

Draco, in turn, grinned, not that Harry could see it as he was still had his eyes closed. Draco settled down on the bed next to Harry and stroked his hair, at which Harry opened his eyes.

"That's better," Draco said. "You're still looking a bit under the weather, but a lot better than this morning."

"Sleep with me?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at the entreating eyes. How could he resist? He kicked off his shoes and snuggled under the covers with Harry.

"Too many clothes," Harry complained. Draco stifled a laugh, but stayed silent; he wasn't rising to that bait.

"So, how was your day?" Harry continued.

"I thought we were going to sleep?" Draco replied.

"I thought you'd have fewer clothes on," Harry retorted, and this time Draco didn't quite manage to stifle the laugh.

"Then we definitely wouldn't sleep," he replied. "All right, how was my day? Let me think. I spent the first hour cleaning up some of the walls in the DADA classroom; Blaise and Pansy were there. They were sorry to hear you weren't well, by the way." And then, rather shamefacedly, he confessed, "I told them I thought you were malingering really; which was unjust."

"I'll get over it," Harry replied, giving Draco a kiss on the nose to make it clear he harboured no grudge. "Then lunch?" he prompted.

"Yes, lunch was great – Neville and Dean joined us, which could have been awkward, but Blaise was on top form and Neville was kind enough to laugh at his jokes, which was a bit of a new experience for Zabini – most people just groan."

"Are they really that bad?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know. We spent the afternoon on more classrooms – they're really coming on a treat. I asked Flitwick if we needed to get back to the Eighth Year Tower, and he said that that could still wait a week or two. Of course the others wanted to know all about it and of course we told them nothing at all."

"Very Slytherin of you. But can't they see from the outside?"

"Ah, Flitwick has been very cunning. At the moment, the whole thing is charmed to look like an ugly squat bunker of a tower from the outside, and there's a repelling charm in place in case anyone tries to fly over it; so no-one really knows anything."

Harry chuckled. "For a Ravenclaw, he makes a pretty good Slytherin, too, don't you think? But I guess we shouldn't stereotype."

"Well, only in jest," Draco replied. Now wasn't the time for such a talk, not while Harry was still recovering. He wrapped his arms around the sick Gryffindor. "Now, tell me about what happened to you. Mother says you had another nightmare? Was it as bad as last night?"

Harry looked at him, sorrow etched on his face, and asked, "What do you know about last night?"

Draco explained about how he had seen the images, which Harry confirmed were indeed of Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin; and then the one of himself; and heard the voice telling Harry he was a freak and his friends all died because of him. It took a long time; for Harry was on the verge of tears, and Draco kept stopping and reassuring him that he didn't have to keep his feelings all pent up, he was safe and with people who loved him, people who thought his tears were precious, not signs of weakness.

In the end, Harry let his emotions out and wailed like a baby while Draco stroked him and kissed him and told him how wonderful he was and how Draco felt he was the luckiest man in the world to be marrying Harry Potter; not because he was famous, or powerful, or clever, but because he was loving and caring and honest. In the end, they were both crying; and both found a new solace in each other's company that left them sitting in silence for a long time.

* * *

KNOCK, KNOCK!

"Ah, Harry, there you are," a familiar voice said. The two of them looked up; there in the door was Madam Pomfrey, the matron from Hogwarts. "Mr Malfoy, if you would excuse me, I would like a little word with Mr Potter."

"Is he all right?" Draco said, worried. "Mother said he just had a bit of a fever, and it wasn't contagious."

"Did she say that, did she?" the matron asked, rather mysteriously. "Well, from what she told me, what ails Harry isn't contagious; but I think I'd better have a look myself. If you don't mind, Mr Potter?"

"Of course. Thank you," said Harry. Poppy Pomfrey was an old friend of his, and if she thought he needed examining, he wasn't about to disagree. "But please, may Draco stay?"

"I have no objection, if you wish it," she replied promptly. "Now, just lie still, this shouldn't hurt a bit," she said, running her wand up and down Harry in a complicated set of movements. A yellow light suffused him, and a piece of parchment appeared in Poppy's hand; as the spell progressed, more and more writing appeared on it, and the look on the nurse's face grew longer and longer.

"Poppy," Harry said, very worried by the effect the writing was having on her, "what's wrong?"

"Those utter bastards," Poppy said softly to herself, and Harry felt the mild oath was one of the most shocking things he'd ever heard. Poppy loved everybody, looked after everyone, for her to think so ill of anyone was without precedent in his experience.

"What is it, Madam Pomfrey?" Draco asked, his voice showing both concern and a determination to know the worst. "Will Harry be alright?"

"What?" Poppy asked, having obviously gone off in thought, and coming back to Earth with a bit of a bump. "Oh, yes, Harry will be fine." She turned to her patient. "Harry, this afternoon, Narcissa and Molly Weasley took the liberty of casting diagnostic spells on you; they were very concerned when the spells showed a large amount of magical healing going on within you, largely because you haven't been exposed to any dangers in the last few weeks – or at least, the Shield will have nullified them. Yes," she continued, forestalling the question, "I asked them all about that. And the tests I ran just now entirely corroborate that diagnosis."

"So … what?" Harry asked, not understanding what he was being told.

"Oh Harry," she said. "They starved and beat you, didn't they? Your relatives?"

"Yes." It was Draco who answered, his voice filling the single monosyllable with hatred.

"And you never said much to me about. Because you were ashamed, right?"

Harry nodded.

"I understand. It must have been terrifying to be taken from a world of abuse into a world you understood nothing about; of course you had no idea who to trust, I'm not surprised you didn't want to trust many of the adults you met. Anyway, back to medical matters: you suffered a lot of trauma, and you didn't have the strength physically to meet the challenges, and it looks like a lot of trauma was absorbed by your magic. While that worked well at the time, there was a cost to pay; your magic has been, it's hard to put into words, sort of bruised, and then a crust develops over it to protect it, and you. Now, all of the bruising is being, how can I put it, pushed outwards; so, for the first time, it's showing up on diagnostic spells."

"So …" Harry asked, "is this … usual?"

Poppy laughed. "Harry, nothing about you is ever usual. I've never seen a case of abuse of this kind before; I doubt that any Healer has, either. But you are an incredibly powerful wizard; I'm pretty confident that your magical core will heal itself, more or less without any medical help."

"So …" Draco asked, "it's not … dangerous?"

"Oh no, I don't think so. No, on the whole, the process is a good thing; your body will rebuild your magical core, and then in all probability a large part of the muscle tissue that never developed properly because of the malnutrition. But it isn't going to be a lot of fun. We'll all have to keep a very good eye on Mr Potter; and the process is going to take a few days, during which, young man," she said, turning her gaze fully on Harry and fixing him with a stern eye, "I am going to insist that you stay in bed, apart from the obvious exception. You will find you'll be exhausted for most of this week anyway, while your magic is sorting itself out."

"Got it," Draco said. "Staying in bed for a week. No objection if I stay with him?"

"On the contrary," the witch replied, a sly grin on her face, "as long as you're keeping a good eye on him and making sure he has what he needs, I think your company will do him the world of good. In fact, there are some potions I could recommend, you could brew them for him if you would."

"Consider it done," Draco replied. And Harry knew, from the tone in his voice, that there was no getting out of this. For the next few days, he was a prisoner in Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

There were, he thought, much worse fates …

* * *

KNOCK, KNOCK!

Draco opened his eyes, expecting to see his mother; but standing in the doorway was Andromeda Tonks, holding a watchful green-haired Teddy Lupin.

"Hello, Andromeda; hi, Teddy," Draco said softly. On hearing Draco's voice, Teddy smiled, and his hair went from green to silver in a flash.

"Hmm?" Harry mumbled, and opened his eyes. "Teddy! Andy! What a nice surprise!" he said as he shuffled up to lean against the bed head.

He sat up, and Teddy, obviously a little confused by having two of his favourite people so close together, changed his eyes to match Harry's. The silver hair and green eyes made Harry laugh, and that made Teddy chortle.

Andromeda smiled; the happiness was infectious, and, she was sure, good for Harry. "That's not the only surprise," she said. She walked up to the bed, and put Teddy down on it, at the foot. Instantly, the tiny boy huffed his disapproval, forced himself up, and began flapping his arms and legs in a laborious attempt to crawl up to the two lads. The bed was too soft for him to get much purchase, so it was very slow going; but he did manage to move forward very slowly.

"That's amazing!" Draco said. "He's how old?"

Andromeda beamed with pride. "Nearly three months. He's even earlier than his mother was. He just started today, so I suppose it's a bit unfair to expect anything of him, really," and so saying, she lifted the baby up and dropped him into Harry's arms.

"Hello, Teddy Bear!" Harry said, cuddling and tickling the boy; then, worrying, he looked at Andromeda. "Are you sure it's all right? He won't get sick from me?"

The older woman chuckled. "He's made of stern stuff, Harry, he'll be fine. Your fever is mostly caused bt the magic healing inside you, anyway; Narcissa told me all about the diagnostic spells she and Molly did on you; most of your problem is exhaustion. You are going to be a sensible young man for a change and stay in bed for the rest of the week, aren't you?"

The witch's tone, though bright, left no room for manoeuvre: she clearly meant what she said.

"It's all right, Aunt Dromeda," Draco answered, "I've already made it clear we're going to keep him in line."

"You'd better, young man," she answered, with her customary kindly-meant sternness. "No more running away and leaving him to fend for himself, as I hear you did today."

"Hey, no fair!" Harry exclaimed. "I told him to go. And anyway, I had Kreacher."

"Humph!" Andromeda snorted, in a tone that made it clear she didn't regard a house-elf as a suitable helper for looking after an invalid. "Nonetheless, you needed looking after. And I hope you'll know when you're well off and stay here for the rest of the week."

Harry sighed; though in truth, he was loving it. He'd never had anyone to fuss over him, now he had a whole family, and he was soaking up the love.

"All right," he said, resignedly; "but," addressing the boy on his lap, "you'll have to give your grandmother hell for me, Teddy Bear."

Andromeda snorted. "Trust me; he doesn't need any encouragement for that."

At this point, a table and chairs, set for dinner, appeared in the room, as Lucius and Narcissa walked in.

"Good evening, Harry," Lucius said, "We thought, since you are going to stay in bed, we would dine with you, if that's all right?"

Harry nodded and smiled. He could hardly speak; he knew that it was a big deal to pure-blood families to dine in the proper dining-room, and he was choking up again at how much this family was prepared to put themselves out for him.

* * *

If he had needed reminding, dinner made it abundantly clear how Narcissa could refer to their lunch as 'simple food'. The meal was simply, stunningly, beautiful, in every way: visually, the guinea fowl in a red wine sauce, placed on a white china plate co-ordinated beautifully with the roast potatoes and dark green vegetables; the smell was heavenly; and the taste! Harry and Draco ate their meals sitting against the bed head on trays suspended in front of them, while the other three adults, and Teddy in a high chair, sat at the table.

But, even though the china and the cutlery were pristine, and the starched linen napkins would not have been out of place in the most royal of palaces, the meal was not at all formal, largely due to the happy conversation that flowed around them. Draco shared more about the goings-on at Hogwarts, including a bit of byplay that seemed to be going on between Neville, Pansy, Blaise and Theo; by the sound of it, they were becoming quite good friends. Theo was still spending a lot of time at St Mungos, rehabilitating his arm, but the healers wanted him to get used to being with people again, so he spent a few hours each day at Hogwarts. Even though he couldn't do much, Flitwick welcomed him with open arms, and he and Neville had taught him some charms he could perform with very simple arm motions. As a result, it seemed he was growing in confidence; and Harry was delighted to hear that Neville was taking pains to befriend him.

Andromeda told of Teddy's exploits, and how he was learning to play 'Boo'; when she said the words, his tiny hands came up to hide his face, and they all burst out into laughter at the sight. Narcissa, looking over at Harry, caught his eye, and smiled.

"How is your meal, Harry?" she asked. "A little different to lunch!"

Lucius looked at them quizzically, so Harry explained about the 'simple' meal of bread and cheese that they had had at midday.

"I envy you," Lucius admitted. "My lunch was with a group of hard-drinking Muggles and seemed to consist entirely of beer and grease."

"What were you doing with Muggles?" said Harry, then instantly regretted the words as they sounded rude. But Lucius just answered as though this were the most natural of questions.

"Oh, as part of helping people recover from the war, I have been pursuing various building projects, Harry. Some of those involve dealing with Muggle builders, especially for the Muggle-borns and half-bloods who have lost family and houses."

"That must be a bit of an eye-opener," Andromeda suggested.

Lucius chuckled. "It certainly is. Why, yesterday, one of them drank port and lemon!" and he went on to tell them about his lunch with the Grunnings, without giving any identifiable details.

While Lucius was a good story-teller, and the tale made Harry laugh, he was a little concerned. "But you didn't use Confundus on him did you? That would be a bit …"

"Unfair?" Lucius suggested, and Harry nodded. "Well, not really. I might have given him a little push, but only in the direction he actually wanted to go. His wife was trying to get him to keep things as they were; I think she just wanted him out of the house."

This made the two ladies smirk, and seemed to satisfy Harry for the moment. But Lucius knew he would have to tell all, soon; he was too close to Harry right now, and the Debt was manifesting, pushing him to be completely open with the boy. _He's too sick yet, he needs to recover first,_ he told himself.

Happily, at that point, dessert appeared and the conversation drifted on to safer subjects.

* * *

The moment came sooner than Lucius had thought. The ladies had left, taking Teddy back home to bath and bed, and Draco and Harry were sitting together, happily silent in each other's company, and Lucius got up to return to his study when Harry stopped him.

"Lucius, before you go …"

"Yes, Harry?" the Malfoy patriarch replied, retaking his seat.

"Those Muggles today … who were they?"

"George and Betty Grunning," Lucius said, opting to say the minimum and let Harry take things where he would.

The beautiful green eyes opened very wide. "Grunning?" he replied, and then, "what are you up to?"

 _Here we go,_ Lucius thought. "As I said, I'm buying up Muggle enterprises to help the rebuilding programme for Muggleborns affected by the War."

"And why a drill factory?" Harry asked. Draco looked shocked; 'How did Harry know that?' was written on his face.

"Well," the silver-haired patrician replied, "I'm sure it will be useful … and of course, it gives me direct access to the Directors of the company …"

Harry looked at Lucius sternly for a few seconds, then broke into a grin.

"Give him hell," he said.

Lucius smirked. "Harry, you are so full of surprises," he replied, as he took his leave.

"What was all that about?" Draco asked, mystified.

"Oh," Harry replied, "you'll see. Sleep now."

* * *

Later that night, Harry woke to find sparking grey eyes looking down at him. Draco was sitting up against the bed head, holding Harry in his arms, with the Gryffindor's head nestled on the Slytherin's chest.

"Hi," he said. "Been awake long?"

"I haven't slept," Draco replied.

"Oh," Harry said. "You didn't really have to stay, you know."

Draco thought back to the conversation he had had earlier, and shuddered. "Yes, I really did," he replied.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Draco scooted down the bed and wrapped himself around his lover, kissing his temple.

"Well," he began, "this afternoon, Mappy appeared at Hogwarts to tell me I was needed at the Manor, and when I Flooed back here, I found two rather … _concerned_ … mothers waiting for me."

"Two?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Mother had Floocalled Molly Weasley. They were not impressed that I had left you all alone; they made it very clear that you were not well, and needed to be looked after, and at the very least I should have told them about it."

"Ah," Harry said, suspecting that when Draco had said 'concerned' before what he actually meant was 'absolutely livid'.

He snuggled against his lover, enjoying the closeness and warmth of the other man, and they settled into a contented silence.

"Thank you," Harry said eventually.

"What for?" Draco asked.

"Everything. Lots of things. Listening to me tell you about the nightmares without making me feel pathetic. Not freaking out when you were in one with me. Telling us about Neville and Theo, because you care about them. And most of all, for loving me."

Draco smiled. And in that moment, he remembered the fear he had had last night, he made a firm and fierce decision. He loved Harry, and he was going to see him happy. Nothing and nobody was going to break them apart, as far as he had anything to do with it. No-one attacking them; no obnoxious owls; no nightmares; and most of all, no fear or pride of his own.

He held Harry tight.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice quivering with passion, as Harry drifted off to sleep.

That night, wrapped tight in his lover's arms, Harry did not have a nightmare.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. Note that Bicky will be away this week, so there may not be another chapter for a week or so. Chapter 38 is nearly ready, though, so it shouldn't be too long coming. At the moment, I am attempting to post at least one a week.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks: to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cookies to those who leave comments.
> 
> Please comment and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think should happen to Vernon and Petunia; I haven't forgotten about them!


	38. Some Returns from Loving Relationships

**38 Some Returns from Loving Relationships**

_Wednesday 10 June 1998_

Lucius straightened his robes for the fifth time, and decided he was finally ready.

What, he wondered, had got him so worried? He had an appointment to speak with the Minister for Magic. He was still arguably the most important and influential pure-blood wizard in Britain (no small thanks to the most influential wizard of all, who was upstairs out cold in his son's bed, the honest little voice in his head unhelpfully prompted); and the Minister had agreed to a Floo-call rather than insisting on an actual visit to his office.

The Floo blared green, that sickly colour it went as the connection took, and the Minister's face appeared in front of him.

"Good morning, Minister, and thank you for agreeing to talk at such short notice," he began.

"Yes, yes," Kingsley said, the voice clearly indicating what Lucius already knew: the Minister had a full schedule, and this interview had been squeezed in as a special favour. Best to be brief, then.

"I want to talk to you about Harry, and protecting him from his Muggle relatives," Lucius said.

Kingsley arched an eyebrow, which made for quite an impressive gesture on the bald man. "Does he really need protection? Where is he, anyway? Not at Grimmauld Place, I hear."

"He's here," Lucius replied. "He took sick yesterday, and has been ordered to bed by Madam Pomfrey. He's still asleep; the illness is taking a lot out of him, it seems."

Kingsley looked very worried, and it heartened Lucius to see the concern on the man's face. It was good to know that the, frankly, formidable Minister was still capable of human feeling.

"Should we get a healer to look at him?" he asked.

Lucius thought for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps not immediately, unless Pomfrey requests it. Don't want to tread on her toes. But it's probably good to have one on standby for when it's over. A mind-healer might be a good idea, too."

Kingsley stared at him. "Hasn't he seen one?"

"No," Lucius said, carefully removing all trace of emotion from the monosyllable. This had the intended effect; Lucius had calculated that Shacklebolt would put two and two together by himself, he didn't need to be beaten over the head about his own oversight; and the response proved him right.

"I'll get onto that right away," Kingsley said. "We should have you all checked out, too; the Debt is no doubt affecting you, if the War didn't."

"Thank you," Lucius replied, maintaining his emotion-free tone.

Kingsley chuckled; he knew Lucius's game. "Frankly, there are plenty of people in the Ministry who would be just as pleased if you were mentally scarred for life. But I think, and I'm sure Harry does too, that we all need to be healed. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Lucius grabbed the opportunity with both hands, providing a carefully worded account of finding Grunnings, his proposals to deal with the Muggle arrest warrant and injunction on Harry, his intentions with regard to the Dursleys, and exactly what help he was hoping for from the Ministry.

"Hmm. I can't say I approve, of course;" Kingsley said, thoughtfully; "has Harry said anything?"

"His exact words were, 'give him hell'," Lucius replied, with a wolfish grin.

Kingsley matched the grin. "All right," he said, "you can have Robin and Toby. Of course, I'll have to deny everything if it gets out; but between us, I wish you every success."

"Thank you, sir," Lucius said, very relieved.

"Don't mention it. Ever. Oh, and I take it Harry's condition is the reason for a Floo-call rather than a meeting? I mean, the Debt means you have to protect him, so you want to be on the spot?"

"Yes, Minister," the patrician affirmed. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

It was a very strange experience, Madam Pomfrey thought, to sit in Minerva McGonagall's office for tea and sympathy. But she had to admit to herself that the woman was definitely growing into the role of Head mistress. She would, of course, never be an Albus Dumbledore; but then she wasn't trying to. No, if any thing, she was even more her own woman than before. She had not abandoned one inch of her principles; but she was letting the concern for others, that had always been there, out a lot more, and becoming much more approachable as a result.

It was always a little difficult for school medical staff to balance the conflicting demands of patient confidentiality and the needs of teachers to know enough to provide adequate pastoral care; with Harry, Poppy thought rather ruefully, they had erred rather too much on the side of caution, with the result that the abuse, which it was now clear that his relatives had dished out, had gone largely unremarked and unhealed. So she did rather feel that she needed to keep the headmistress abreast of the seriousness of Harry's condition, if not the detail.

So Poppy had sought an interview, and explained the general situation and her proposed healing regimen; and Minerva sat upright on her armchair and pursed her lips and had the grace to look both worried and ashamed that they had got to the point where Harry needed strict bed rest to recover from injuries that should have been dealt with long ago.

Once Poppy had finished, they sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea. It was Minerva who spoke first.

"That poor boy," she murmured. "And to think he looked so well at the party on Saturday. Still, I'm glad that he is in such careful hands. May I tell Professor Flitwick that the two of them will not be attending today?"

"Oh yes," the medi-witch replied. "I'm sure their friends will want to know that Harry is currently indisposed; though, of course, please don't give out details of the severity of the situation."

The headmistress chuckled. Pomfrey had always been so very protective of her patients' privacy. "Of course not. And I'm sure the rest will do him no harm," she replied. She paused, not quite sure how to ask her question without giving offense. She decided that, having a reputation for plain speaking, that being direct was best: "I wonder if perhaps he should see a healer?"

"I confess," Poppy said, setting her empty cup down and placing her hands on her knees, "that I am wondering the same thing myself." She had seen the headmistress's hesitation, so took pains to reassure her, saying, "There's no need to worry about offending me, Minerva. I'm well aware of my limitations. The problem is, though, who?"

"I was wondering," the headmistress replied, "about Agnes Touauld? And then we might ask Armand to have a look at him too."

Poppy looked stunned. Agnes Touauld and her husband, Armand Ionescu, were legendary in healing circles – Agnes had been Chief Healer of the Wizengamot for fifty years and had been instrumental in reorganising St Mungo's from a basic facility to the extensive hospital it was now; and Armand was equally famous for his pioneering work in mental healing. They were, in fact, the perfect choice. If you could get them. But they had retired a decade ago, and were living in a secret location in France.

"Well of course, Minerva. And perhaps we could ask Merlin's advice about Harry's magic while we're at it!" she scoffed.

"Well, I don't know if we can do that; but I shall ask Agnes, if you are agreeable," McGonagall said, giving a rather grim smile. She knew what was behind her colleague's irony; it was common knowledge that the two were obsessively secretive and guarded their privacy. It would be impossible for most wizards and witches to get hold of them. But Minerva wasn't 'most witches'. She had an ace up her sleeve.

For it was a much less well-known fact that Agnes Touauld was Minerva McGonagall's well-loved and favourite aunt; and moreover, the feeling was mutual.

* * *

He sat in the reception room for some time. He had deliberately chosen to receive the call from here, as he didn't want the cosy familiarity of his private study being visible to the Minister; that would have sent quite the wrong message. It didn't hurt that this was one of the rooms Kingsley would have remembered from the Dark Lord's occupation; he wanted to show that he was putting that behind him. The oak paneling had been removed and the room painted fresh and bright, as if to say, 'see? The old has gone.' He remembered how he had rejected using this room when Granger and Weasley came, precisely because it was connected with the old days; how much they had moved on!

One thought from his meeting came back to him: the minister's last question. He thought about it. It was the Debt that meant he had to protect Harry, right? That meant he didn't want to leave the Manor while Harry was defenseless upstairs?

He thought over this for a while, letting the idea flow around in his head. He visualised it as a sort of fluffy cloud; and then with a startling burst of sharpness, the epiphany hit him as the cloud coalesced into a solid whole.

It wasn't the Debt. Not entirely. He wanted to be here because he wanted to be with Harry. To be ready to help him. Not just, any more, because he owed him; not because of what he could get out of him; but because the ridiculous, impossible, inexplicable love the boy seemed to radiate had got under his skin and into his heart.

It was really very simple. All the pure-blood intricacies of formal relationships, the calculus of Debt and obligation and formal duty had become irrelevant.

In his own way, Lucius Malfoy loved Harry Potter.

The realisation shocked him. He had, he knew, no carnal feelings towards the man at all; but there are other types of love. This one, he knew, was the love of a father for his son: his feelings for Harry and his feelings for Draco were two peas in a pod. He knew, the whole wizarding world knew if they thought about it, that Harry had been missing this kind of love for sixteen years. It was impossible for someone with Lucius's acumen to miss the fact that, without knowing it, Harry was desparate for the love of a father; and it was that knowledge that made Lucius unwilling to leave the Manor while he could be there for him. He had to stay, simply because Harry might need him.

"He's conquered us all," he said, softly.

"I rather think he has," a voice behind him said, equally softly, and Narcissa came over and sat next to him, taking his hands in hers. "Unless, of course, he's really freed us all."

Lucius smiled. A warm, open, honest smile; and Narcissa matched it. She had not seen this since … since Draco had smiled like that, that day Lucius had praised him at Hogwarts. She was getting her men back, happy and whole; that was, perhaps, nearly worth a war …

* * *

Harry felt like he had been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. His whole body ached, and there seemed to be a whole fireworks show going on in his eyeballs. He groaned and opened his eyes to find the room was quite dark, which suggested it was still nighttime. But he was, he noticed, alone in bed; surely Draco wouldn't have left him in the middle of the night?

There was the usual 'pop' of house-elf apparition, and Mappy stood next to him. The room lightened a little, but it was still not the fierce light of full day.

"Master Harry Potter is being awake!" the little creature said happily, clapping his hands. "Master Harry is being hungry?"

Harry pulled himself up on the bed, and looked at the elf, thinking for a second or two. Was he hungry? No, he wouldn't have said so. _Famished_ was much nearer the mark.

"Yes, Mappy, could I have some – actually, what meal is it? I don't even know what time it is. Early, by the light."

Mappy's eyes went wide. "It is being half-past eleven o'clock! We's is being shielding the room because Nurse Matron Mistress Pomfrey be saying your eyes is changing, not wanting too many sunlights!"

Harry grimaced. If the light show inside his eyeballs had been any indication, this was most probably true.

"Here is your breakfast!" Mappy continued, and a tray appeared, hovering in front of him. It contained enough food for about three grown active men, Harry thought; obviously the Malfoy house-elves were just as enthusiastic about feeding him as the Hogwarts ones had been. He picked up the steaming mug of tea that was on the left of the tray, and took a sip. It was exactly how he liked it – hot, and strong, and sweet; obviously Draco had had a hand in it, then. Thinking of the blond, he asked Mappy,

"So, where is Draco? I'd thought he would be here."

Mappy looked sad. "Master Draco is being sorry Master Harry Potter is awake without him. He is being brewing in the Potions lab. Master Harry is needing many potions." Then an idea clearly hit the elf, as he brightened and said, "Mappy is telling Master Draco about Master Harry Potter being awake!" and disapparated.

Harry leaned back on the headboard. The way they used language was so strange; he had no idea, from what the elf had said, whether Draco already knew he was awake or not. Never mind, though; he was hungry, and here was food. He didn't need company to eat!

* * *

Draco was surprised at how much he had enjoyed the brewing he had been doing all morning. He had started a little after seven; he had had only one interruption: Madam Pomfrey had arrived at a quarter past eight and Draco and Narcissa had held a small conference with her to discuss Harry's progress. The nurse had made some more notes about Harry's progress in the last twelve hours, then given further detailed instructions about the potions and dosages he would need. She tried to be positive; but Draco could tell from her face that it wasn't going to be a pleasant few days for Harry. And the potions she prescribed were strong; so strong that the regeneration potions were not on the standard curriculum, and she had brought some special bases with her that Draco could use to brew from, which would cut the time needed to brew them down from days to a couple of hours.

Once the two women had gone, he became so engrossed with the potion making that it came as a big surprise when he looked up and saw that the clock said it was nearly twenty to twelve. Must be time to check on Harry, he thought, casting Scourgify to clean up his workspace, and cancelling the ward he had set up to stop anyone from interrupting him while he was in the very sensitive final stages of brewing. No sooner had he done this than there was the 'pop' he knew so well; in fact, he knew the elves well enough to be able to tell by the sound that this was Mappy. And since Mappy had been given the exclusive job of looking after Harry, he was not at all surprised when the elf told him, "be coming Master Draco! Master Harry Potter is being awake and eating!"

"Very good, Mappy," he said. "Take me to our room, please."

Mappy grasped Draco's arm and the two of them apparated into Draco's bedroom.

* * *

Harry was already nearly three-quarters of the way through the food on the tray when they arrived. Mappy took one look and grinned broadly.

"Master Harry Potter is eating! Nurse Matron Mistress Pomfrey is being saying Master Harry Potter is needing lots of feeding, and Mappy is being a happy elf to see Master Harry Potter is finishing his breakfast!"

"Thank you, Mappy," Draco said, suppressing his mirth at the ridiculous title the elf had wished on Madam Pomfrey. "Is there any mail for Harry?"

"Mappy is going to see!" the elf chortled. And then, perhaps he had caught something in Draco's voice; for he asked, "Shall Mappy leave masters be for a little while?"

Draco smiled. He liked it when they anticipated his desire for privacy. "Yes, bring the letters, and Harry and I will talk till noon."

"Yes Master Draco!" the elf said, vanishing promptly. Perhaps twenty seconds later, a large pile of letters appeared on the bed.

* * *

Harry put down his knife and fork, not wanting to seem rude by eating while Draco was there.

Big mistake.

"Have you had enough to eat?" Draco said fiercely; and when Harry shook his head, Draco frowned. "Harry, you have a lot of healing to do," he said. "You're going to need a lot of food, and a lot of potions; so don't you dare stop eating just to be polite. Got it?"

"Yehrs," Harry said, the word coming out all wrong as it made its way around a piece of sausage. But Draco was not fazed in the least.

"Good," he said, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed, sitting next to Harry so that Harry wouldn't feel he was being watched.

A little while later, Harry had finished his meal. He was a little astonished that he had managed to get outside all of the food that Mappy had brought; obviously the elf wasn't as wildly optimistic as Harry had thought.

"Good," Draco said, as Harry set his utensils down on an empty plate. He picked up the cup of tea, still only half-finished, as Draco Vanished the china to the kitchen. Almost immediately, a second mug of tea appeared, and a plate of pastries. A huge smile forced its way onto Draco's face as he realised they were intended for him.

They sat drinking their tea together, and when all was done, Draco pushed the tray away and rubbed his lover's face gently.

"Still tired?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, simply, as Draco wrapped him in a hug.

"And still a bit warm. We need to get this temperature down, and then the fun really begins."

"The fun begins? What do you mean?" Harry asked, nervously.

"Madam Pomfrey has prescribed some potions for you that will be rather intense, apparently. But let's not think about that while you're still feverish. Here, open these," he said, passing Harry the letters.

Harry was rather surprised at the crest on the top envelope; who did he know from Beauxbatons? The only person he could think of was Fleur Delacour's sister Gabrielle; but why would she write to him? Mystified, he opened the letter, and glanced at the signature at the bottom. Immediately, he sat bolt-upright, filled with excitement.

"What is it?" Draco asked, stunned at the sudden burst of energy.

"A letter from Hagrid!" Harry replied. "He's well!"

Draco wasn't a big fan of the Hogwarts grounds-keeper; but he knew Harry was very fond of the half-giant, so he refrained from comment as Harry read the letter.

Eventually, Harry held it out to him. "Here," he said, "read it!"

This was a bit more than Draco was quite prepared to do, so he asked Harry to summarise for him. Harry looked at him rather strangely, then, evidently realising what was going on, began to read; though, as he had been asked to summarise, he skipped over quite a lot.

" _Dear Harry,_

_Sorry not to be in touch before. Saw yeh at the Memorial Service but yeh was busy with Malfoy and all so I didn't want to bother yeh. …  
_

_I've been here at Olympe's, Madame Maxime's, I should say, request for the last week. Her horses needed seeing to, and they've responded wonderfully. Seems they like Hogwarts whisky better than the stuff she could get here …"_

"Sounds like those two are getting on well," Draco drawled.

"Shush, you," Harry said, skipping the bit that proved Draco right, and continuing, " _So, I hear that you and Malfoy are together now? Well! Blimey! I had quite a pull at the horses' whisky when I heard that! But by all accounts, yer happy, and that's what counts in the end. Ye'll have to bring him round for a cup of tea and some rock-cakes when term starts. McGonagall's written to tell me all about yeh and how much mischief yer up to!"_

Harry's face fell a bit, and Draco knew perfectly well why, and was getting ready to scold him (would he **ever** stop feeling guilty?); but Hagrid, it seemed, had beaten him to it:

" _And don't yeh go blaming y'self for not writing or anything. It's my fault, if it has to be fault, not yours. I knew where you were, after all; but I was away, where no owl was going to find me. Had to clear out for a bit after the Memorial. Left before yeh got attacked, only heard about it this week when Mme Maxime tracked me down._

_Anyway, 's enough for now. Stay safe. See you soon._

_RubeusHagrid."_

Harry sank back into the pillows, and Draco could see that, while the letter had been encouraging for him, it had also taken a lot out of him. He shook his head.

"I think that's enough for now, Harry. Madam Pomfrey will be returning this evening, if that's all right."

Harry looked at him, mystified that Draco was asking his permission.

"Of course. I trust Poppy implicitly. She can come whenever she thinks she needs to." Harry yawned, and added as an afterthought as he closed his eyes, "and if she thinks I need to see anyone else, that would be fine, too."

Draco was very pleased to hear this. His beloved still needed a lot of healing, he could see that. He pulled up the covers and tucked him in carefully, then went off to Floocall Madam Pomfrey, who had insisted on a full report of anything that happened, and to tend to his potions. There was still bottling to be done for the ones he had brewed; and if Pomfrey was right, he didn't have anywhere near enough pain-killing potion yet …

* * *

Lucius sat in his office, brooding on exactly what he was going to do with Vernon Dursley. Harry had told him to give him hell, and he was going to do so, with a great deal of pleasure. The only question was exactly how. Oh, he had plenty of ideas; but it had to be done carefully, creatively, and above all it had to give Harry the catharsis he needed to leave that whole sorry chapter of his life behind him.

 _First things first,_ he reminded himself, and placed a Floo-call to the Auror department.

"Mr Malfoy?" the receptionist replied as she took his call, "Auror Banks is expecting your call, one moment."

A few seconds later, Robin's cheerful face appeared.

"Mr Malfoy," he said briskly, "I was told you might call. What can I do for you?"

"Best discussed in private," Lucius replied. "Would you come through, please?"

"Of course," Robin said, and did so.

Lucius waved him to sit in a comfortable chair, and began to explain exactly what he wanted the Auror to do for him. The discussion took some considerable time; so much so that Narcissa knocked on the door and, seeing Robin, invited him to lunch. They had an agreeable meal, during which the conversation naturally fell to the engagement party, with Robin effusive in his thanks for a lovely party, though somewhat marred by 'uninvited guests', a euphemism that made both Malfoys smirk visibly. Then they discussed Harry's health, and Robin's brows darkened as he learnt his friend's condition; and when he heard it was attributable to the Dursleys, he felt he could have jumped up and throttled them right then. Except, he told himself, Lucius's idea was going to be a lot more fun.

After lunch they continued their discussion, Lucius summing up the situation and his proposal. Robin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Very interesting," he said. "And very well put. I agree with you about Grunnings. So, a spot of field-work for me?"

Lucius nodded.

"Can't wait!" the Auror said, chuckling, and he Flooed away.

* * *

Blaise and Pansy had made great progress with the greenhouses during the morning; and they were delighted when Neville Longbottom and Professor Sprout turned up with armfuls of plants that Neville had been tending carefully at the shop. By lunchtime, all the broken panes of glass had been fully repaired and the place was beginning to look like nothing had happened. The Slytherins had known Longbottom loved Herbology; but even so, they were amazed at the happy youth who helped today, and astonished at the depth of his knowledge, as he carefully placed plants in harmonious groups, and he and Sprout expertly repotted several root-bound mandrakes. They noticed that rather than using earmuffs, Neville cast a strong Silencio charm on them which seemed to protect everyone from the mandrakes' screams just as well. As a final flourish, he put some of his lantern vines around the greenhouse, and the soft light they gave out gave the place a very welcoming atmosphere.

At lunch, Neville was still evidently enjoying himself, and even the normally dour Millicent had to smile at the infectious enthusiasm of the young man. Filius Flitwick smiled indulgently; he was delighted to see the students finding some happiness now that the terror of the war was over, as well as proud and amazed at how well the students from the different houses were getting on. He only wished he didn't have to tell them the bad news.

"Professor Flitwick?" Blaise asked. "Do you know if Harry is OK? Will he and Draco be joining us this afternoon?"

"Yes," Neville chipped in, "they could give us some more hints about the Eighth Year Tower!"

Pansy looked confused. "But they haven't given us any hints yet," she pointed out, querulously.

Neville smirked. "Well, they can still give more; just not less!"

"Tease!" Pansy said, throwing a rock cake at him, which Neville Transfigured into a small firework while it was still half-way across the table, much to the Slytherin's amazement. Where was the boy who had been afraid of his own shadow?

"The twins are really rubbing off on you, aren't they?" Blaise asked him.

"One in particular," Seamus added, to general amusement.

At this point, Flitwick decided it was time to take charge. "I'm afraid," he said, his voice deceptively mild, "that Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy will not be joining us for some time. I am told that Mr Potter is still indisposed, and recuperating at Malfoy Manor, which is expected to take a few days."

"A few days?" Seamus asked. "Blimey! Harry doesn't do things by halves! He normally waits till term starts to have a turn in the sick bay; seems like he's started early this year!"

"I told you!" Pansy all but shrieked. "I knew when that elf came to get him it wasn't good! Narcissa would never send an elf like that into someone else's property without asking first unless it was urgent!"

"All right, all right," Blaise said, putting his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down, which eventually had some success. He turned to the Professor.

"That's too bad," he said. "Can we visit Harry?"

Flitwick smiled inwardly. Three months ago, for a Slytherin to have shown anything but contempt for any Gryffindor, never mind Harry Potter, would have been unthinkable. Now it was becoming normal.

"I don't think so," Flitwick replied. "But of course, you should consult with Mrs Malfoy."

"Perhaps we could see if we could all visit on the weekend?" Pansy suggested, and there was general assent to this. "Now, Neville, teach me that charm."

"Which one?" Neville asked.

"The one you used on the rock cake."

Half an hour later, Pansy had become quite the expert at converting small objects into little coloured fireworks, and Hogwarts was down half a bowl of fruit and some cupcakes.

"It's a good thing Draco isn't here," Blaise observed drily, "or there would be no cupcakes for you, he would have eated then all."

Pansy giggled. "You mean 'eaten'. He still has his sweet tooth, doesn't he. He's changed so much in other ways!"

"Not just him," Millicent added. "I heard that the Malfoys actually had dinner at the Burrow on Sunday night."

"No way!" Seamus exclaimed. "Lucius Malfoy at the Burrow? Surely not!"

"Fact!" Neville confirmed. "Not only for dinner; he challenged the twins to a rematch of the Bouncy Beating Challenge, lost to George, and gave him a cup to commemorate it."

Of course the others wanted to know all about this Challenge, so Neville explained. The Slytherins were amazed to learn that Draco had not only taken part, but won the inaugural event. The world, they decided, was getting stranger by the day.

"Perhaps," Flitwick observed. "But it seems to me we are getting along much better. Now, it is time to return to work!"

And, with the obligatory, but entirely fake, groans and accusations of Flitwick being a slave-driver, they all got up and back to work.

* * *

It was nearly nine o'clock when Harry woke again, feeling refreshed at last.

Draco, who had been cat-napping beside him, woke instantly, and snapped his fingers; another tray of food, easily as full as the breakfast tray had been, appeared. Harry knew better than to argue, and he was extremely hungry, anyway; he muttered, "thank you", and fell to eating.

Draco watched for a minute; then, satisfied that his fiancé was eating well, got up to visit the bathroom. When he came back, to his astonishment, Harry was finished; the raven-haired boy followed his example, then, having showered and brushed his teeth, came back to bed.

Draco felt his forehead and grinned.

"You're much better," he said. "I think we're ready for the next step." So saying, he Vanished the china and placed a couple of potions on the tray instead.

"What are they?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Do you really want to know?" Draco asked.

"Of course," Harry replied. "I want to know exactly what Poppy thinks I should have, and why."

"The 'why' is easy: we want to get you well. As for the 'what', this is a rather powerful Pepper-Up potion," he said, pointing to a vial of luminescent lime-green liquid; then indicated two different pink potions as he continued, "and these two are tissue regeneration and pain-killer potions. I don't know what they're called officially, just what they do. You need to take all three together; the Pepper-Up first: Madam Pomfrey said it sort of tells your body to get cracking; then the light pink one will start healing your bruised tissues. The theory is that that will also get your magic active; apparently this combination of Pepper-Up and regeneration potion is the best way known to get your magic to heal itself. But it's going to hurt, hence the pain-killer potion; and if necessary, I have a draught of Dreamless Sleep potion as well, if the pain is too much."

"Sounds delightful," Harry said, his voice dripping with irony. "When do we start?"

"Actually, for the first go, it's probably best to get started as soon as possible after eating," Draco said apologetically.

"The first go?" Harry replied, shuddering at the thought of more than one painful episode. "How many will it take?"

"No-one knows," Draco confessed. "It all depends on how much damage there is, and how powerful your magic is at healing itself. We know there's a lot of damage, which usually means more sessions; but no-one has any idea how powerful you are, apart from 'very', so you may get away with fewer."

"Very helpful," Harry responded sarcastically.

But Draco looked at him imploringly, and Harry couldn't stay narked.

"All right," he said, lifting the lime-green potion. _How bad could this be?_ He asked himself. After all, he'd had all the bones in his arm re-grown in second year; that night after he had taken Skele-Gro had been pure agony, and he had survived that.

"Bottoms up," he said, downing the first potion. It tasted every bit as bad as it looked, and it felt weird going down, every nerve seeming to jangle as the potion hit it.

Draco took the empty vial from him and handed him the lighter pink potion. Harry drank that down, but it was a huge effort; not only did it taste awful, it seemed to prickle his tissues as they came in contact with it, and he could feel the instant when it combined with the Pepper-Up potion: it felt like someone was stabbing him with red-hot needles. He started yelling in pain and Draco didn't even bother handing him the third potion; he just grabbed his head and practically forced it down.

After a few seconds more screaming, the pain-killer kicked in and Harry went limp. Draco looked at him, his heart aching at the hurt he had just been through. He had been told what to expect; but he had still not realised just how bad it would be to see his fiancé in such a state. There was, evidently, no need for the Dreamless Sleep; Harry had passed out from the pain. Draco tucked him up, then undressed and put his own pajamas on and got into bed next to the raven-haired youth, holding him tight. Harry let out a low moan and gripped Draco tightly in return; Draco could feel he was still a little bit feverish, but Madam Pomfrey had told him to expect that.

There was a knock at the door, and his parents, obviously alerted by Harry's screaming, rushed in, followed by Madam Pomfrey in the company of a witch Draco had never seen before; a healer, by her lime-green robe.

"Is he –" Narcissa began, but Draco cut her off.

"He's taken the potions, and fallen asleep from the pain-killer," he said. "He seemed fine."

"I think I'd better be the judge of that," the healer said.

"Draco, this is Healer Agnes Touauld," Madam Pomfrey said. "You did say that Harry would see anyone I recommended?"

Draco nodded. But it was perhaps not quite the time for introductions and permissions; the healer had already begun a rapid and complex series of diagnostic spells that she sent towards Harry.

It wasn't her fault really; no-one had told her about the Shield. But then, of course, why would they? Data about Haussmann shields was in short supply; no-one could possibly have thought it would have any relevance to the situation. But Draco was holding Harry, and the Shield obviously saw the spell as something of an attack; for, as the amber light of the spell reached them on the bed, the two lovers were suddenly encased in the now familiar silver, green, and red light.

For a few seconds, the magic around them crackled, as though the shield were testing the healer's spell; it was almost like it was sentient, debating with itself whether it was safe. But it must have decided it was; for suddenly, the shield collapsed around them; and Draco found himself surrounded by red light, and amber light, and then the world faded to black …

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. Note that Bicky was away last week, and I was lazy, so chapter 39 is nowhere near ready to post, may take another week or so. 
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks: to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and treacle tart to those who leave comments.


	39. Return Trips

**39 Return Trips**

When he left Lucius's study, Robin Banks returned to the Auror office he shared with Toby Proudfoot. Toby looked around as he arrived, and noticed immediately the very predatory smile on his partner's face. He knew that look: that was how Robin looked when he thought they were going to have fun. The sort of fun that involved taking bad guys down.

"All right, spill," he said. "What did Mr Malfoy have to say?"

Robin shut the door and warded the room against eavesdropping before he said anything; precautions that increased Proudfoot's curiosity to bursting point.

"You know the Minister has asked us to 'assist' Mr Malfoy?" he asked.

"Yes," Toby replied, the tone clearly saying 'get on with it!'

"Well, he's just told me he wants us to go on a little field trip," Robin said, his face looking like a schoolboy told he's off on an excursion and away from boring old lessons; which, given the amount of paperwork they had been doing, was pretty much how he felt.

"What's the plan?" Toby asked, steeling himself to be calm. In truth, he was as excited as his partner at the prospect of getting out of the office; but he didn't want to stoke the younger man up or they'd take forever to get away.

"Mr Malfoy wants to deal with Vernon Dursley," Robin answered. "But he can't move openly, given the terms of his parole, so he's being sneaky. We're to find out everything about the charges against Mr Potter, and everything about the injunction. And then we're going to work out how to overturn the whole lot."

Toby smiled. He was the Auror whose research had lead to the discovery of the warrant and injunction against Harry Potter, and 'absolutely ropeable' hardly began to describe his reaction when he had learnt about them. The thought that he could be a part of getting rid of them, and bringing true justice into a Muggle case as well as a Wizarding one, thrilled him to the bottom of his law-upholding heart.

"Excellent!" he said. "And I know just the place to start."

* * *

There are a number of half-blood and Muggle-born wizards who prefer to live more or less exclusively in the Muggle world. Most of them do so due to family ties, though occasionally some leave the magical world to find protection from pure-blood prejudice. The Ministry of Magic keeps friendly relations with as many of these as possible, both to ensure that the Statute of Secrecy is upheld and also to provide a bridge into the Muggle world. This has often proved to be very useful, especially where they rise to prominence in their chosen fields. This is more often the case than one might think; after all, the use of magic gives them a huge advantage in a non-magical world.

As a result of this liaison, the Auror office is easily able to obtain access to the Police services of Great Britain. Senior Aurors maintain cordial relationships with their counterparts in these services, and Robin and Toby were quickly introduced to men who could give them what they needed. After a pleasant half-hour conference, they had obtained the authorisations they would need and had also been given the names of a couple of detectives in the force who also happened to be wizards. These were too pleased to be given an impromptu couple of days off.

So it was that, with very little difficulty, two hours after they left their office, the two Aurors walked into the Association of Chief Police Officers Criminal Records Office and identified themselves as senior detectives with authorisation to access sensitive records in both child services and police personnel.

If the people granting their requests thought there was anything odd about them, they held their tongues; the staff could not have been friendlier, or more helpful, Robin thought. No doubt Proudfoot's light Confundus charms helped …

It took a couple of hours to sift through everything; but it became clear early on that there were two names of particular interest in the large sheaf of documentation that they discovered. One, George Grunnings, was on many of the documents; the other, Darren Dyson, did not occur so much as a major player in the affidavits and warrants themselves, but they got the feeling that he was behind a lot of what was going on. They knew who George was, of course; they had had lunch with him, after all. But Darren Dyson was a new name, and necessitated quite a bit of searching.

It turned out that Mr Dyson was a very interesting character indeed. He had been, at the time the main warrant for Harry's arrest was issued, a police officer; and while he didn't actually appear in the warrant paperwork itself, it was clear that he was there behind the scenes. Robin recognised the _modus operandi_ : it was common enough in Wizarding circles as well. Why put yourself into the limelight, when you are trying to pull off something a bit shady? Much better to let other people do the work and expose themselves. Sure, they might get the credit for the operation, if there was any; but if Robin knew anything about the way the criminal mind worked, what this particular criminal – and he was completely convinced that Dyson was one, he could practically smell it reeking from the man's personnel file – what this particular criminal wanted was not fame, or promotion, but good old filthy lucre.

Two months after the warrant was issued, the man had left the United Kingdom and, as far as the Muggle world was concerned, vanished. But the Aurors had other resources at their disposal; and a few charms found their man for them. He had created a completely false identity for himself, and moved to Spain, where he was now living the high life on the island of Mallorca. And that took money and contacts: lots of money, and shady contacts who could produce the documentation to support this new identity.

All of which made the man even more interesting than before. It seemed that their field trip was going to take them further than they had thought …

* * *

 

Having returned to the office and sorted everything out to travel to Mallorca in the morning, Robin returned home. Ginny was there, but had only been home for half an hour. She had received a floo-call in the morning from Fred; apparently Angelina had set up an impromptu game of Quidditch with the team she was currently chaser for and wondered if Ginny would like to come and watch. There were, at present, no professional games happening; the league considered it poor form to play serious matches until all of the Quidditch pitches had been repaired, and there were still three left requiring further work. And that meant that there were plenty of seriously good players anxious to play to keep their skills up; and also that the teams were very happy to try out new recruits.

Ginny pondered the offer for a few microseconds, and then asked Fred where she needed to go.

"Just stay put," Fred replied with a grin.

Fifteen minutes later, when Fred had told Angelina and Angelina had had a quiet word with the manager of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny had received a simple owl inviting her to come along and watch the all-female team, and perhaps play for an hour or so. In the event, she had wound up in the air for the entire afternoon, playing with the reserve team. At first she was chaser; then the reserve seeker had had to leave to help her sick mother, and Ginny spent the last two hours filling in for her.

Ginny told Robin all about this, of course, and he could see by the shine in her eyes that it had been a fantastic day. And he could guess by the fact that she'd been playing all afternoon that she must have impressed the selectors; for he was sure the game was as much about scouting for talent as keeping the players' skills up to the mark.

"So," he asked, when he finally got a word in edgewise, "did you catch the snitch?"

Ginny looked a bit sheepish, and then burst out, "yes! I did a perfect Wronski feint, and their seeker was totally flummoxed when the snitch finally appeared! So we ended up winning by two hundred points!"

Robin laughed, sharing Ginny's joy. "I'll bet the other seeker was cross."

"She didn't seem to be," Ginny mused. "We put it down to beginner's luck."

Robin rather suspected that that lack of ill-feeling was probably more to the rumour that he had heard that the current Holyhead Harpies seeker was thinking of retiring soon. But he decided not to pursue that; Ginny was happy, and if she was offered the post, she'd be ecstatic, he was sure of it. He also rather thought that Molly and Arthur would rather it not happen until she had finished her NEWTs.

He turned to his day, and explained a good deal of what he and Toby had been up to; though, with practised ease, he avoided saying too much. He was, after all, still in the Minister's confidence; but he had to say something to explain that he was going abroad. So Dyson became 'a Muggle who was possibly used by Death Eaters in crimes against wizards'. It was only stretching the truth a little; he suspected that some of the information that Dyson had used might well be traced back to Yaxley.

They had a very pleasant meal together, and then Robin decided it was probably about time he got back in touch with Dudley Dursley. He had worked out that the boy was heartily sick of his parents and he didn't want him to be worried that he was going to be abandoned by his new Wizarding friend. Accordingly, he went for a short walk to a nearby wood; he didn't want to call from their flat as the wards around it would probably interfere with the Muggle mobile phone he had bought especially to contact Dudley.

"Dudley?" he asked when the phone was answered. "It's Robin Banks; we met on Monday?"

There was a small silence on the other end, and Robin could practically hear Dudley getting his thoughts together.

"You're the wizard?" he asked. "I didn't think you'd want to speak to me, especially if you've talked to Harry …"

"Ah," Robin replied, "but I haven't; Harry is actually unavailable at the moment."

"Is he alright?" Dudley asked, and Robin wondered if it was fancy, or if there was genuine concern in the voice.

"Not at the moment," Robin replied honestly, "but he should be soon enough. He's overcoming the cumulative effect of neglect, and needs rest and quiet."

"Oh," Dudley said, in a very small voice. "That was our doing, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was; but largely it was your parents," Robin said firmly. "We spoke about that before. You're as much a victim as Harry. Frankly, anyone who survives a dementor attack needs a lot of help, anyway. And trust me, we're planning on sorting the whole mess out."

"Thank you," Dudley said, his voice coming a little more alive. "Just let him know I'm really sorry, OK? And I want to see him, if he'll let me. I've been doing a lot of thinking since Harry left, and what we did to him … I want those two to get what's coming to them."

"Why?" said Robin, shocked to hear a child feeling this way about his parents. "What did they do?"

"What didn't they do," Dudley replied, and spent twenty minutes detailing things that had happened to Harry. Things that they could prove. Like accepting money from Dumbledore to look after Harry and going on holiday with it – leaving him behind. Like spending a fortune on every comfort and forcing him to live in the cupboard – still showing signs of his occupancy - Dudley's spare room – still with the cat flap on it.

When he finished his call and returned to the house, Robin was very pensive. He decided this all needed to be investigated, and there was enough solid evidence to involve other Aurors and even the Muggle police; he could even see a way to do so without giving Lucius away. Just to be sure, he Floo-called the Manor.

"How is Harry?" he asked to begin with, and Lucius, his voice full of concern, told him Harry was still asleep but being watched over by Draco. With that out of the way, Robin told Lucius they had a lead that would take them out of the country tomorrow; and then explained that Dudley had given him some information that he could ask one of the Muggle Liaison Aurors to investigate at Privet Drive. He was going to tell them it had come up in conversations with Harry's Muggle friends – which was very nearly true, after all, if one simply replaced 'friend' by 'family member'. And Robin did rather hope that before long it would be entirely true, that Dudley and Harry would become friends. He rather suspected they had a lot to offer each other.

Lucius thought about the idea. He could see that it had merit; but he was concerned. He wanted control of this investigation. Once the Muggle police got involved, who knew what would happen. No, better to take things a little slowly and remove the risk. So he suggested that Robin and Toby could investigate on Friday. They thrashed this idea out for a little while; Robin pointed out that they could at least get the Aurors to help with some of the paperwork Dudley had told him must exist somewhere; and the more Lucius thought about it, the more he liked it. Accordingly, Robin made a couple more Floo-calls and was very satisfied that things were set in motion.

Ginny had been hovering around while he was calling. "What's this about going abroad?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry, I should have said – we're following a lead to Spain tomorrow on a case," he said, cagey as he always was where specifics of work were concerned.

Ginny smiled at him. She loved his professionalism, even if it irked her from time to time that he didn't tell her any juicy details.

"It's all right," she said. "You were talking to Lucius Malfoy, and I can put two and two together as well as the next witch. It's about Harry, isn't it?"

"I can't tell you that," Robin said, smiling, and she had her answer. "Will you be alright by yourself if I'm away for a couple of days?"

"Of course," Ginny said, pretending to be annoyed at his concern while secretly loving how protective of, and careful for, her he was. "I might go out with Luna Lovegood tomorrow; she said she was free."

"That sounds excellent," Robin replied, glad to have one less thing to worry about. Which goes to show that even Aurors can't see the future, or he would never have let them go out together…

* * *

It was black, black as darkest night. Draco Malfoy opened his eyes; or at least, he thought he did, but it didn't seem to make any difference. He felt cool, but not unpleasantly so. The air around him seemed to be pulsating, and the sensation was strangely calming.

He sat, or lay, or stood there for what seemed like ages; but it was very strange. He felt that, wherever he was, time and space didn't quite work how he was used to. But somehow, there was no fear; he knew that there was no danger.

' _How do I know that?'_ he asked himself. And, wondrous to tell, he answered himself: ' _The Haussmann shield.'_ Of course. He was surrounded by the shield; he was protected from all danger inside it. He knew that, not just in his head, but in direct experience of three attacks survived unscathed.

He moved a little, to see what would happen, and what it would feel like. Around him swirled strange colours, and to begin with they were bright and unrecognisable … and then he remembered their names: there was green, and there was red. They seemed to caress him, and he felt peace and joy coursing through him.

"Where is this place?" he asked himself out loud. At least, he thought it was out loud; it was very hard to be sure what was actually going on.

Except that it must have been out loud, because a voice answered him. "This place is wherever you want it to be," it said.

Draco didn't recognise the speaker; but he had heard the voice before. It was the voice that had told him it was the shield; and it was the voice that had told him, long ago, before they had got together, that Harry needed his comfort. And then, he remembered, he had had that vision of the pig-eyed man who turned out to be Harry's uncle Vernon. Well, the voice, he had to admit, was right; and somehow he was sure he could trust it.

"I want it to be home. I want it to be my study," Draco said out loud. Instantly, the space around him changed and took form: instead of the pulsating nothingness of before, walls and floor appeared, and French windows and chairs and tables and within a very short time he was standing in what was, to all intents and purposes, his study.

He let out his breath, and wandered around, glad to be in a familiar space; though his study didn't have French doors. But it wasn't enough. Something was missing.

No, scratch that. Some **one** was missing. He needed Harry.

"Is Harry here?" he asked, tentatively, not quite sure of the protocol for speaking to someone he had never met who seemed to know everything and be both stranger and familiar.

"Yes," the reply came, and the voice sounded amused, as though it had been wondering when he would get around to asking. "He's outside." And then, as Draco was wondering how to get there, it said, "through the doors."

And, not wasting a moment, without hesitation, Draco walked through the doors.

* * *

The garden was beautiful. Not the formal, refined beauty of the Manor; no, this was a cottage garden, but on a huge scale. He turned around to see the doors he had walked out of and somehow he was not surprised to find that they were no longer French doors at all. Behind him was a stone cottage, with a simple rustic wooden door-on-a-latch; around him were flowerbeds that stretched for what looked like miles, but couldn't have been, planted with snapdragons and petunias and pansies and rose bushes.

"Antirrhinums," he told himself, "not snapdragons; use the proper name."

"No," came a breathed-out sound, and he looked to see the plants actually taking the form of little dragons. "We are dragons, little master; and we snap!" Saying this, they crashed their jaws together; the sound was quite fierce.

Draco chuckled. "Very well," he said, "snapdragons you are, then."

They gave him a pretty bow, and he wandered off towards a grove of trees he could see in the distance. He was not surprised to find Harry there, lying leaning against one of the trees, dozing in dappled sunlight. As he drew near, the brilliant green eyes opened and looked at him, and Harry smiled. It took Draco's breath away.

"Hello," Harry said, simply, and Draco couldn't help himself; he dropped to his knees in front of the Gryffindor, and kissed him.

A while later they lay together, Harry with his back to the tree, Draco leaning with his back on Harry's chest, one of Harry's arms around him holding him firmly, but not too tight. The other hand was carding through Draco's hair softly; and as they lay there, Draco felt something cold in his heart melt away.

And all of a sudden he knew what had happened. He was with the one he loved more than anyone else. More even, he knew now, than he loved himself. He had what he had asked for. He was, simply, home.

* * *

Agnes Touauld was still dumbfounded.

The two boys lay together, exactly as they had been for the past three hours. Her diagnostic spell was still active; this was unusual in itself, normally her spells would pass painlessly over the patient in seconds, and give her a detailed readout of what was going on. This time, they seemed to have coalesced somehow, and formed a blanket over the two boys.

 _Men,_ she idly corrected her thought. But there was no way the one hundred and forty year old healer could look at these eighteen and seventeen year olds and think of them as men. And yet, even though she was probably still the best healer available, these boys had stymied her.

"Do you have any theories, Madam Touauld?" Poppy asked hesitantly.

The hesitation in the voice and the use of the title made it quite plain to the healer what Poppy's problem was: she was nervous that her treatments had been at fault. Now, Agnes was famous amongst the more arrogant healers for being difficult to get along with; but she had a very soft spot for medical people who actually cared about her patients.

"Agnes," she said, insisting on her first name. "This is no time for formality, Poppy. Everything you did was perfect, or I would have sent you out of the room straight away. As it is, we need to work together; this is ground-breaking healing. I don't believe anyone has ever written anything about the medical aspect of _How_ —what were they?"

"Haussmann Shields," Lucius supplied, his voice weary, but his body determined to stay and help.

Touauld looked at him sharply. She had already told him and Narcissa to go to bed twice or they would be useless in the morning; Narcissa had gone, not because she agreed willingly but because a house-elf had taken her when she had actually fallen asleep. But Lucius Malfoy, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff. _Well,_ she thought, a grim smirk on her lips, _it's his funeral!_

"Haussmann Shields," she repeated, getting her tongue and her mind used to the words. "Yes. Well, there doesn't seem to be any actual problem here – both patients are quite stable …"

"Wait!" Poppy said, interrupting. "Look! Something's happening!"

All three of them stood and crowded closer to see. Something was definitely happening. The blanket of the diagnostic spell suddenly disappeared, and a lime-green light came back to the piece of parchment in the healer's hand. But she didn't look at it straight away; for, in front of them, was an amazing sight.

The two boys were still covered by a silvery-green cocoon of light, but inside they could see two strong shapes: one silver, one emerald-green. It was obvious that these somehow represented the two wizards underneath: silver for Draco, green for Harry. But what were they?

And then Agnes Touauld's eyes went wide. She had read about this, but never seen it. She had asked about it, but no-one she knew had ever seen it either.

"They're beautiful," Poppy whispered, interrupting her thoughts.

"But what are they?" Lucius, also whispering, asked.

"I think…" the healer started, then wondered how much to say. But she trusted this medi-witch, Minerva had vouched for her, and she could see the woman's integrity clearly enough for herself; and it was obvious that, despite everything she had ever heard about Lucius Malfoy, he loved his son, and had strong feelings of protection towards Harry Potter. And if what they had told her about the Shield was true (and why wouldn't it be?), there was no way Lucius was going to do anything to harm him. So she decided to throw caution to the wind.

"What we see here," she continued, her voice much firmer, the tone one scarily familiar to generations of student healers who had lived in mortal fear of her, "is supposed to be impossible. Through some unbelievably powerful magic, we see, not the two boys, but the cores of their magic." She bent over and peered closely, making careful observations. As she looked closer, she could see thin strands of red that arched between the two cores; she pointed them out to the other two.

"They seem to be moving together," Lucius pointed out, and indeed the red strands were getting thicker and pulling the two cores towards each other. At the same time it was clear that there was something strange about the emerald-green core. Thick blobs of darker colour seemed to come out of it, and as they reached the surface, they were surrounded by the red light which seemed to track them.

Agnes was about to point this out, when the two cores touched. Instantly, silver spread out across the surface of the green; and as it hit the red-rimmed dark green pockets, they seemed to lift off the surface and melt away. It was not long before the whole green core was covered in silver; and then the most amazing thing of all happened.

The two cores started throbbing together with the lub-dup rhythm of a heartbeat. As they did so, they gave of a yellowish light, which hit the three magicals in the room. As it did so, an incredible feeling of peace and well-being passed through the two witches and the wizard, and they almost fell into their chairs.

Agnes looked at the piece of parchment in her hand. A moment later, as she read the diagnosis, a shocked expression forced its way onto her face.

"What is it?" Poppy asked, her voice filled with concern.

Agnes looked at her, her eyes filled with awe. "From what the diagnostic spells say, what we just witnessed was a very profound magical healing. The dark green blobs were a visual representation of weaknesses that Harry had taken into his core. You can see here," she said, pointing to schematic diagrams that had appeared on her parchment, "that his own magic had locked them away. That meant they didn't trouble him too much, but it cost him quite a bit of his magical power to maintain. Now they have been brought out of the core, and the red magic seems to have kept them away from Harry's core while the silver –"

"Draco's magic?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, I think so," Touauld replied. "The silver magic has removed them."

Poppy looked thunderstruck. "This is …" she began, but didn't know how to continue.

Touauld did. "This is the most amazing healing I have witnessed in over a hundred years of practicing the art," she said crisply. "Now, they seem to have calmed down; I think we could all do with a few hours sleep."

* * *

_Thursday, 11 June_

Robin and Toby checked in to the hotel that their researches had shown that Dyson liked to spend a lot of time at. It was already quite warm, and the sun was shining brightly; Robin could see that Toby was torn between duty and the desire to sunbathe by the pool, so he told him to go outside while he kept watch. It was about eleven o'clock when he spotted Dyson entering the hotel. An unobtrusive little alarm charm got Toby's attention easily, and the senior Auror quickly got fully dressed and went to meet his partner who was already stationed near the bar. They were just in time to install themselves there before Dyson came in, a pretty girl hanging off each arm. He bought drinks for the girls; then, spotting the two Aurors, asked them what they were having and invited them to join his group.

"Oh," Robin said diffidently, "we don't want to intrude…"

"Nah!" Dyson said, waving them over. "Always glad to see new faces."

The two girls looked a bit miffed at this, and Robin rather suspected that they were not exactly 'new' faces. Toby rather suspected that he could guess their profession, but he didn't want to go there, so extended a hand.

"John Sligo," he said, giving the false name with practised ease as he extended his hand.

"Frank Fortescue," the other man replied, as he shook the offered hand.

"Tom Collins," Robin said, and he and Dyson repeated the ritual.

The handshakes over, and the men having given each other false names, the two Aurors sat down and were introduced to 'Debbie' and 'Denise' as a waiter placed a jug of sangria on the table.

The conversation flowed easily. Robin discussed football, confessing to being a Chelsea fan; 'Fortescue' exploded, saying that Arsenal was the only team in the league worth anything, and it took them a good forty-five minutes before they agreed to disagree.

"And what do you think about football, Mr Sligo?" 'Fortescue' asked the senior Auror.

"Oh," Proudfoot replied as he gave a sly wink to his partner, "I think there's only one 'f' in Fulham …"

And **that** argument took another hour, during which time the two young ladies had excused themselves to go and swim in the pool.

The waiter came up and asked if the men would be having lunch.

"Oh, rather," 'Fortescue' said, a bit too loudly, no doubt due to the rather large amount of sangria he had been drinking. Though perhaps the shots of vodka that Proudfoot had snuck into his glass from time to time had something to do with it as well …

He turned to the other two. "Join me, gents? I've taken quite a shine to you two."

"That would be our pleasure," Robin replied at his most disarming. And so they adjourned to the dining room, Proudfoot shaking his head in wonder at how easy it was for his young colleague to wrap people around his little finger.

* * *

Lunch was very pleasant. They moved on to rioja; Proudfoot wondered how Dyson could do it, but the man was obviously practised at serious drinking; his nose was a bit red and he was talking a little too loud, but apart from that there were no obvious signs that he had been drinking.

The conversation naturally turned to what the men did in 'real life'; the Aurors explained that they had been visiting Spain for their company and been given time off, so had hot-footed it to Mallorca for a day or two of sunshine. They made it clear that their jobs were too boring to talk about, and Dyson didn't pry.

"I was a p'liceman in Surrey before I retir'd," he said, starting to slur his words just a little, to Robin's relief. Drunken men, he found, were much easier to get information out of. He wasn't by any means a great legilimens and, while Muggles were generally an easy target, drunken Muggles could have memories interrogated without remembering it.

"Really," Robin said, expressing quite genuine interest. "Must have done all right if you can retire so young?"

Dyson winked at him. "Did all right," he said, echoing the other's words as drunken men will. "Did a bit on the side, see?"

Proudfoot clamped down on his enthusiasm and affected mild interest instead. "I thought that was Debbie and Denise?" he asked mischievously.

"Pah!" said Dyson with a laugh, enjoying the joke. "Yes, well, they are in a way. No, I found this bloke who had a friend who was having trouble with his lodger, see. The bloke ran a company, the friend was his employee, and the bloke wanted something done about the nephew 'cos his friend was missing too much work, see? He said it was 'a problem one of my employees is having'. So of course, being a good friend like, I offered to take care of this problem for him."

 _I'll bet you did,_ Robin thought to himself. _For a price._

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, astonished to have hit pay-dirt so quickly. "So, what was this nephew like then?"

"Proper piece of work, apparently. Harry, that's the boy's name, got himself sent off to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, according to this employee. Mind you, I happen to know there is no such place, so I wonder who was delusional?"

At this point, Dyson went off into himself, obviously thinking back to the time when this happened. Robin poured him another glass of wine.

"Oh, thanks, don't mind if I do," Dyson said, accepting the wine. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, so this Harry. Vern—ah, the employee–-said he went to this school but it doesn't exist. I reckon he was winding Old Man Grun—ah, my friend up. But I did well out of it, because Grunnings paid me to help him out, and Vernon paid me not to tell Grunnings what he was up to." He finished this with a wink; and if he noticed he had finally lost the battle of hiding the names, he didn't show it.

"And what was he up to?" Toby asked, a wholly feigned sympathy in his voice.

"Oh, small stuff. Taking money from someone to look after the boy, and then going on holiday without him. But also I reckon he used to beat him and stuff. The file was a bit of a shocker. Went missing though; that's how I got most of the money out of him."

"Amazing!" said Robin, hiding the sickening feeling he felt in his stomach on learning that there was actual paperwork somewhere that proved Vernon's abuse. "But what if he split the beans on you?"

"Oh, that's no problem," Dyson said, an indescribably sly expression on his face. "Things that are lost can get found again, you know …"

The lunch continued on; they found that, as they had suspected, this was only the latest of Dyson's rather unethical behaviour. The man was well-dressed, not working, and living a lavish lifestyle with a false identity; he had money coming in, that was obvious. And the most likely source was blackmail; and a blackmailer seldom sticks to a single victim.

After lunch, Dyson went off to join his 'girlfriends' by the pool, and the two Aurors went to 'have a siesta'; which did not, in fact, involve much sleep. They spent the next couple of hours comparing notes about what had been said; and also what they had quietly managed to find out by legilimens. Robin conjured some unbreakable glass vials and placed in them three memories he had managed to extract from 'Fortescue' at various points. These proved culpability on his and Dursley's part beyond doubt. As for Grunnings, they came to the view that he had merely been stupid, believing what Dursley had told him rather than checking anything out. Which may or may not mean that Lucius would spare him. But they were quite sure that Dyson would not enjoy meeting Mr Malfoy. That Dursley was going to positively hate it was a given …

* * *

Draco was loath to break the moment; but they had been there for a while, Harry must be getting stiff.

"Where is this place, Harry?" he asked. "I asked before, and some voice said 'wherever you want it to be'; but that doesn't make a lot of sense."

Harry laughed. "It's true, though," he said, and as if to make the point he moved slightly and all of a sudden they were lying together cuddling in a beautifully soft bed.

"I thought," Harry said, "that I was dreaming, and that this was the land of dreams. But then how can you be here? Unless I'm dreaming you, of course …"

Draco swallowed. Of course, Harry didn't know what had happened with the Shield.

"No, I'm real," he said. "Harry, we were lying in bed together at the Manor, and this old healer came and cast a diagnostic charm on us, and something must have happened with the shield because it all flared up and then everything went dark for me. Then I asked where we were, I heard the voice, and decided I wanted to be in my study; and then, just like that, I was. Then I wanted you, and it lead me outside and I found you. After I found some grouchy snapdragons," he remembered.

Harry laughed again, and Draco wished he could make him make that sound all day. "Yeah, they're pretty feisty, aren't they? I spent quite a while talking to them." He went quiet for a second, and then continued, "So, you hear the voice as well?"

"Yes," Draco said. "Any idea what it might mean?"

"Not much," Harry admitted. "All I know is, it feels like someone's there, watching over me. I feel like whoever it is is completely trustworthy and always honest; so maybe it's something to do with the Debt? Because that's the same isn't it, protective and truthful."

Draco thought about this for a moment. He hadn't thought about the Debt in such simple terms before. That Harry had rather worried him.

"You know I'm not only protective of you because of the Debt, right?" he asked, his voice betraying his insecurity.

That got another laugh, which made him smile in spite of himself.

"I know," Harry replied, "there's also that you love me. And I love you."

I was said so simply and matter-of-factly that Draco knew, just knew, that it was the truth, that he and Harry were bound together, not by obligation but by love. By adoration, at least on Draco's part. He kissed Harry again, trying to put into the kiss just how much it meant to him to be affianced to this gorgeous, funny, lovely man.

"Wow," Harry said, after they had got their breath back. "Thank you."

"Harry," Draco replied, "I should thank you. Now, I suppose we should think about your healing? You were supposed to have rest, I'm not sure if my being here counts …"

Harry looked at him; there was a little sadness, but only a little, in those beautiful green eyes.

"I feel fantastic, as far as healing is concerned," he said. "But I think you're right, Dragon. You should probably go back to the others, and let them know all is well."

Draco felt torn, a mixture of conflicting desires. He wanted to stay with Harry; but he didn't want to impede the healing, and he wanted to tell his parents that it was all right.

"OK," he said at last. "But only if you know I'm not leaving you alone."

"I know," Harry said, smiling. "We'll be together again, soon, I promise."

"When is soon?" Draco asked, but even as he did he felt like he was rushing up through water, then through darkness; and finally he opened his eyes to find he had returned from his little trip into Dreamland, if that was indeed where he had been. He found himself in his own bed cuddling the sleeping body of his fiancé. He blinked his eyes in the noon-day sun, and smiled as he saw his father dozing in an armchair that had been drawn up next to the bed.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy," the unfamiliar voice of Agnes Touauld said from the foot of the bed. "Good. Now, perhaps, we will get some answers."

* * *

Ginny and Luna spent a very pleasant day in Diagon Alley. They shopped, which of course really means they visited every shop that sold clothes for young women, tried on practically everything that might suit, rejected everything, and then went back and bought the first three items they had tried on. Along the way they had lunch in a fashionable new little café that had sprung up on Diagon Alley; and they had talked! The whole day!

Even now, in the afternoon, having shrunk their purchases and pocketed them, they were back in the café and talking. They talked about Hogwarts, and wondered how far the renovations had gone and whether it really was nearly back to normal, like their friends said; they complained to each other that they weren't allowed to help simply because they weren't yet of age. And they talked about the war.

And it was at this point that the secret listener to their conversation perked up. She had been hanging around them all day, hoping that they would say something interesting. She was about to be rewarded beyond her wildest dreams.

"Of course," Ginny was saying, "we were all devastated when we found out Fred was dead."

"But Fred isn't dead," Luna replied, her face serene.

"No, not now," Ginny replied, in the sort of tone one uses to a child who seems particularly thick, "but he was killed in an explosion. And then when Harry removed the mark from the Malfoys, something really weird happened in the whole hall, and Fred seemed to sort of wake up."

"Oh, well that explains it then," Luna said airily.

"It does?" Ginny asked, confused.

"Of course. If Harry brought him back to life, that explains why he's not still dead."

Ginny cocked her head. There were times when she wondered about Luna; could anybody really think like that? But she always had; and her bizarre thoughts were always entertaining, at least.

"Yes," she agreed, "though it doesn't explain how Harry could bring him back from the dead. That's not even supposed to be possible, right?"

"Nor are Debts of Magical Emancipation," Luna said, sounding serious for once. "But obviously they are."

"That's what's between Harry and Draco," Ginny mused, remembering the night in the Burrow after the Battle of Hogwarts and Luna nodded. "How do you know about it?"

"Oh, Daddy has some old books about it," she replied, somewhat off-hand. "When he heard what had happened, he said that must be what it is. It means that Draco has to protect Harry and be truthful to him. And some other stuff, too, I think, about –"

At this point Ginny finally decided a little bit of care was needed, and shushed her friend. This didn't seem to bother Luna at all, and they went on to discuss fashion with equal interest.

But their eavesdropper was not interested in fashion. As the little beetle animagus flew away, Rita Skeeter knew she had a story. No, she had 'A STORY!' In capital letters. With an exclamation mark.

This was the debt that Potter had told her about, but left out all the juicy details. And he had brought someone back from the dead, and somehow no-one had said anything. How did that work? Either it had been deliberately suppressed by the Ministry, or they didn't know, in which case Potter must have suppressed it. Either way, this was exactly what Cuffe was looking for, she was sure of it.

And it was going to be her by-line.

She couldn't wait.

* * *

While Ginny and Luna were drinking coffee, Robin and Toby did in fact have a siesta; and now they were enjoying yet more sangria, this time with the local Mallorcan Aurors. The Auror's office was across the street from the Muggle police office; the chief auror told them that the two groups actually co-operated quite a lot. Toby was scandalised at this breach of secrecy, until it was explained to him that most of the police thought that the wizards were plain-clothes detectives. There were only a couple of officers, who were in fact a Muggle-born wizard and a squib, who knew different.

It was a pleasant evening, and they were sitting outside in the sunlight. Proudfoot had been a little concerned about seeking the help of fellow wizards; but Robin had assured him it would be all right, and indeed it had. It turned out that one of the Aurors had been on an exchange visit to Germany and knew Robin from those days, and remembered him fondly. A fact that did not surprise Toby Proudfoot one bit. His partner was impossible: he either knew everyone already or had them wrapped round his little finger within minutes. As an Auror, he would go far with those skills.

He realised he had tuned out, and only heard a few phrases of the conversation – chief among them being "undercover investigation" and "child abuse" – but as he came back to himself he could see that the Spanish Aurors were very sympathetic to the situation, and eager to assist.

And then Robin said the magic words.

"The reason why it has to be low-key," he was saying, "is because the abused wizard involved is rather famous. But then you will have heard of Harry Potter?"

There was a collective gasp around the table. The Spaniards, because they were shocked at the thought of this most important of British wizards could have been mistreated; Proudfoot, because he was shocked that Robin had made that public. But he bit his tongue. There was no going back now, he knew that.

A few moments later, he was glad he hadn't erupted in anger. The Spanish wizards were shocked, yes, but they quickly rallied round, asking for the evidence. Robin laid out the story in front of them – very creditably, Proudfoot noticed absently – and they all agreed that something had to be done. And that they would help in any way they could.

"To start with," their chief said, "we will all swear not to reveal any of this, yes?" he asked, looking round at his colleagues. They all agreed, and touched their wands to his. A brief blue light flickered, and Proudfoot knew that his concerns were now void; the men had all sworn an oath not to reveal anything, one that their magic itself would enforce. He was humbled by the gesture.

"Next," the chief said, "this man? Fortescue, you say?"

"Yes, he goes by the name 'Frank Fortescue'," Robin replied. "But his real name is Darren Dyson."

"Very well," the chief answered. "We will find him, and we will watch him. You need have no fear that he will leave this island without being followed."

"Excellent!" Robin said. "And now, gentlemen, we have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, and it's time to eat."

They all agreed happily with that, and spent the next few hours wandering the streets, eating at tapas bars and drinking more wine.

The two British Aurors rolled into bed at two o'clock in the morning. Tomorrow they would return home, happy that they had cases against Vernon Dursley and Darren Dyson that would hold up in court. Even a Muggle court, if it had to. Tomorrow, they would talk to Petunia Dursley and see what she had to say to the evidence they had been collecting.

Tomorrow would be a good day, Robin thought. So why did he have a niggling feeling something was going to blow it all to hell?

Perhaps Aurors can see the future after all …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. Really glad to have her back from holiday!
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks: to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and treacle tart to those who leave comments.


	40. The Return of a Little Comfort

**40\. The Return of a Little Comfort**

_**Last time:** _

" _Ah, Mr Malfoy," the unfamiliar voice of Agnes Touauld said. "Good. Now, perhaps, we will get some answers."_

Draco turned to face the healer, and she all but pounced on him, a fierce and fearfully intense curiosity obvious on her aged face. He knew that look: it was one that Professor Snape had grown proficient at hiding, but Draco had always spotted it. He winced; that look meant that he was going to give answers, whether he wanted to or not. There was nothing for it but to tell her everything, he knew that perfectly well.

"Hello," he said, mildly. "Do you think I could get a drink of water?"

The witch said nothing, just waved her wand and a glass on the bedside table filled itself from the pitcher next to it, and then floated over to him. The move was so fluid and fast that he could tell she had done it often. It figures, he thought; she must be well used to patients playing for time. By the look on her face, she was well aware that that was what he was doing.

"Thank you," he said, once he had finished his drink. "Now, what would you like to know?"

"Everything," she said promptly. He had not, in truth, expected any other reply. "Start from when I walked into the room and cast the spell, and go on from there."

"Well, to begin with, there was darkness, and then …"

"That's not quite right, is it?" she said sharply. "There were colours first."

"Oh yes," Draco said, rather shocked not have been allowed to finish even his first sentence. He frowned, remembering. "Well, yes, um … you cast the spell, I remember that, and this amber light came towards us. It would have been perhaps two or three inches away when the Shield erupted in front of us – I mean," he corrected himself, seeing that she was itching to interrupt and knowing intuitively that she would want detailed observation, not his theories about what had happened, "the three colours of red, green and silver swirled in front of my eyes, and I knew that this was the Haussmann shield. Are you aware of what that is?"

"I am aware of the shield," the healer replied, not adding more, her tone inviting him to continue.

"Right. Well, I watched the swirling colours, and then suddenly the Shield sort of stopped, as if it had let the amber through; one moment it was mostly red light in front of my face; then amber; then it went black, and I must have lost consciousness because the next thing I knew I was lying there with my eyes shut."

"And you opened your eyes?" she prompted.

"I opened them, but it didn't really make any difference."

"I see. How did you feel about the experience?"

Draco wasn't used to healers asking about his state of mind, but then he wasn't used to healers with as much experience as Agnes Touauld either; so he thought back.

"It did feel strange …" he began.

"How so?" she asked, animatedly. "Claustrophobic? Dangerous? Unsettling?"

"No, quite the opposite, actually. It felt safe. And the space seemed sort of spongy. And then I wanted it to be my study; and it was."

He decided to leave out the voice entirely; somehow he didn't feel ready to talk about that, not while Harry was still unconscious. But Touauld didn't seem to have noticed, merely asking if it was exactly like his study.

"Yes, except it had French doors," he replied. "And I went through them, and found myself in a cottage garden, just the sort of place Harry would love, and I knew I would find him there somewhere."

At this point, the door opened and, no doubt drawn by some maternal instinct which told her that her son was awake, Narcissa Malfoy walked in, with Molly Weasley behind her.

"Dragon!" Narcissa said. There was delight in her voice, but also a note of apprehension. Touauld turned to look at her. With a hundred years of experience, she was quite used to relatives coming in to the sick room and wondering whether they should be there. As a healer, she had a very firm opinion on that score: the love of friends and relatives was an irreplaceable ingredient in healing, to be used whenever possible.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Malfoy, Mrs Weasley. By all means, come in and join us. Mr Draco Malfoy was recounting the very interesting events that happened while he was unconscious. If I understand correctly, we had just about reached the moment when he joined Mr Potter."

"Look, this is all very well," Lucius had said, as Narcissa sat down next to him. "But I don't understand how any of this is possible. I mean, was Draco dreaming? And if so, how could Harry actually be in his dream?"

"I do not think Mr Malfoy was dreaming, no," the healer replied slowly. "I tend not to form a theory until I have as much data as possible; but this does sound like a phenomenon I have heard of before. Specialist mind-healers encounter it more often, I understand. You see, the mind is a very strange place, and it has a reality all of its own. In cases where the patient is being healed of magical trauma, it seems able to create a sort of mode of being that is no less real than our physical world; but has its own, rather different, rules. One could describe it as 'the land of dreams', I suppose; but that label really hides more than it explains. It is really a space constructed by the mind, or sometimes minds, to facilitate healing. But that is enough theorizing. Mr Malfoy, please continue."

"Before he does, he needs to eat," Molly said, in a voice that brooked no rebuttal. "It is lunchtime, after all, and from what I understand, he hasn't eaten since last night."

Touauld looked a little abashed. An elderly lady, she managed to exist almost entirely on tea and toast, and it often didn't occur to her that other people needed more substantial meals. And she had heard of Molly Weasley's formidable reputation for mothering her children; it seemed that, for the moment at least, that included Draco as well. She, herself, was quite unstoppable when in the middle of treating a patient, and she recognised a kindred spirit.

"Yes, of course," she said. "But nothing too substantial on an empty stomach. Perhaps we could have some light food here?"

Narcissa smiled and called for Mappy, who produced an enormous plate of sandwiches, and another one of cakes. Draco reached out for a cake immediately; but the plate was levitated away from him. He looked up in surprise to see stern looks from both Touauld and Molly Weasley. He cringed under the onslaught of disapproval from both healer and mother, and took a sandwich. The two women both nodded in approval; it was almost comical how exactly they mirrored each other.

"So, Mrs Weasley," Draco asked as they ate, "to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Molly looked at him kindly. "Narcissa has kept me informed of your progress. Yes, yours as well as Harry's," she stressed, because she could see perfectly well that Draco was looking surprised at the idea that she was concerned for him. "Of course I care about you, Draco. You're a poor boy who was forced into an unpleasant situation and made some bad, and often forced, choices; and here you are making amends for them. And showing that you care about Harry, my youngest son."

Draco went pink at these words, but was saved further embarrassment by Mappy appearing with a tea tray. Once everyone had a cup of tea, Touauld took charge again. Under her relentless prompting, he explained, as best he could, the garden, and finding Harry, and how Harry had told him all was well, and how he could see this for himself and was quite sure of it.

At the end of his explanation, she recapped everything he had said, making more notes on her parchment. Then she did something he had not at all expected: she smiled at him.

"You are a very observant patient, Mr Malfoy. The details you have given exactly tally with the readings I had been able to make, and on the whole I think Mr Potter is in no danger. I am more than relieved to learn that he had said he felt fantastic; healing of the magical core is a very difficult area, but one thing we have learnt is that the best indicator of success is the patient's own feeling of wellness."

"Thank you, that's comforting to know. But, um, you called me a patient? I didn't think I was the patient here?" he asked.

She fixed him with quite a stare. "From what we have learnt about the Haussmann shield, and from what I have observed over the last fifteen or so hours, it is clear that there is a magical bond between you two, Mr Malfoy. Accordingly, the process Mr Potter is going through is bound to affect you too. For that reason, as well as to help his healing, I'm going to ask you to stay here with him, and submit to further monitoring."

Draco gulped. It seemed that he was practically chained to the bed for the foreseeable future. Mind you, being forced to stay in bed with Harry (albeit a sleeping Harry); there were worse fates …

* * *

"Harry's engaged!"

Ron groaned to hear it again. "Yes, Hermione, I know," he replied. The thought, _'really, I can't believe it'_ ,in Hermione's voice, ran through his head. That was what always came next.

"Really! I can't believe it!" Hermione said, right on cue.

"Believe it," said Ron. "Dad said so, he wouldn't joke about something like this." He turned the page, silently wishing that his fiancée would shut up so he could give all of his attention to the Quidditch magazine that the twins had just sent him.

Hermione stared at him. She couldn't understand it.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she said, and Ron knew he was in trouble. It was never anything good when people used his full name. "How can you be so calm about it! Harry is engaged to Malfoy, of all people! You know, tried to kill you? And Katie Bell?"

Ron sighed. How many times had they been over this? "He wasn't trying to kill me or Katie, he was trying to kill Dumbledore. And yes, I know that's despicable, but Dumbledore forgave him, so I think we should too. And, Hermione, what's really bugging you? We have this discussion three times a day, and I'm getting a bit over it."

"I'm sorry," the bushy-haired witch replied, and suddenly Ron realised she was close to tears. He reached his arm around her, and she burrowed her head into his chest as she started sobbing.

Eventually, she calmed enough to be capable of articulate speech again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it's just … I feel like, he's our friend, he's always been there for us, and we're not there to share this precious moment in his life …"

Ron sighed, and clasped her tightly. "It's all right, 'Mione. He's made a choice, we'd seen it coming; but I'm sure he understands. He wanted us to come to Australia, remember? He could have waited if he'd wanted to, but obviously he decided he wanted Draco enough that he didn't want to wait. He's a big boy, now, he gets to make his own decisions. And he's our friend, and we're going to stand behind him a hundred percent. And we'll be back in just over a week, and we'll make sure Draco is spoiling him rotten, and we'll help. OK?"

They were asinine words, and he knew it, but they turned out to be perfect. Hermione laughed at how silly they were, taking comfort that her fiancé had not laughed at her or belittled her feelings. Half an hour later they were interrupted in mid-smooch by Mrs Granger. Which was just as well, really; there are limits to what a wizard should do in his future in-laws' house, even if said in-laws are Muggles …

* * *

_Friday 12 June_

Draco woke early on Friday morning and lay in bed listening to his fiancé's even breathing. He had been by his side for so long that he could tell instantly that Harry was at peace, just from the sound he made. He put his hand on Harry's brow to make sure, and felt a faint tingling in the back of his mind. He concentrated on it; almost instantly it became much stronger, and somehow he knew it was Harry reaching out to him, trying to tell him something. A wave of feeling went through him and suddenly it was obvious what Harry was reaching for: all was well, he was sure of that; but his lover wanted to be held. The feeling was so strong and so peaceful that he couldn't help but scoop his lover into his arms and cradle him, stroking his hair and crooning to him.

Harry didn't wake; but the feeling changed, and somehow Draco could tell that Harry was enjoying the sensation very much. Which is why, half an hour later, Mappy found him still rocking Harry and caressing him and making soothing noises.

"Master Draco is awake!" the elf squeaked. "Master Draco is wanting breakfast?"

"Yes thank you, Mappy," Draco said. "But please don't let anyone else know I'm awake yet."

"Yes, Master Draco!" the elf replied and disapparated with the inevitable pop.

Draco lay back on the head-board and closed his eyes and ruminated on life. It suddenly struck him that he, a pureblood, had said 'please' and 'thank you' to a house-elf. He really was becoming more like Potter, he thought. Hmm … More like this brave, loving, generous, wonderful man? Well, why not.

It struck Draco, too, that Harry didn't complain. At school he had thought of him as an attention-seeking whinger; but the last few weeks had shown him just how wrong that assessment had been. The boy had been forced into a tricky debt situation – Draco could now see that the Debt was as unwelcome to Harry as it had been to him and his father – and imposed on by his mother and Mrs Weasley setting his wedding date; and the Wizengamot, demanding the testimony that had become the Potter code; and the Ministry, who still, Draco suspected, wanted him to be their pin-up boy, they were just subtler about it now. And in the midst of it were Andromeda and Teddy. Not that she exactly demanded anything of it, but he clearly felt an obligation there. And he'd sucked it all up, and did what needed doing, and looked after everyone. Well, Draco thought to himself, it's time he got looked after. _And I guess that's my job_ …

He made himself comfortable as his fingers carded through Harry's hair. He just hoped his lover would heal soon; he loved holding him, but missed their talks, and their flying, and working at Hogwarts with him, and working on Grimmauld Place with him, and … well, everything with him really.

He hadn't quite realised it before; his life had come to revolve completely around the man in his arms.

Draco thought about that, and smiled.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was not having a good day. It started promisingly enough; the sun was shining, always a good thing in Petunia's mind, though she would have to remember to top up all the garden beds with water. Vernon was even in a good mood for most of breakfast, though she had caught him looking askance at the toast. She managed to get his eggs just right, and the bacon nice and crispy, and almost succeeded in not thinking how much better it had been when the freak had cooked for them; he always got the meal perfect, though, of course, they had never told him that, since _obviously_ he must have cheated and used magic.

And then the joy of the day, such as it was, began to depart. It started innocently enough: the mail arrived, and there were the usual bills and rubbish – apparently they may have won a cruise – and nestled in the middle of the bundle of envelopes and flyers was a letter for Dudley. It was in a very official-looking envelope, addressed from Smeltings Academy with their crest embossed on it. As a matter of course, she put in the special rack she had reserved for letters for him.

But Vernon, who normally never noticed anything, noticed this action.

"What's that?" Vernon asked.

"A letter for Dudley," she replied breezily.

"That boy! What's he doing getting letters? Give it here," he demanded.

"It's from the school, I don't think we should –"

"WHAT!" he had bellowed at her. "Taking his side now? It's not enough for you that our son is a prefect, and getting good grades? That our lovely strong masculine son is becoming a swat and a goody-two-shoes?"

He was in full-on rant mode by now, and Petunia was desperately trying to think of a way to calm him down.

"It's all the freak's fault, he's bewitched him somehow," he said, and the thought, though completely without logical foundation, seemed to calm him a little. And if it gave him someone else to focus his anger on, Petunia was only too glad. Much better blame the freak than focus on themselves.

At this point, realising he would be late if he didn't get on with it, Vernon swore violently, jumped up, gave his wife a very perfunctory kiss on the cheek, leapt into his car, and was gone.

Petunia was so shocked that she broke a teacup while doing the dishes. Her Vernon had left in a foul temper, and had not even actually said 'good-bye' to her. She had done her best to make a nice breakfast, and he hadn't even noticed. She wondered, not for the first time, whether he still loved her. And then, and this was the first time, she wondered if **she** still loved **him**. And she had to admit that she wasn't sure that she did. She was so wound up that she decided to do the hoovering. The Hoover, after all, didn't mind her being rough with it. Except today, it did; the motor burnt out.

She sat on the edge of a lounge chair and bit back tears. She gave herself a good talking-to. What was going on? She was a strong woman, wasn't she? There was no cause to sit and weep because her husband had left in a huff, or she'd broken a cup, or the vacuum cleaner had died.

But as she went over them in her mind, the thought that rose up was that the problem wasn't that any of these things had happened, but that **all** of them had. It was as if the Universe had suddenly started conspiring against her. Or perhaps the freak really was still having some influence over them …

The doorbell rang, and she roused herself to go and answer it. Perhaps it would be one of those religious nutters who called from time to time. They were always good for a laugh, and she could do with one now.

* * *

Toby was glad for the one hour difference in time zones, which meant that they could leave Mallorca at ten o'clock in the morning and reach their office just after nine. Robin was full of the joy of living and eager to be off again. Proudfoot grumbled about this good-naturedly; he could have done with a day in the office. But Robin's high spirits didn't really surprise him. The man was still a boy, really, and had the resilience of youth. And he had another day in the field to look forward to. They had to go and interview one more person before they could tackle Vernon Dursley himself. Today they were going to see what Petunia Dursley had to say for herself.

It was all he could do to keep the man from going straight to Privet Drive. But they didn't want to get there before Vernon had left, so they filed paperwork and waited. It was two cups of tea later when, just after ten o'clock, they knocked on the door. There was no answer, and Robin spotted, and pressed, the rather unobtrusive door bell. This got a response; the door was answered by a rather flustered-looking Petunia.

"Oh!" she said, shocked to find two uniformed police officers at her door. "Is something wrong? Is it Dudley?"

"No, ma'am, nothing's wrong," Toby said soothingly. His manner was gentle, but neither he nor Robin failed to notice the unshed tears in her eyes and her general air of being flustered. _Something has got her all a-bother,_ Robin thought.

"We just have some questions we need to put to you if we may," Proudfoot continued.

"Oh!" she said again, clearly flustered. "Oh, um, well, I suppose you'd better come in, then." _What was I thinking?_ she asked herself. She had left them on the doorstep too long; what if the neighbours had noticed? Policemen, of all people, visiting her house!

She took them into the front room and offered them tea, which they were delighted to accept. Once she had made it, she brought the tea-tray into the room, with some biscuits on a plate. She was feeling a little more composed now; the simple act of making the tea had been wonderfully therapeutic.

Which was a shame really, as Robin proceeded to rock her to the core.

"Lovely room you have here, Mrs Dursley. I see lots of very nice photographs of what must be your husband, and son?"

She nodded in agreement, wondering where this was going.

"But none, I think, of your nephew. We're very worried about him, Mrs Dursley; we've uncovered some rather underhand activity taken against him. We were hoping you might be able to help us put together the picture of his life."

Petunia pursed her lips. Would she **never** be free of that damned freak?

"I'm sorry," she began, though she was nothing of the sort, "but I'm sure you know that he's a wanted criminal, and no longer welcome in this house. He left of his own accord, so we take no responsibility for him. It's a shame that you've come all this way, as I can't help you, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sure you can," said Robin, and his earnest face began to work its magic on her. "We know about Harry's situation now" – _far better than you do,_ he thought – "but we were hoping to get a line on what he was like growing up. You see, we have found evidence to suggest that he didn't commit any of the crimes he is accused of …"

All of a sudden, something in Petunia's mind clicked. She wasn't entirely happy about the way Vernon had acted; he and that odious Dyson had put their heads together, without her, and cooked up what she was quite convinced must be a pack of lies. And that offended her for two reasons. Firstly, she had been brought up to respect the law, and the police officers who upheld it; to see one of them deliberately working against it had put a bad taste in her mouth. Secondly, truth to tell, she actually missed Harry. He was, after all, family; the only other surviving member of the Evans family. Petunia might have bitterly resented the special treatment that Lily had received, and felt totally rejected by the world that had so easily accepted her, and, in Petunia's eyes, stolen her from the family; but she was still her sister. And Harry was all that was left of Lily.

She would probably rather have died than admit these things out loud; but Auror Banks and Auror Proudfoot were both reasonably good at legilimancy, and her unguarded Muggle mind practically forced the thoughts on them. And they both were very aware of the moment when she made up her mind. They both expected her to clam up further and throw them out to protect her husband; to their surprise, she did the opposite: she told them everything,

When they left, just before midday, they took with them a signed statement that they were well aware would cook Vernon Dursley's goose well and proper. To be sure, Petunia had not been entirely truthful, and they knew it; she had presented herself as being entirely under Vernon's thumb the whole time, forced unwillingly to accept his determination to punish Harry. What for, she had been rather vague about; which of course only strengthened the statement as it removed any semblance of rationality from Vernon's actions. He came across as a boor and a bully, hurting Harry for no other reason than that he was there.

Petunia invited them to stay for lunch, but they gave their apologies and left, explaining that they had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on, and they had to have their report ready by two o'clock. This was entirely true; but also, neither of them wanted to stay, anyway. And they didn't, of course, say that it was Lucius Malfoy they were reporting to. Let Petunia assume this was going through police channels, Robin thought wryly, and that Vernon was for it. For Robin was a lovely man, but people who hurt children deserved everything they got, in his eyes. So if she didn't have the nous to realise that she was putting the noose around her own neck as well, that was hardly his problem …

* * *

Lucius Malfoy spent much of the morning in his London office.

First up, George Grunnings came to finalize the sale of Grunnings Drills. He was very impressed by the office. _Well of course,_ Lucius had thought. Impressing people was, after all, what the office was for. It took only a few minutes for the money to be handed over and the sale was now all finalized. The only negative thing was that Grunnings insisted that they go to a nearby pub and drink a pint together to celebrate.

Thus it was that Lucius Malfoy found himself sitting in a Muggle bar, drinking Muggle ale. While it was not unpleasant, it did not really fit with his own image of himself; and when Grunnings suggested crisps as well, Lucius felt a limit had been reached, and declined the offer.

They sat drinking, George offering what he no doubt thought of as helpful observations about the staff. Lucius didn't care; he had done his research, he knew that the company practically ran itself; he'd keep Grunnings around, the man was useful as the figurehead, but there was, he well knew, one director who didn't really make a difference to the bottom line and wouldn't be missed …

That thought, and what he was going to do with Vernon Dursley, brought a smile to his face, which Grunnings mistook as encouragement.

"Well now," the son of Yorkshire said, "I was thinking of making a little announcement about the sale to the senior staff. Would you like to come along and be introduced?"

Lucius thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, it would give him a neutral forum in which to assess Vernon Dursley; on the other hand, it might be better to sneak up on the man and not give him any chance to know what hit him.

It was the latter thought that decided it for him. "Thank you," he replied, "but I think it's more your meeting; why not take them out for a nice meal and make a night of it? The firm can pay."

Whether Lucius had known it or not, he had found the way to the other man's heart. George Grunnings hadn't got where he was by throwing money around; but if this Malloy character wanted to, he was very happy to sit back and let him. Especially if it was going to wind up in his favour.

Lucius had been glad when the meeting was over, and Grunnings had gone off back to Surrey. He went back to his office, and decided he needed something to take away the taste of the ale. He called a house-elf, and Dippy appeared.

"How can Dippy be helping Master Lucius?" she asked, her eyes wide and showing the perennial eagerness to serve that was such a characteristic of the creatures.

"Ah, Dippy," he said. He had been half-expecting Mappy, that elf usually appeared. But Dippy was perfectly up to the job. "I would like a large glass of water and a small glass of fine brandy; and then some lunch."

Then he had a thought. Of course it wasn't Mappy; Mappy was charged with looking after Draco and Harry. And thinking of Draco reminded of something.

"Actually, no," he said, just managing to forestall Dippy from disappearing to do his bidding. "Not water. Make that an elderflower cordial made with soda water."

Dippy looked at him with her head on one side.

"Master is wanting his drink like Master Draco likes?"

Lucius chuckled. "Yes, Dippy, exactly like Master Draco likes."

"Yes, master!" the house-elf chortled, happy to have guessed her Master's wish, and made him chuckle; that would make a good tale to tell the other elves. She vanished, and returned two minutes later with the drinks.

Lucius sipped his cordial, and it took him straight back to that day nearly three weeks ago, when Harry had tried elderflower for the first time, and he wondered how Draco and Harry were getting on. Well, he would find out later today, no doubt; there was obviously no problem, nothing he needed to do, or the creature would have told him so. In the meantime, he had plenty of other things to occupy his mind, things he did need to do to put his plans into action.

He had been given a copy of all the documents that Banks and Proudfoot had discovered, and from it he had extracted one important name: that of the Magistrate who had granted the injunction. The highly confidential, and very secret, files that the Aurors had found showed that Mr Justice Tony Collias was a Master Mason; and indicated that he was more than a little fond of a tipple. Lucius made himself some notes as he ate his lunch, and decided that he needed to talk to the magistrate. He scanned the court list; yes, he was in court today, but his case was not expected to last the whole afternoon. Excellent, Lucius thought.

He was interrupted by the two Aurors coming to make their report. He listened with great interest, and agreed with their assessment of the situation. It was absurd. Looking at the evidence coldly and dispassionately, was it really credible that a twenty-something-stone man was being victimized by a teenager? Had it really not occurred to anyone that the truth might be the other way around? Lucius shook his head. Obviously, it hadn't; so it was time that it did.

Armed with his knowledge about Tony Collias, and the evidence that the Aurors had brought, it was simplicity itself to intercept the man as he left the court building, to pretend an interest in the Masonic lodge and arrange to have a drink with him that before his Lodge dinner. Indeed, Mr Collias was so delighted to make his acquaintance that Lucius had had to invent a prior engagement to avoid being roped in as a guest to the non-ceremonial part of the dinner.

Lucius was grateful that the man did not suggest they drink ale. They sat together, each nursing a glass of whisky on the rocks. It was an up-market bar, and there had even been a range of whiskies to choose from; Lucius had left the choice to his drinking partner, and the result was surprisingly drinkable.

They chatted for a while about nothing in particular; but the conversation was easily led to Collias's job. Lucius adroitly asked him about injunctions, and the need to prove the situation before they were issued, before discussing the particular example of a teenager in an abusive home situation. At the same time, Lucius was using his legilimens skills to bring the Potter case to the front of Collias's mind, so it was no surprise when the lawyer started talking about it.

"It's funny you should ask," he said. "I had a case a few months ago, but it was sort of the other way around. The man had taken in a relative of his wife's when his parents had died, and the boy was now living with them. Apparently this lad used to beat him and his wife up. Sad, really; he'd obviously gone off the rails big time."

Collias drained his glass, and Lucius suggested another, which was gratefully accepted.

"How does that happen?" Lucius asked. "I mean, a teenage boy beating up a grown man? He must have been a weakling?"

"I don't know, really, he didn't appear in court. The whole thing was done as a police file; they showed some evidence of marks to his wife and son, as I recall. But there weren't any pictures of him, now I think about it …"

"It seems very easy to get an injunction then," Lucius mused. "I mean, how do you know the truth isn't that the man himself abused his wife and child, and was just blaming the boy?"

"Oh, well, the police case was well documented," the magistrate replied, but Lucius could hear that his confidence was waning.

"You know," said Lucius, reaching into the briefcase he had brought, "I just wonder if perhaps I know the man. He wasn't Vernon Dursley, was he?"

"How … wait, this is a set-up!" Collias replied, as Lucius placed some photographs on the table. One was of an enormous fat man; Collias did not recognise him, but his mind was racing …

"Is that …" he began.

"This is Vernon Dursley," Lucius replied, and then placed a photograph of scarring and wounding on top of it.

"I've seen that before," Collias said, "they were on the other boy, the Dursley's son."

"No," Lucius replied, turning the photograph over to reveal that it had been signed by a master sergeant, attesting who they were of, "they are of the boy you granted an injunction against. These wounds were inflicted on Harry Potter, not Dudley Dursley."

Collias' face went ashen, as grey as a Dementor, and Lucius pressed his advantage home.

"I have evidence that the case against Harry Potter was entirely a fabrication between Vernon Dursley and the officer in charge, Darren Dyson."

"Why hasn't Potter come forward to contest this?" Collias asked.

"Why should he?" Lucius asked, putting a steely note in his voice. "Isn't he innocent until proven guilty? And who would believe him? And anyway, right now, Mr Potter is officially a missing person; but I can tell you he is in a coma due to injuries that were inflicted upon him by the Dursleys."

Seeing that Collias was about to explode, Lucius wove a calming charm around him as he slipped across the file of documentation that the Aurors had prepared. There was a blank sheet on top of the file, and Lucius placed a pen on it.

"This file should provide sufficient documentation for an official review," he said, quietly, in a voice full of menace. "I just need to know who to give it to."

Collias blinked. His emotions had gone on a rollercoaster in the last ten minutes; he had always believed in the system, believed that he had a role to play in stopping crime and abuse, and it seemed he had in fact abetted it. But now he was being given a chance to fix things. He prayed silently that he would be forgiven as he took the pen and wrote down the details of the officer in the internal investigation team that he knew he could trust.

Lucius smiled at him. "Thank you for your assistance. I'm sure we can get this sorted out. Now, I believe you have a meeting to get to?"

"What? Oh, yes, thank you," the man replied as he got up, a mite unsteadily.

"Don't worry," said Lucius, "I'll take care of everything. I'm sure that your decision was based on lies that were presented to you, not a deliberate miscarriage of justice."

Collias stared at him for a moment, vacillating as it occurred to him that his whole career was in the hands of the blond man before him. Then suddenly he knew it would all be alright. He found himself taking comfort from the certainty rising in him that this stranger, with all this new evidence, actually believed in him, and it gave him the courage to stand up straight, thank him again, and leave the bar.

Lucius smirked. He didn't really care about Collias's career, of course; but the man had been lied to, and was only guilty of not having enough curiosity or wit to actually demand some tangible evidence in front of him, rather than relying entirely on what he had been told. Well, he knew now that there were police who lied, and lied convincingly; so next time he would be more cautious about believing them unquestioningly. Lucius hoped so, anyway. He would have a word with the senior detective whose name Collias had written on the file, and make sure that Collias knew he was being watched.

But the man didn't really matter. To Lucius, the important person was his new son. Harry Potter. And the important fact was that now he had a legal avenue through which to attack Vernon Dursley.

He smiled. To make his plan work, he needed to leave that horrible whale of a man with nowhere to go but to him. Controlling Grunnings, he could easily close him off from there; but he was going to do more. When he had finished, Vernon would have nowhere to go to find work. And with Collias's assistance, he would have no standing in the Muggle world at all…

It was nice whisky. Lucius had another one, bought a bottle from a nearby wine merchant, returned to his office, and apparated home.

* * *

"You can't go in there, he's having an important meeting …" the secretary insisted.

'Yeah, with a bottle of firewhiskey," the older woman replied, never halting in her stride as she barged into the office.

"What the—oh, it's you," Cuffe expostulated, putting the bottle back into his filing cabinet.

Rita smiled. It was firewhiskey; she knew her editor!

"Right," she said, "I've got something for you. I happened to overhear two of Potter's pals. And guess what? There's a whole heap of stuff we've never dug into about that Debt crap …"

"All right," Cuffe said, "I'm listening …"

Half an hour later, Cuffe was ecstatic. Harry Potter had brought someone back from the dead? That was excellent for sales; there were plenty of wizards who'd said it was impossible, not least the late Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. So it would be easy to write up an opinion piece, different ideas, theories on how it might have happened, arguments that it didn't and was all a con, … Fine. The articles almost wrote themselves.

But what was much more interesting was that no-one knew. Cuffe agreed with Skeeter to play it as a Ministry cover-up; after all, Shacklebolt had been on the spot, he must have known something. And that meant that either Potter had kept Shacklebolt in the dark, or Shacklebolt must be covering up for Potter. (A little voice inside his head said that they may all have just got on with things and not thought about it at all; but that idea wasn't going to sell papers, so he discarded it. So often is the truth thrown away at the Daily Prophet …)

It took another hour to set everything up just how he wanted it, and then he opened the firewhiskey again. He was so delighted that he not only agreed to Skeeter's by-line request, he even offered her a shot of firewhiskey. Of course she accepted; this was the first time she'd ever heard of any employee being offered a drink in the editor's office and she was thrilled at the honour. Though not the firewhiskey; predictably, Cuffe's taste ran to very strong rather than smooth, and it burned all the way down. She took note of the brand, allowing him to think she was going to seek it out; but she was in fact just making sure she never bought it by accident.

By three o'clock, Saturday's paper was all laid out, and Skeeter took the rest of the day off. Cuffe wouldn't mind; he was practically comatose in his office. She left a hangover potion next to him; she didn't want him waking up and floo-calling her demanding one. He'd done that before; her boss's face, suspended in the fireplace, green both from alcohol and the flames, was not a pretty sight.

* * *

It was a very nice dinner in a very posh restaurant, and Old Man Grunnings had been in a good mood. Two facts that made Vernon Dursley very suspicious, and very nervous. He'd never known his employer to splash out like this, and no reason had been announced; he was plotting something, Vernon was sure of it.

It didn't help that Petunia was clearly enjoying herself talking to the other directors' wives. He could almost see the cogs in her mind turning, and hear the accusations he would get when they got back home. About how they got new cars and holidays abroad and new clothes … and then she would comment about how Mr Grunnings took them out to nice places for dinner, and why didn't he?

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he almost missed the moment when Grunnings stood to speak. _Here it comes,_ Vernon thought.

"Right," said George Grunnings. "Let's have a bit of shush, I want to tell you something. As you know, from time to time people make me offers for the business. And I turn them down flat. They all want me out of it; and Grunnings Drill Company is mine, and I'm keeping it. Right?"

They all nodded in agreement, keeping up with him easily. It was one thing about Mr Grunnings, he was very straight and direct. Easy to understand.

"But for the last couple of weeks, a new buyer has been pursuing me. And he wants me to stay as the CEO, and run the company just like it is. It was a tempting offer, but the money wasn't good enough, and I told him so. 'Well then,' he says, 'what about a bit more?' And the long and the short of it is, he offered a price I couldn't turn down.

"So as of Monday, Grunnings Drill Company will be owned by Mr Luke Malloy. Now, I don't think any of you need to be worried about this; I've told Mr Malloy that I value all of you, and want to keep you. So, let's have another round of drinks to celebrate the start of a new chapter in the story of Grunnings Drill Company!"

The speech rather shocked them all, Vernon could see that, but the offer of more drinks was received enthusiastically. He wondered what it would mean for him. It might, perhaps, be what he needed to get rid of Collings and claim the Managing Directorship for himself. He looked over at his nemesis, who was deep in conversation with Mrs Grunnings. She didn't look like she was enjoying it particularly. He took comfort from that thought.

Vernon smiled. It was not a nice smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. Really glad to have her back from holiday!
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks: to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cookies to Saheed for such a kind comment!


	41. Brief Return Visits

**41\. Brief Return Visits**

_Saturday 13 June 1998_

The colours swirled around him. There was the usual ground-swell of silver and red; but twisted with them were many other colours. To begin with, it had all been rather dark, and he had felt he was floating in mid-air; but it hadn't been unpleasant, so he had been able to rest. But even when he closed his eyes, it wasn't black. There was always some light, but it never seemed intrusive. He just let it cascade around him, and flow under him, and around him; and generally, he felt content.

From time to time, the silver light had been brighter; and in those times he could even put a name to it: Draco. He couldn't quite remember much any more; but that name, he knew, was a good name. He liked it when the silver light burned stronger; he would reach out to it, and often it would encircle him, cutting out the other colours completely. They were the most peaceful times.

But now the colours were changing; the darker hues were giving way to pastel colours, but still softly lit. He found the whole thing mesmerizing. He gradually became aware that the light was changing from moment to moment. But it wasn't like a complete change, like someone switching a lamp on, or turning the brightness up; no, it was more as if a gentle rain was falling on it, and the darkness was being rinsed out of it, cascading down and falling out at the bottom.

Then all at once he felt strangely different, and wondered what had changed. It was a few moments before he remembered the words to describe it: he wasn't floating any more. His feet touched something solid. The light, now completely cleansed of the dirt that had been in it, grew more muted, and instead of colour, it was as if he started to see ideas themselves taking on a visible form, pouring into him.

And then, he remembered.

He remembered why he was there: he had been wounded and sick, and his magic needed to recover. He remembered who Draco was, and how much he loved the man, and longed to be with him. And he knew now. His magic had been cleansed; his strength rebuilt. To his chagrin, he also knew it wasn't quite enough: the weariness which had been his constant companion since he had gone hunting horcruxes, which had become so much a part of him that he had forgotten it was there, had lessened considerably; but it not left him completely. He would need more healing. But right now he needed food, and potions, and, most of all, human contact.

He would need another round of healing soon. But for the moment, he felt strong. Powerful. Ready.

That was the word.

For a brief moment, at least, Harry Potter was ready to return to the Wizarding world.

* * *

The green eyes opened, and the silver eyes looked down into them.

"Welcome back," said a familiar voice. "How are you feeling?"

Harry broke into a huge grin. "Better. Not finished yet, but better."

Draco smiled at first, then pouted on hearing that he would need more healing. He had hoped to get on with Grimmauld Place; they were running out of time to get it finished before Ron and Hermione returned, which Draco knew that Harry wanted to do. They had left before he and Harry had really started in earnest; it would be so much fun to surprise them with a finished job when they returned.

"Yeah, I'll need that second round of potions. Did you miss me?" Harry asked.

"Every minute," Draco replied, and Harry could see in his eyes that this was nothing less than the honest truth. He pulled his lover down for a kiss.

It was a good thing that no-one knew that Harry was awake for another hour; lovers' reunions are private affairs.

* * *

Showered and dressed, the two boys lounged together on Draco's bed.

"Mappy!" Draco called.

The house-elf appeared. He took one look at Harry and his eyes went round.

"Master Harry Potter is awake! Is Masters wantings breakfast?" he asked. "And shall Mappy be telling Healer Professor Mistress Touauld?"

"Yes, to both, I think," Draco replied, and the elf chortled at having jobs to do, and vanished. Draco wondered at the title 'Professor'; he would have to ask her about it. House-elves might produce ridiculous titles for people, but they were generally accurate.

"Too-old?" Harry asked.

"You'll see," Draco replied, with a smirk.

Fifteen minutes later the two were sitting up on the bed, finishing a hearty breakfast, when a knock came at the door.

"Mr Potter! Welcome back!" said a voice Harry did not know, and a very old witch, in the lime-green robes healers wore, entered the room. "My name is Agnes Touauld, and I have been called in by Madam Pomfrey to assist her with this case. I must ask, rather belatedly, is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes of course," Harry replied. If Pomfrey had called her in, that was good enough for him. On the other hand, this was his healing she had been called to, so he had no hesitation in asking, "So, if you've been called in for an opinion, what is it?"

Touauld gave him a sharp look. She wasn't used to such directness from her patients; most of them were too much in awe of her. On the whole she found it quite refreshing. She smiled at him.

"Let me run some diagnostics, and I'll tell you."

To Harry's surprise, Draco jumped away from him. He looked at his fiancé quizzically.

"The last time Healer Touauld ran diagnostics, they interacted with the Shield."

Harry's mouth made a perfect 'O' shape.

"You remember it, Mr Potter?" Touauld asked, with a note of … more than interest, more than curiosity, but Harry couldn't think of the word … in her voice, as she began her scan.

"I remember Draco came to me; was that it?" Harry asked, and the other two both nodded encouragingly. "We talked a little; he told me about you, I remember now. Then I asked him to come back here, to reassure everyone I was all right. It seemed like the right thing to do?"

Touauld did not fail to notice the diffidence that Harry displayed. It intrigued her greatly. She had expected the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived Twice, the Destroyer of Voldemort to be quite different from this awkward teenager in front of her. It quite disarmed her; arrogance she knew how to deal with, but there was a humility and kindness radiating from Harry that she wasn't sure how to handle.

So, like any true professional, she lapsed back into the Official Manner.

"No-one can say what is 'right' or 'wrong' Mr Potter; if you wanted to do it, and you did it, then that was all to the good. I may say that Mr Malfoy told us a great deal that was very reassuring. Now, let me see …"

She passed the results of the scan through her fingers, and her face very quickly changed from its official, impassive demeanor to one that looked, simply, astonished.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his voice sharp with concern.

She looked at him, and again there was a look in her eyes he couldn't quite place.

"Nothing's _wrong_ , Mr Potter; but these readings are, in my experience, unprecedented. No, according to the scan, there was an incredible amount of damage to your magical core; I've seen patients with half as much damage crippled magically by it; to the extent of being practically squibs."

At this point, the Healer seemed to dry up, her eyes going up as she was evidently concentrating on some train of thought.

"There was …" Draco prompted.

"Yes," she said, coming back to the present. "A very great deal of it has been healed. Not, I am afraid, all of it; you will need at least one more session of healing, but your body will be able to take stronger potions now, so I would expect one might be sufficient. But the truly surprising thing is you, Mr Malfoy," she said, turning to Draco.

"Me?" Draco asked, astonished. Despite her words from before, he wasn't aware that he needed, or had received, any healing.

"Yes. I'm sure you remember I asked you to stay here with Mr Potter, and submit to further monitoring?"

Draco nodded in affirmation.

"Tell me, do you feel any different about Mr Potter since then?"

Draco thought for a few seconds. And then one moment, one image came back to him: carding his fingers through Harry's hair, holding him, and missing everything about him being present. The moment when he had realised how much his life had come to revolve around the man in his arms. And the moment when he had realised that that was exactly what he wanted: being with Harry, and sharing his life with him; that was enough for him, for the rest of his life.

"I thought so," the healer said, though he had said no words; the smile, the look of sheer joy in the memory, on his face told her all she needed to know. "And Mr Potter, tell me, when the Debt was formed, how did you feel about it?"

Harry looked at her, bemused. _What is this all about?_ he wondered.

"They told me about it, and I wanted to get rid of it. I didn't want Draco or Lucius to be my slaves; I just wanted them to be free from Voldemort's curse."

"Well, Mr Potter, I rather think you may have your wish. It seems, from what I read here, that you have once more done the impossible. Debts of Magical Emancipation are supposed to be impossible to break; but somehow, the bond between you and Draco has been changed completely, and the compulsion that had been in it seems to be missing entirely."

Draco and Harry both looked at her, shocked by these words.

"You mean … I don't have to protect him? Or always tell him the truth? Or owe him?" Draco asked.

"You tell me," Touauld replied.

Draco searched inside his mind for a minute, and then his face broke into a smile. He turned to look at Harry, and there was no hiding the joy and adoration in his eyes.

"She's right, Harry," he said, a fierce joy in his voice. "I don't have to."

Harry tried to smile, but he felt as though his whole world was shifting under his feet. What did this mean? Would Draco reject him now?

"That's … great …" he said, his tone betraying his fears and uncertainties.

The tone was not lost on either of the other two, and Draco cocked his head, a frown on his face. And then, it was as sudden as a _Lumos!_ spell, his face broke into a huge grin as he realised what was going on in Harry's head.

"It is great!" he replied, practically throwing himself back at Harry, and wrapping him tightly in his arms. "I don't have to protect you! So now, the reason why I'm going to is for one thing only. I want to, Harry. I love you. You are the most special, wonderful, gorgeous person I have ever met and I am never going to let you out of my life!"

There was a soft click as the door closed behind Agnes Touauld. She knew very well when three was a crowd …

* * *

By ten o'clock, Harry had been brought up to speed with all that Draco knew of what had happened while Harry had been out of it. There was a soft knock on the door, and a moment later, two figures clad in Auror robes entered.

Harry looked at them for a second before recognising them. When he did, he leapt out of bed, and, much to the amusement of the older Auror, grasped the smaller, younger, one in a huge hug.

"I'm guessing you missed me, Harry," Robin Banks said, a note of amusement in his voice, as he returned the hug. "Now, tell me, how long have you not needed glasses?"

Draco's breath hitched. As he thought over the morning, it came to him that Harry hadn't once reached for his glasses. He hadn't even noticed that Harry wasn't wearing them; or if he had, he must have sub consciously assumed he didn't need them, given that they were so close to one another. He took some small comfort from the fact that, going by the expression on Harry's face, it hadn't occurred to him, either.

"Just this morning, I think," he replied, as he resumed his place on the bed, signing to the two Aurors to fetch chairs from the adjacent table and sit with them. "Must be part of the healing, I guess."

"And a very welcome part, I'm sure, sir," said Proudfoot.

But Harry was having none of that. "'Sir'? Since when do you call me 'sir', Toby? Unless, of course, _Auror Proudfoot_ , you're arresting me for a crime?"

The two Aurors guffawed at the thought.

"All right, _Harry_ ," Toby Proudfoot responded, stressing the use of Harry's first name, "And no, I can't think of any crime to arrest you for, unless it's lying around lounging in bed when decent folk should be up and doing."

Harry blushed red at this, but Draco told him not to be silly; he was a convalescent patient, after all.

"And anyway, we're both determined to be as indecent as possible," the blond continued.

"Not helping, Dragon," Harry stammered out, and indeed his blush had intensified alarmingly, to the obvious delight of Robin, if no-one else.

"What we would like to discuss with you, though," Toby continued, and Harry was impressed that, like Arthur Weasley, Auror Proudfoot seemed to be able to stick to the topic despite frequent interruptions, "is the small matter of your cousin Dudley."

"Hmm," said Harry, "What about him? And anyway, he's not that small – size of a walrus when last I knew."

Robin looked at him keenly, searching for any sign that Harry was in fact joking; finding none, he replied, "well, he's lost weight then; he was looking quite the dapper young man when we saw him on Monday."

"You saw him?" Harry replied, and Robin was very relieved to hear no hint of hatred in Harry's reply. "How was he?"

"Rather angry, actually," Robin replied. "It seems he's taken steps to clean up his life and make something of himself; he's a prefect at his school, now, and doing well in his grades. And he'd just had a row with his father, who, I gather, doesn't see this as an improvement."

"Of course **he** wouldn't," Harry snarled, and there was definitely hatred in Harry's voice now. "He'd want Dudders to be just like him. But I'm glad to hear that's not how it's working."

_Right,_ thought Robin, _it's now or never._

"Good. So, Harry, we were wondering if you would like to meet with him?"

Draco looked a little shocked. It sounded like Harry might not actually despise this boy, but he had been awful to him in the past; why would he want to have anything to do with a scumbag Muggle?

But Harry looked pensive. "Does he want to see me?" he asked.

"Very much so," Robin answered. "He's scared you won't want to see him, or that you might hex him; but he told me he still feels he owes you a proper apology."

"Really?" Harry asked, and Draco wondered at the hope in Harry's tone.

"He said that they all do, but he's the only one with the balls to give it," Robin replied. "We can bring him here this afternoon, if you are both agreeable?"

"It's up to Harry," Draco replied, "if he wants him here, of course he can come."

Harry's eyes were shining. "Yes, please!" he replied.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been having a relaxing Saturday morning until the Daily Prophet arrived. On the front page was a picture of Harry Potter – no surprise there, Harry got his photo in the paper as often as not, despite Kingsley's best efforts to shield the young, publicity-shy wizard from the wholly unwanted popularity. Next to it, and this was a surprise, was a picture of one of the Weasley twins; Fred, by the caption, though it could just as easily have been George, they were hard enough to tell apart in the flesh, all but impossible in photographs.

And then his eye fell to the headline, and he read the article, horror mounting in his heart as he did so.

_**The Other Boy Who Lived** _

_**By Rita Skeeter** _

_The Prophet has recently learned that Mister Fred Weasley, joint owner of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, has a very unusual connection with our Hero, the Boy who Lived. It seems that, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Mister Weasley was in fact killed in an explosion – and then Mister Potter performed a feat of magic, and something hitherto believed to be impossible happened – Mister Weasley was returned to us from the dead!_

_It seems that this fact is related to a Debt that was created at the same time, between Mister Potter and the two male Malfoys, Lord Lucius and Mister Draco Malfoy. We have also learned more about the specific nature of this debt; we will be publishing further particulars tomorrow, but suffice it to say that it is a Debt of Magical Emancipation, one of the strongest bonds in Wizarding lore. What effect, we wonder, will this have on our society, when Lord Malfoy appears to have largely regained the confidence of the Ministry and pure-blood wizards and witches? Will the fact that their leader owes so much to a half-blood affect the political situation?_

_The Prophet has surveyed leading experts for their opinions of these events, and we will be publishing these tomorrow. But we do have a wider concern: just what other events happened during the War with Voldemort that we have not been told about? Is the Ministry deliberately suppressing knowledge? Or is there, in fact, a rift between Mister Potter and the Ministry? Has Mister Potter been keeping secrets? Is it not suspicious that Mister Potter has disappeared for the last couple of days, and no-one will tell us where he is? We wonder if he is feeling guilty, or if the Ministry is hiding him, concerned that he will give secrets away?_

_A transcript of Mister Marcus Flint's trial on Monday has come into the Prophet's hands, and we are both interested and concerned to learn that once again, information appears to have been suppressed: in this case, a great deal of interesting testimony from Wandmaker Garrick Ollivander concerning the Elder Wand. The stuff of children's fairy-tales? Or a real, and dangerous artifact? We will reveal all in tomorrow's edition._

He groaned. It looked like the honeymoon period that Harry and he had been having was over, just like that. The Prophet's game was all too obvious: the Ministry was, of course, closed for the weekend, so they would have three editions out before there was any chance of a co-ordinated Ministry response.

His Floo chimed, and to his surprise, it was Lucius Malfoy calling.

"I take it you have read the article?" Lucius said without preamble as soon the Minister took the call. Kingsley was glad that there was no small-talk or prevarication; this needed to be dealt with, and Malfoy was clearly in the mood to do so.

"Yes," he replied baldly. "Have you considered how to deal with it?"

"I have some thoughts," the blond replied. "How about we get together in my study at one o'clock?"

"That sounds excellent," Kingsley replied, glad to be meeting somewhere private, where there wouldn't be any chance of a leak. His own flat was far too small, and well known, to serve as the venue. "Shall I bring Arthur?"

"Bring everyone you think will help," Lucius replied. "And, whatever you do, don't say a single word to a reporter. Not even 'no comment', if you can help it."

"How do I do that?" Kingsley asked, bemused. It was all very well for the head of the Malfoy family, but Kingsley was all too aware that he was a public official.

Lucius thought for a second or two, then answered, "fair question. Tell them the Ministry will be putting out a statement in due course which will answer their questions, and ask them to respect the fact that it's your weekend. Then if they quote you saying anything at all, you will have a case for intrusive reporting. Doge is being seen as independent now, so they won't get away with it."

Reassured, the Minister agreed.

"Oh, one more thing; I'm sure you've heard about Harry being in a coma?"

Kingsley nodded in response.

"I've just learnt that Harry is awake. Molly Weasley might want to come and see him; please tell her we would be delighted to receive her. I'll set the wards to allow it."

Kingsley smiled. This was, at least, some good news. Whatever lies the Prophet spread, he liked Harry very much indeed; and if he was awake and able to counter their lies himself, so much the better.

"Does he know about the article?" Kingsley couldn't stop himself from asking.

"No," Lucius replied, "and until he gets the all-clear from the Healer, I'm not letting him know. See you at one, then?"

Kingsley agreed, and they finished the call. The Minister sighed. This was not going to be a fun battle; but, he realised, with considerable surprise, he was rather glad that it seemed he had Lucius Malfoy on his side. And how ironic was that, after the years they had spent as enemies!

* * *

Petunia Dursley sat at her kitchen table, clutching on her teacup so hard that Robin Banks was surprised it hadn't shattered yet. He was a little conflicted; he didn't want to push her, but Vernon would be home soon, and this whole exercise would be simpler if he never knew about it.

She stared at the two policemen sitting in her kitchen. She had prayed they would never come back; but she knew perfectly well that they would. And now, a day later, here they were.

"You want me to sign a permission form to take Dudley to see an important witness?" she said, repeating Toby's request almost word for word. The two Aurors, sitting opposite her, nodded together in agreement. "And you won't tell me who it is?"

"That might prejudice the investigation, ma'am."

And, all at once, a truly unexpected thing happened: Petunia Dursley, that horsey, rather stupid, unimaginative woman made a connection.

"It's Harry, isn't it? You know where he is?"

The two Aurors were professionals; their faces gave nothing away. But they could see into her mind; they knew that she _knew_. That even their very silence had confirmed her thoughts.

"Is he all right?" she asked, in a whisper.

"The form, please, Mrs Dursley," Robin replied.

"Is he all right?" she asked again. And then, her motherly thoughts kicked in, and she asked, all afraid, "will my Dudley be all right? Will he hurt him?"

"Our witness wants to see Master Dursley," Toby replied. "If it helps you, we will be present at the interview. I don't imagine that he will come to any harm."

Petunia sat there, feeling desperate. How could she sign the form? Harry might hurt her Dudley. _He might, anyway,_ a little voice said in her head. And really, what else could she do? If there was a chance, if somehow they could reach out to Harry, explain, stir his pity…

* * *

There was a very timid knock on his door.

"Enter!" the prefect demanded.

A lowly second-year came in, almost shaking in fright to address a prefect. "H-h-housemaster wants to see you, sir," he said.

He looked at the boy, and winced inwardly. His reputation, it seemed, was never going to go away. A year ago, the boy could have expected a hazing for daring to knock on his door; but those days were over. Well, nearly over. He still had the urge to shove the boy's head down a toilet for ten seconds, but he was now able to push it down and not act on it.

"Thank you," he said, and the boy looked at him in shock. "Tell him I shall attend presently."

The boy practically bolted, obviously relieved to have been so quickly and painlessly dismissed.

* * *

It was three minutes later that Dudley Dursley knocked on his housemaster's study door.

"Enter!" the master demanded.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Dudley said as he came in, and then noticed the two other men sitting in the study. He recognised one of them; but there was no way the housemaster needed to know that. Dudley was quite good at not telling teachers things (one of the few attributes he shared with his cousin), and kept his face blank.

"Ah, Dudley. Officers Sligo and Collins here are policemen; they have an authority signed by your mother to take you out for the afternoon. I'm sure you will be eager to assist them in their enquiries?"

It was, of course, the Right Thing to Say, but the housemaster's tone left no doubt that he considered police officers to be very unwelcome in his school.

"Yes, sir," he replied, returning the tone; though he thought he could guess what Robin Banks wanted with him.

"Very good, Mr Dursley," Robin said. "If you would just come with us?"

* * *

Harry and Draco were sitting in Harry's garden when the Aurors arrived. There was a pile of currant buns in front of them; despite the fact that Harry had eaten about four square meals' worth of food since waking up, he still felt a bit peckish. Draco was, of course, helping him to eat the buns; a rather fruitless endeavour, as Mappy replenished the supply whenever the plate dipped below about half-full.

"H-H-Harry?"

Harry looked. Dudley was standing in between the two Aurors, and the fear coming off him was palpable. Harry smiled at his cousin as he gestured for the three of them to be seated.

"Hello Dudley," he said, keeping his voice pleasant. "Haven't seen you for a while. Tea?"

"Th-th-that would be nice," the boy replied, getting his breathing back under control. He was very reassured by the kindness he heard from Harry; perhaps, just perhaps, it would be all right. He surveyed his cousin; he was looking tired and run-down; but he seemed a million times better than he had ever been at Privet Drive. And, it was not lost on him, a million times happier as well.

"Mappy!" Harry called, and Dudley recoiled in horror when the house-elf appeared.

"Sorry," Harry said, grinning, "of course, you haven't met house-elves before. Mappy, this is my cousin Dudley Dursley, and you know the Aurors. Would you fetch a fresh tea-tray please?"

"Of course, Master Harry Potter sir!" the elf replied, and vanished with a pop.

"Now, Dudley," Harry said, looking back at his cousin. "I'd like you to meet Draco Malfoy. This house is Malfoy Manor, which his parents own."

"Wow," Dudley replied. He had been brought through the Manor as they had arrived by motor car in an attempt to not spook the boy too much; so he was well aware just how grand the place was. "It's an amazing house you have, Mr Malfoy."

"You'd better call me Draco," the blond youth replied, "since 'Mr Malfoy' is usually my father; and also, I'm going to be your cousin very soon …"

Dudley looked dumbfounded at this. Harry smiled and added:

"Draco and I are engaged, Dudley. Which I guess is much more accepted in our world than yours; so I hope, if you have a problem with that, that you keep it to yourself."

At this point, Mappy reappeared with the tea-tray, and proceeded to pour tea for everyone. There was also a pile of Bath buns and apple turnovers; Draco snagged one of each onto his plate as soon as he saw them. Harry smirked at this, swiped the apple turnover, took a bite, and put it back on Draco's plate. He loved the turnovers that the Malfoy elves made; but he was feeling too full to have a whole one of his own.

Dudley stirred his tea and watched this little pantomime. He studied each of them in turn and took a deep breath before replying. He was still slightly terrified; but there were things he knew he had to say.

"Vernon would be appalled, of course. But I reckon we have no right to judge you for anything. You saved my life from those Demented things, and all we did was make your life hell. I'm sorry for that, Harry, really I am. I hope you'll let me make it up to you, somehow. And as for the two of you, I'm glad, I really am. You deserve to be loved. It's obvious that whatever is going on between you is making you happy; we never did anything to do that. I'm really pleased for you."

This was probably the longest speech that Harry had ever heard Dudley give, unless you counted the long strings of swear words he had been known to come out with. And it was certainly the only speech Dudley had ever given him with any real positive feeling in it; after all, the last time they had met, Dudley had been as eloquent as to say, 'I don't think you're a waste of space.' There was a lot to answer; but Harry was quite interested in the first word.

"Vernon? You call him that now?" Harry asked. "Not father?"

Dudley looked at him. "Not much of a father, really, is he? No, I don't want anything to do with him. Ever again, if I could help it."

Harry smiled again. "That's something we both agree on, then. Good. Well, thank you for your apology; I reckon we were both abused by that man, and while your behaviour didn't help, you couldn't help it yourself. So, apology accepted. You don't have to make anything up, all right? The best way to make amends is for us to be friends, or at least friendly. And that will show everyone that what your parents did can be overcome. That we can be family. And that includes Draco, all right?"

And now it was Dudley's turn, for the first time, to smile. "Thank you. Draco, I hope we can be friends?"

Draco stood, and reached out a hand to him. "For Harry's sake, if nothing else."

Dudley took the hand, and shook it quite strongly for a few seconds before letting go and sitting down again, now looking quite embarrassed.

"Now," Draco said, "you said something about Dementors?"

"Oh," Harry said, "yes, when Umbridge sent Dementors against me in the holidays after fourth year, they attacked both Dudley and me."

Draco looked from one cousin to the other, rather shocked. "So, Dudley's seen Dementors? And not been Obliviated?" he asked Harry. "And you saved him from them?"

"Yes to all," Harry replied. "What can I say? I like saving people."

"I'm glad of that," said Draco, hugging his fiancé, at which point Dudley decided it was a good time to help himself to a Bath bun.

"So, Dudley," Harry said, "are you still at Smeltings Academy?"

"Yesh," the boy said, then swallowed the mouthful of bun he had eaten, and continued, "sorry. Yes. Final year. I'm a prefect now!"

"Congratulations!" Harry said. "So you've got, what, a couple of months to go?"

"Yeah," Dudley replied. "Something like that. Problem is, that means I have to suck up to Vernon and Petunia for a while yet. And if I go on to study, like I want to, it'll be years…"

Harry put his head on one side. _Dudley wanted to study?_ This was a truly revolutionary idea. "When did this start?" he asked. "You never were at all interested in schoolwork when I lived with you. And what do you want to study?"

"I guess it really all started with the Dementors," he answered. "I mean, they're supposed to suck up all your happiness and leave you with only your bad memories, right?"

The four wizards all nodded; Harry, involuntarily, shuddered as well, and Draco rubbed his back, unconsciously comforting his beloved.

"Well, for me it wasn't quite like that. I suddenly realised what I was really like. Which, frankly, was a little shit. It's the most painful thing that ever happened to me; and Harry saved me from it. So I started thinking about what I owed Harry, and how I could maybe not end up being a big bully and selling drills for a living. And I thought about what I wanted to do; and I decided I really want to build bridges and roads and stuff. Then a vocational counselor at school did an aptitude test, and suggested I could get in to civil engineering. So that's what I'm working for."

By the time he'd finished this speech, Dudley's eyes were shining, and Harry knew this wasn't a flighty idea that would be gone tomorrow; no, this was the real passion that dwelt in Dudley. And he also knew that there was no way Vernon and Petunia were going to get to kill this dream, not if he had anything to do with it.

An idea came to him.

"Dudders, it's your eighteenth birthday soon, isn't it?"

"Yeah, on the twenty-third, a week next Tuesday. Why?"

"Well, you'll be legally an adult then, right? So they have no say after that."

"Yeah, but they still have the money, and the house I have to live in."

"We can fix that," Harry said. "I have money from my parents, Dudders, lots of money. So I can pay for your schooling; and we can house you at Grimmauld Place once you've finished school, and then find you a little place wherever you're studying."

Dudley looked gobsmacked. "You'd do that for me?" he asked; and as Harry looked around the other three, he realised that in fact they had all thought the same thing.

"Of course." Harry replied, his tone one of absolute certainty. "That man abused you as well as me; let's both get free of him, eh?"

"HARRY!" A voice yelled, and Molly Weasley came bursting through the French doors. Harry just managed to stand up before he was enveloped in a huge hug from his adopted mother.

"Now just what exactly are you plotting, Harry?" said a familiar voice, and they were joined by Arthur Weasley and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as well. While the Malfoys showed more decorum, Harry, who was getting used to reading them a bit now, could see that they too were excited that he was up and about.

Dudley was introduced to the three parents, and Harry explained his plan to get Dudley completely away from his parents' influence. The three were initially a bit taken aback that Harry wanted to help one of his tormentors; but eventually it was Molly who smoothed things out.

"Well, young man," she said, "I've taken Harry under my wing as an adopted son, and if he has forgiven you, then I do too. And since it seems you're losing your family, you'd better join his as well, which means us Weasleys and the Malfoys."

"Agreed," said Lucius, extending a hand of welcome to the boy, who shook it as eagerly as he had Draco's. "So, you'll be settled on the twenty-third?"

"That's the idea," Harry replied.

"Well, gentlemen," Lucius continued, turning to the Aurors, "looks like we have a date."

"It does indeed," Robin replied, with a smile. "Now, Mr Dursley, I rather think we should see about getting you back to school."

"Um," said Dudley, "about that name. Harry, do you think, maybe, I could use 'Potter' instead?"

Harry gasped. "Do you really hate them that much?" he asked.

"Yes," Dudley replied, and there was no mistaking the vehement hatred in his voice.

"Well," Harry replied, "if you really want to, I'd be honoured. If that works in Wizarding terms?" he asked, turning to Arthur Weasley.

"Oh, that's no problem at all," Arthur replied. "The Potter family being long established, it's quite acceptable to pull cousins into the line and adopt them. I gather that Dudley is a M- is not magical?"

"That's right," Harry said, feeling oddly grateful that Arthur had pulled himself up before saying 'Muggle'.

"Then it would be the same as having a squib in the family. Not ideal, of course; we would all like our relatives to be magical. But he would have a recognised place in the Wizarding world as well as the ordinary one. Would you like me to have papers drawn up, Dudley? We could have it be effective on the twenty-third as well, if you wish."

"Yes, please," said Dudley, then farewelled them all as the Aurors took him to the car and thence back to school, arriving back in good time for the evening meal, which at Smeltings was called 'tea', a happier boy than he had been since the Dementor attack. A mood which was so unprecedented, so remarkable, and long-lasting, that Sunday the fourteenth was long after remembered by his contemporaries as Happy Dudley Day.

* * *

The wizards and witches sat in Harry's garden chatting for a while; but eventually Harry yawned and snuggled a little into Draco's arms. Mappy was there in an instant, took a good look at him, and vanished again.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"Healer Touauld asked Mappy to keep a good eye on you, especially if you got tired," Narcissa replied gently. "I imagine he's gone to fetch her."

And indeed the Healer appeared a few moments later.

"Sorry, Mr Malfoy, I need to cast a diagnostic spell," she asked, and Draco, taking the hint, sat Harry upright next to him, then made sure they weren't touching; no-one wanted a repeat of the Haussmann Shield incident, it made the diagnostic all but useless.

"Ah," Touauld clucked once the spell had done its work. "Mr Potter, you continue to make remarkable progress. I think it would be a good thing to start the next batch of treatment immediately, if that's all right with you?"

Harry nodded.

"Do we have the requisite potions?" she asked Draco, who nodded. He had taken it upon himself to brew everything Touauld asked for, and wouldn't hear of using anyone else's potions on his fiancé, a stubbornness that Touauld found both extremely annoying – she had all the potions required in her own supplies, there would not have been any waiting for them – and extremely endearing – the Malfoy boy clearly loved Harry, and they were going to have a rich and rewarding marriage, she thought.

And so an hour later, while Dudley was getting his tea, Harry was back in bed, fast asleep.

* * *

As soon as Harry was asleep, Draco and Lucius had a small conference in Lucius's study. Lucius showed Draco the Daily Prophet, which caused the younger man to emit a low whistle.

"Well, I can see why you didn't show Harry this!" he said. "Do we have a plan to deal with it?"

"We have the beginnings of one," Lucius replied, outlining the meeting that had taken place in his study that afternoon. "But of course, we need to see what they have to say tomorrow."

"All right," Draco agreed.

Mappy knocked on the door – no-one entered Lucius's study uninvited, not even the house-elves – and entered.

"Is Harry alright?" Draco asked at once.

"Master Harry Potter is being sleeping perfectly happily, Master Draco," the elf replied. "But Master Draco's friend Mistress Pansy Parkinson be Floo-calling asking if Master Draco and Master Harry are well and if she is being visiting?"

Draco looked at his father for permission. They both shared the same thought: it was good that Draco's friend was concerned, especially after the Prophet article. They would need all the friends they could get.

"Why don't you call around, Draco? A night of the company of friends would be good for you."

* * *

It was an unusual gathering in the family drawing room that night: Pansy had brought Millicent, Blaise and Theo along, while Draco had Flooed the twins, who had both come and brought Angelina, Neville, Luna, Ginny and Robin. Narcissa insisted that everyone eat, buffet-style; and Lucius provided elf-wine and firewhiskey; and it wasn't long before the combination of friends, food, drink and the fun that seemed to permanently surround the twins had everyone in high spirits.

Eventually, Pansy demanded a speech from Draco, as their host.

"Well, I don't often give speeches," Draco began, and ignored a cat-call of "still too often!" from Blaise, "but I'm really touched that you guys came along tonight. As you know, Harry's upstairs, having the second round of healing potions; we don't know how long he'll be out, but the Healer thinks not more than a few days."

"Will he be awake on the twenty-second?" Neville asked, looking concerned.

"Yes, he should be," Draco replied; "why?"

Neville blushed beetroot-red, which made the girls all coo. "Well, George and I," he began, then looked to George for confirmation; the twin nodded, so he continued, "George and I are planning on that being our wedding day, and I was hoping to ask Harry to be my, um, best man."

There were general congratulations, and of course another round of drinks was called for to toast the happy couple. Draco assured Neville that of course Harry would do it; or, if he couldn't, and Neville wanted, Draco would do it for him.

"Thanks, Draco," Neville replied, obviously touched by this gesture of friendship. "That means more than I can say."

"Oi! No being all Hufflepuff!" Blaise called out.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, and then it was Fred who spoke next.

"So Draco, Harry's all right and looked after?"

The blond nodded in reply.

"Is there anything he would be doing now / that we could do for him?" George and Fred asked.

This question drew a general murmur of agreement, and in his turn, Draco was touched by the friendship of the people in the room.

"There is one thing," he replied. "The repairs to Grimmauld Place. We've finished the first two floors, but there's still three to go. Harry wanted them finished before Hermione and Ron got back next Saturday."

"So exactly how much work is involved?" Blaise asked.

Draco drew a rough sketch map, and itemised the necessary repairs floor by floor. There was, it appeared, quite a bit of work to be done.

"Sounds like a bit of challenge to me," Angelina remarked.

"What do we all think, then?" George asked.

And they all replied with a single voice.

"Challenge accepted!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster. 
> 
> **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
> **Thanks:** to all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cookies to Saheed for commenting!


	42. Return to the Attack

**42\. Return to the Attack**

* * *

_Scandal is an importunate wasp, against which we must make no movement unless we are quite sure that we can kill it; otherwise it will return to the attack more furious than ever.  
_ _**\- Nicolas Chamfort** _

* * *

_Sunday 14 June 1998_

Lucius rose early on Sunday morning; he had instructed the elves to make sure that the Daily Prophet was available as soon as possible, and by the time he reached the breakfast table at six o'clock in the morning, it was by the side of his place setting, waiting for him. He decided not to let it spoil his breakfast, so placed a napkin over it, poured himself a cup of tea, and ate the bacon and eggs that Dippy had made for him.

Once breakfasted, he retired to his study with a fresh cup of tea, opened the paper, and began reading.

> _**Death, Debt and Disinformation** _
> 
> _**By Rita Skeeter and Susan Bones** _
> 
> _Yesterday we ran an article about how Mister Fred Weasley, joint owner of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, was killed during the Wizarding War in an explosion, and then brought back to life by the Destroyer of Voldemort, Mister Harry Potter. By popular demand, there is a supplement inside detailing the evidence for and against this happening, together with learned opinions from our guest columnists._
> 
> _We also discovered that Mister Potter is the holder of a significant debt over both Lucius and Draco Malfoy. It seems that You-Know-Who had put a spell on his turncoat Death Eaters which would bind their magic if he died so that they could no longer use it, presumably as some sort of payback for their betrayal of his ideals. And furthermore, we found out that Mr Potter removed this spell after the War of Hogwarts. This action on Mr Potter's part created a very serious and powerful magical bond between him and the two former Death-Eaters: a Debt of Magical Emancipation. As our pure-blood readers will doubtless be aware, this is the most serious debt in the wzarding world, taken even more seriously than life debts._
> 
> _We at the Prophet can't help wondering if freeing the Malfoys' magic in this way was a good decision. Mr Potter was, at the time, in possession of the most powerful wand ever made, the so-called 'Deathstick' or 'Elder wand', which had become his wand through a curious chain of circumstances following on from Albus Dumbledore's death. (Headmaster Dumbledore is known to have held it previously.) But was setting Death Eaters free really a wise use of its powers? Or was Mr Potter sucked into the role of playing the hero, again, and acting without regard for any form of due process?_
> 
> _Perhaps it is unfair of us to expect old heads on young shoulders. Mr Potter was, we gather, acting at the time without any Ministry input or supervision. But that raises a more sinister question – what was the Ministry thinking to allow the holder of such a powerful wand to walk around with free rein, unchecked and unadvised? Now-Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was at the scene; why did he not discuss matters with Mister Potter before action was taken?_
> 
> _At the present time, we cannot answer these questions. The Ministry did not reply to our requests for information; and Mr Potter appears to have gone missing. Many people have owled us concerned to know Mr Potter's whereabouts; is he lying low? Has he been captured by Death Eaters? Or is he in protective custody somewhere?_
> 
> _Seldom have we had so many owls in response to an article! For further information, see the supplement. Debts of Magical Emancipation_ _are detailed pp6-12; the Elder wand pp13-28, including text from the transcript of the trial of Marcus Flint, particularly the testimony of Wandmaker Garrick Ollivander concerning the Elder Wand; our columns can be found beginning on page 29, and a selection of your letters can be found pp 36-50._

There really wasn't that much in the article, or the accompanying columns, Lucius decided. He read them all carefully and made careful notes; it wasn't that hard to formulate a reply. No, the real problem was the editorial. Entitled ' **Just What is the Ministry Up To?** ' it was a particularly poisonous diatribe from Barnabus Cuffe:

>   _When Kingsley Shacklebolt was confirmed as Minister for Magic, we all had high hopes that here was a new broom that would sweep clean. Now, a few short weeks in, we begin to wonder if that is so. As you can read elsewhere, the Prophet has learned that there are strange goings-on involving Harry Potter and the Ministry, and all right-thinking Magicals will be wondering exactly what the relationship is between the Saviour and the Minister._
> 
> _The Prophet has also learnt that the Ministry allowed Mr Draco Malfoy to be used as the bait in a honey trap to catch Death Eater Yaxley, and that this trap was aided and abetted by Mr Potter. Just why is it, we wonder, that the Minister does not have the guts to send his Aurors out into the field to attack the Death Eaters before they pose a threat to our law-abiding citizens? That this attack happened at the party to celebrate Mr Malfoy's birthday and his engagement to Mr Potter surely compounds the felony: just what was Mr Potter doing, putting his fiancé at such a risk? Having destroyed You-Know-Who, has he become a vigilante with a hero complex, insisting on doing things his own way, outside the law?_
> 
> _That would certainly appear to be a relevant consideration with regard to Mr Potter's use of the Elder Wand. Surely so powerful an artifact, and something used by You-Know-Who himself, should have been immediately submitted to the Ministry as part of its inevitable Inquiry into matters concerning the War? Instead of which, the magic appears to have been removed – so presumably evidence has been destroyed._
> 
> _And what, also, of Lucius Malfoy? This attack happened on the grounds of Malfoy Manor; how, we wonder, did the Death Eaters gain access to the heavily warded sanctum of the Malfoy family? Was Mr Malfoy also gambling with his son's life? Or does he have a more sinister agenda – providing an opportunity for the Death Eaters to attack the Minister? Or Mr Potter?_
> 
> _Just who is hiding what? You can be certain that the Prophet is actively seeking to answer that question on your behalf._

Lucius was not at all surprised when his Floo chimed, and the head of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the flames.

"Morning, Minister. Come through," he said, opening the connection for travel, and seconds later the Minister stood on the rug in front of the huge antique desk. He did not, Lucius thought, look happy.

"You've read it?" Kingsley growled.

'Yes," Lucius said. "Not much to it, I thought."

Kingsley looked at him as if he thought he was mad; he probably did, Lucius mused. But Lucius stared back at him, his face unflinching, and it was the Minister who looked away first.

"Well, if you don't think there's much to it, how do we respond?"

"First, I suggest, with a cup of tea."

He summoned a house-elf, and would say nothing further before they were both seated comfortably with tea and biscuits in front of them. He held back the smirk that came to his face as he saw how much this simple delaying ploy had calmed the younger man.

"As we said yesterday, Minister, we have to tread carefully. An intemperate response will do more harm than good. I think we should begin with a calm, paternal letter from you. Point out that the Ministry welcomes interest in its workings and would be glad to respond to questions from the Prophet; but that they must be put to it during normal hours. We know their game of asking for information at the last possible minute; so tell them in the letter that the officer who would reply leaves an hour early. Make them look unreasonable. But be the soul of reason and charm yourself."

"But then they'll accuse us of being weak!"

"Exactly," Lucius replied. "So then, when we refute their nonsense strongly, they won't be able to get away with calling us bullies."

Kingsley smiled. It was devious; but he liked it. There was just one catch.

"Can we refute it?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Lucius replied. "But it might be a good idea to wait for Harry to be awake before we do. He might know something we can use to send Skeeter away with a flea in her ear."

"So what then, we just wait?"

"Yes, as we discussed yesterday, an immediate strong response will just feed the fire."

Eventually, he managed to calm the Minister down and send him away reassured. But in truth, he did feel they needed something else. But what?

And then the little voice spoke in his head.

And an evil smile played on his face.

* * *

He was enjoying the different coloured lights. They soothed him. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of the blackness that the light surrounded; that was not so nice. And it was getting bigger; it took a while before his mind made the obvious connection.

It was getting bigger because it was getting nearer. And that meant that either he or it was travelling. But he had no idea which. The red light surrounded him, and that gentle voice spoke again.

"Relax," it said. "It will all be over soon."

That's what it said every time; and every time, he did as he was bid. Somehow he knew to trust that voice; and as he did, the colours grew softer in hue and brighter in intensity. Warmer, somehow.

Abruptly, the colours were interrupted by a huge swath of silver. At first, he liked the silver even better than the other colours. But then it went darker, and he had the feeling that it was unhappy. He lifted his arms to try to touch it, to soothe its sorrows. He watched fascinated as it was caressed first by red light and then by green.

All at once the silver light shone bright again, and circled all around him. He smiled as he saw how beautiful it was.

In the midst of that strange place, Harry Potter was, just a little bit, happy.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke early, and propped himself up on his left elbow, watching his fiancé lying there, so still and peaceful. His right arm reached over to stroke Harry's left side. At first, he was content to just stroke, and watch, and listen; but then the doubts and fears came back again.

What if Harry didn't wake up? What if the process hurt him? What if he was in pain? And, when he did wake up, how would he react to the Prophet articles? Thinking of those just made Draco angry again, that those bastards had turned on Harry simply because they thought it would sell more papers.

And then, for the first time in hours, Harry moved.

It wasn't just a little thing, either, like moving an arm to his chest. No, his whole body turned to face Draco, his left arm flew up, and, all of a sudden, the blond found himself clasped in a strong hug. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, stunned; then all of the fear and anger left him as he breathed again, and in their place he felt a joy coursing through him. He returned the hug, which brought him very close to Harry's body, and their foreheads touched.

"Oh Harry," he thought, "I love you so much. I just wish that Skeeter woman would leave you alone."

"Relax," a voice said inside his head. "It will all be over soon."

When had he heard that voice before? He thought back, and it hit him; when he had seen the image of the man he knew now was Vernon Dursley. The voice had helped him then; he was sure it would help him now. So he snuggled down to relax, and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

The silver light spoke to him, and told him it loved him. And something he didn't understand about a Skeeter woman. Then it faded, but was still beautiful. He looked over and saw that the blackness was bigger; and yet somehow the silver light was shining on it, and it seemed a whole lot less scary.

He didn't really know how he knew things any more; but he had heard what the silver light said, and he knew it was true, and he could feel it giving him strength. It seemed to wrap around him some how, and its touch was so soft, so gentle, so …

 _Draco_. That was its name, he suddenly remembered. Draco loved him. Yes, that was important. That was something to hold on to. He wondered briefly again who Skeeter was, but that didn't seem to matter at all.

The other colours were still there, and the whole thing was comforting. He had the sense that something monumental would happen when the black thing arrived, or he reached it; but what it would be, he couldn't guess. That would happen when it happened, and meanwhile he could enjoy the colours. Especially the silver.

He became aware of another silver light; smaller, and tinged with gold. The colour was deeper, somehow, but again seemed to be disturbed. He tried to reach out to it, but it was too far away.

The word came back into his mind. Skeeter. He wondered again what it meant. Perhaps that was the name of the gold and silver light? But it didn't fit, somehow. What was its name then?

 _Lucius._ Yes, that was it.

Then the voice spoke again.

"Skeeter is an unregistered animagus. A beetle."

He couldn't remember what that meant; but somehow he knew the gold-tinged silver light – _Lucius_ \- needed to know it. It was important. So he reached out – how, he could never have said – and spoke the same words. A red light moved out from him, and curled around the gold-tinged silver light and all at once it went much clearer and he knew his message had got through.

Again he smiled. He turned, to see that the blackness was almost upon him. That didn't make him smile. This was going to be hard; but he would get through it. He always did.

* * *

_Monday 15 June 1998_

Things were not going quite the way Barnabus Cuffe had hoped. The Minister was supposed to angrily deny everything; but the reply he had given was courteous, exact, and gave him nowhere to go. Of course, he wrote an editorial thanking Kingsley for his reply but hinting that perhaps the Minister was not up to the job. _The Wizarding world needs firm leadership at this time,_ he wrote. That was the sort of thing his readers liked.

In his first draft he also pointed out that Mr Potter had not come forward yet; but he realised that the Ministry could simply say that it was none of their business what Mr Potter did so long as he abided by the law, which would make the Prophet look like they were hounding a schoolboy. Not a place he wanted to go. So that paragraph got chopped; as a result, the editorial was a bit too mealy-mouthed for his liking. But he couldn't see any way around it. He couldn't go on the attack, not unless he had an opponent willing to spar with him.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was having an excellent day. After the tip-off, which he was somehow sure was from Harry, that Skeeter was an animagus, he had asked his two Aurors if they would look into it for him, which they happily agreed to do. Robin Banks, it turned out, knew very well how to test for an animagus and had managed to do so by visiting Skeeter in her office and asking both Susan and her to autograph his copy of their article. Lucius chuckled. That young man was both incredibly winsome and had balls of steel. And Toby Proudfoot was the perfect partner; if Banks was too enthusiastic, Proudfoot was too cautious, so together they found a very productive middle road.

So by lunchtime, Lucius had what he needed: Auror-certified evidence that Rita Skeeter was indeed an unregistered animagus; and the spells Banks had used clearly showed that this was not a recent phenomenon. He sent them off to prepare for his meeting tomorrow afternoon, and called Dempster Wiggleswade over to the manor. It only took them three hours to write the article, by which time the Aurors had returned to confirm that all was arranged.

Lucius chuckled. Three of his least favourite people were not going to have a good day tomorrow …

* * *

As he descended into the blackness, he felt a twinge of panic. The colours were going; how would he do without them? But as he got further in, he found that it was not entirely dark; wrapped around him, like lines tied around a caver, were two thick threads, one red, one silver, and they were giving out enough light for him to see into the blackness a little way. As it had approached, it had become quite menacing; but as the light touched it, it seemed to shrink away.

There was a strange feeling; something had changed, but for a while he was not sure what. And then he remembered: this had happened before. He had been in this state before; and he had survived. So he could survive this time. The thought comforted him, even though he had been quite unaware of any fear that he would not survive.

In the meantime, the feeling meant that he had stopped. His feet were now on something solid. He was still surrounded by darkness, except for the two ribbons of light connected to him, red and silver. As he stood for a moment in the gloom. Something very strange happened. Around the red and silver strands at his waist, a new light appeared. A green light started shining, moving out, covering them.

 _This is my own magic,_ he heard himself say. And so it was. Heartened that he had his own coloured light, he looked around. As the greenish light shone brighter, the darkness grew palpably weaker, until he could see that in the middle there was a solid core of darkness.

He walked towards it. As he got near, he could hear that it was making sounds; but only when he got right next to it did he discover that the sounds were, in fact, words. He placed his hand on the blackness, and listened.

There were, he realised, at least two voices, repeating terms over and over again, interrupting each other, speaking on top of each other:

_FREAK! EVIL! WEIRDO! USELESS! COWARD! ALONE! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED, AND SHE LIVED! HATEFUL! FREAK! NO ONE COULD LOVE YOU! UNCLEAN! GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD, FREAK! EVIL! ABOMINATION! NO ONE COULD LOVE YOU! UNLOVED! HATEFUL! CUPBOARD! HE SHOULD HAVE LET ME GO WITH HER! FREAK! FOOLISH CHILD!_

There was so much pain in the voices that he couldn't help feeling for them. Who had pushed them to this state?

Abruptly, the colours around him began to act. It was the red that reacted first: it was as if the end of a rope, which had been coiled around him, unwound, and cracked into the blackness, like a whip. There was still a loop around him, he noticed with half his mind, and was strangely pleased by; but that was quickly forgotten as he watched the strange show in front of him.

His first thought had been that it was a whip; then it had looked for a second or two like a snake; but now it was like something half-forgotten: a hose, a machine, The memory tantalised him for a moment until he remembered cleaning at his aunt's house, using the Hoover.

 _A Hoover sucks up dirt,_ he thought; but the blackness looked too strong. Then he felt something in his hand and looked down. In the green and silver light he could see he was holding something long, and sharp. _A sword,_ he thought, as the word came to him. He lifted the sword against the blackness. It sliced through easily, cutting it to ribbons, and made its own words as it did so.

 _FREAK!_ The blackness said. _**Special!**_ The sword replied, as it sliced through more darkness.

 _COWARD!_ _**True Gryffindor!** _

_ALONE!_ _**Loved!** _

_ABOMINATION!_ _**Wonderful boy!** _

Soon the darkness was no longer solid, but shredded before his feet. As he watched, the red hose acted just like a Hoover. The blackness was sucked up by the red light, and soon disappeared. The words, which had become mere incoherent murmurs, then just a jumble of sound, now ceased; then all at once, the blackness disappeared completely and all was silent.

All the while, the silver thread pulsed around him and he felt … It was hard to find words. Loved? Was that it?

Yes, he thought. He was loved. Those words of the darkness, he knew, all of a sudden, had been spoken to him. And they had been spoken so often that they had pooled here, in the depth of his soul, feeding every evil thought, every nightmare.

And now, he knew for certain, they were gone. They were not true, and they no longer had any power over him. It was the sword that had spoken truth. He looked at it, then let go of it. He was not surprised when it disappeared; somehow it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn't need it any more. In the depth of his heart, he knew that he was loved. Accepted. Free. He felt at peace, as he blissfully surrendered to sleep.

* * *

Draco had been sleeping fitfully, and then he had had a dream; one that he knew was not quite a dream. He had been with Harry, holding him, comforting him, and he had known it was important to stay. When he woke from the dream-that-was-not-a-dream, it was already early evening. He lay still and watched Harry sleeping for several minutes. The raven-haired lad's face looked much healthier, somehow; Draco could tell that something important had happened. He had no idea what; but Harry was at peace, and for the first time in hours he sensed that it was quite safe to leave him alone.

He showered and dressed, called Mappy to watch over Harry, and then went in search of food. An hour later, he was sitting in his Zen garden when Blaise and Pansy appeared.

"So, you are back from Dreamland?" Blaise asked.

Draco knew that he was being jocular, but it was a surprisingly accurate description. Not that the two of them needed to know that; not yet, at any rate.

"Yes," he replied, smirking to himself. "And Harry should be all right for a while – did you have plans?"

"We were hoping you might want to come to Grimmauld Place today?" Pansy offered.

Draco winced as he realised he'd forgotten about that. Ron and Hermione were coming back on Saturday, and there was still so much to do!

"Thank you for reminding me! We have so much to do!" he almost shouted as he jumped up. "But .. today is almost gone! We have only four more days! And work at Hogwarts!"

"Calm down, amico," Blaise said, placing his hands on his friend's shoulders. "We know you are busy with Harry, so we have started already."

Draco looked at him quizzically.

"Started? But how did you get in? The wards should not allow it!"

Blaise gave him a sly look.

"We could not enter, true. But the Weasley boys, they could; and they have let us in. Come and see!"

* * *

When he arrived at Grimmauld Place the twins grabbed him and took him on a tour of the upstairs rooms. The progress astonished him.

"This is incredible," he said softly as they led him back to the first floor. "How have you managed to do so much in only two days?"

"Well," Fred replied with a smirk that would have done a Slytherin proud, "we had rather a lot of help …"

He opened the dining room door, and led Draco in. The Black family dining room at Grimmauld Place has a very special magical charm on it: the room can accommodate a vast number of people, the table magically, and automatically, expanding as required. Up till now, Draco had always thought of the room as a little on the small side, but he had appreciated that that made for intimate dining. But now… Now the room no longer felt intimate; on the contrary, the table now sported benches, rather like one of the tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Fred and George sat Draco at the head of the table and took a seat either side of him. Draco looked along to see Neville next to George, with Pansy, Theo, Dean, Luna, Seamus, Blaise, Millicent; on the other side, Angelina Johnson sat next to Fred, then, to Draco's great surprise, was Professor Flitwick, and next to him a couple of Ravenclaws that Draco knew by sight, then Bill and Ginevra Weasley, and Robin Banks sitting at the far end.

"Wow," he said, and looked at Professor Flitwick. "What's going on, Professor? I would have expected you all to be at Hogwarts?"

"Greetings, Mr Malfoy!" the tiny teacher twittered happily. "As you may recall, our progress at Hogwarts has been phenomenal, and we are a week ahead of schedule. When Minerva heard from her aunt that Mr Potter was likely to be indisposed for some time, and Mr Zabini approached me about possibly sparing a couple of people to help, I was delighted to simply pause operations there and work here instead. We have had a lot more help from past students as well; Oliver Wood, for example, has been tireless over the last two days. But he and the other past students tend to be busy at night with other things; the people around this table were able to stay to see you tonight."

Draco's mouth dropped open. He looked around the whole company, and felt tears threatening to fall. He blinked them away.

"So you all came to help out? Just for Harry?" He couldn't wrap his head around it; there was no possible advantage to all these people to come and fix Harry's private house; but they'd done it anyway.

"And for you," Neville replied. "It's what friends do."

At this, Draco could no longer hold back the tears. But no-one minded a bit.

* * *

_Tuesday 16 June 1998_

It took a few minutes for Barnabus Cuffe to realise that the tapping that he heard was not the hangover he had anticipated, but an owl at his window. He cast a Tempus charm to discover it was four o'clock in the morning. Who the hell was sending him an owl at this time?

He opened the window, and in flew one of the post-room owls from the Daily Prophet. He accepted the letter from it, and it flew off immediately, without waiting for reply or treat; but that didn't really surprise him. His staff knew better than to expect replies and his owls knew better than to expect treats.

It turned out to be a single scrap of parchment wrapped around a vial of potion. On the parchment was written, in his sub-editor's (thankfully!) inimitable scrawl, 'Drink this and come at once.' He cast a few charms on the vial, which revealed that it was exactly what it looked like: a hangover cure and pick-me-up all in one, the one favoured by senior Prophet staff because it was both very potent and easy to obtain without the Ministry finding out. The latter was important because the potion, like all strong potions, was addictive, and it would cause a scandal if it were known how much his staff depended on them. In all things, the Prophet preferred to tell the story, not be the story.

He took the potion, slightly miffed at how well his habits were known that they had sent it to him as a matter of course. After waiting the few seconds until he felt better, he picked up a handful of Floo powder, and sped to the office.

* * *

In the offices of the Daily Prophet, it was bedlam. Well, it always was at this time of the day, as the first copies came off the presses. He found the sub-editor on the printing room floor. The man looked at him, a pained expression on his face.

"Ministry orders, boss," he said, as he passed over a piece of parchment and a copy of the printed paper.

The parchment confirmed that the Ministry was using its prerogative to suspend the previous lead story 'with immediate effect' in favour of the one that had in fact been printed. It was, Cuffe noted as he turned very pale, personally signed by the Minister, and left no room for wiggling. From the look on the subbie's face, it had been delivered at the last possible moment, so the man had had no chance to run it by him before print. He knew they could do this, of course, as technically the State of Wizarding Emergency that had been declared when Voldemort had reappeared had not been lifted; but he didn't think they would.

"Bullies," he said, mostly to himself.

"Firm leadership," the subbie replied.

Cuffe groaned. Yes, he'd said that yesterday. They'd got him hoist by his own petard. He walked back to his desk and sat reading the article.

 

 

> _**Life, Freedom and Truth -** _
> 
> _**A Ministry Response to Articles in this Paper** _
> 
> _**By** _
> 
> _**Dempster Wiggleswade** _
> 
> _Recent articles in this newspaper have made much of events just after the Wizarding War, and at the engagement party of Mr Draco Malfoy and Mr Harry Potter. The Ministry has been asked for its input, and this reporter has been given the following press release from the Minister:_

Cuffe read on, and his face fell.

> _The Prophet asks why Mr Potter's use of the so-called Deathstick was not monitored; but Mr Potter is a private citizen, and of age, and had won the allegiance of this wand, for, as we all know, the wand chooses the wizard. Surely, beyond the well-known proscription of Unforgivables, and a general duty of care to one another, the Prophet does not want the Ministry to dictate what a wizard does with a wand he has a legitimate claim to?_

There was more on this score, but Cuffe knew that the wedge he'd hoped to drive between Shacklebolt and Potter wasn't going to be happening any time soon. Then came a section about the Ministry itself, and this was even more disturbing:

>   _Of course we are delighted that the Prophet has questioned Ministry decisions. It is essential that your Ministry is kept accountable and on our toes; too often the Ministry has acted with a heavy hand, believing itself to be infallible. Minister Fudge was wrong to think that Voldemort had not returned, and Minister Scrimgeour was perhaps too zealous in his prosecution of alleged Death-Eaters. But let us ensure that the questioning happens in a friendly atmosphere, without descending to personal attacks. Let's leave the witch-hunts to the Muggles. We are here to build a better future for us all; and Mr Potter has graciously fallen in with all of the demands on him._

And on and on it went. There was stuff about the party; but as the Minister ponderously pointed out, it was not the Ministry's place to speak for Lucius Malfoy, nor did he answer to it other than in the same way as anyone else. The Ministry provided security for the Manor as it would for anywhere else that a Death-Eater attack was anticipated.

Cuffe put his head in his hands. He had been out-played, and he knew it. All the personal dirt that had been dug up on Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley was rendered useless. Hell, they couldn't even publish slurs against the Malfoys; they'd just look like pathetic losers if they printed it now.

By the time he reached the last paragraph, he was fuming with rage. He wanted to kill someone. He was going to get back at someone, if it killed him. And then, there it was.

> _While the Ministry does not condone intrusion into people's private lives, there is naturally a standard of behaviour that is required of persons in positions of trust. That includes Ministry staff; but it also includes staff of the Daily Prophet, as the Wizarding World must have confidence in those who report on the activities of its servants. So it is of considerable concern to the Ministry that we have learned that one member of the Daily Prophet staff has been using an unregistered animagus form. We feel confident that the Editor will give all assistance to ensure that the regrettable oversight of failing to register this form will be corrected without delay._

Skeeter. It had to be. He was going to lose his best reporter, he thought, as he reached for the bottle of firewhiskey.

No, he corrected himself, he didn't have to lose her. She was the biggest pain in the arse on his staff; but all he had to do was play dumb, offer her up to the Ministry, then beg for her to be allowed to stay on staff in, to begin with, a much more junior role.

It was, he knew, a peace offering. A deal, to maintain the often unhappy relationship between Ministry and paper. He could still have his scandal; it would just be Skeeter who bore the brunt of it.

"Serves the bitch right," he said to himself, as he tossed back his favourite breakfast: a simple combination of scapegoat and firewhiskey.

* * *

Lucius was all smiles as he finally walked into Grunnings Drills. The article in the Prophet had been perfect; it remained to be seen what Cuffe made of it, of course, but he was sure that the man would understand the deal he was being offered. And now here he was, performing yet another meet-and-greet, turning on the charm. Another day of tedium, really.

There was no mistaking Vernon Dursley. The comparison to aquatic mammals was irresistible; the man practically waddled up to him, and even sported what was called a 'walrus moustache', for Merlin's sake!

"Mr Malloy, Vernon Dursley, very pleased to meet you," the odious man said, extending his hand and shaking Lucius's own far too forcefully. Lucius winced inwardly; but the Malfoy mask held good, his face maintained a polite smile, and Dursley practically beamed at him. It was rather like having a too-attentive dog rub up on you, Lucius thought; only a lot less enjoyable.

"Mr Dursley, delighted to make your acquaintance. You are the Deputy General Manager, I understand?"

"Yes, sir," the man replied, beaming, and began to explain exactly what his position entailed. Lucius was amazed at how the man could spin a job description that was basically 'I do whatever the general manager tells me to' into what sounded like a difficult and responsible position. Lucius was almost impressed. But only almost. It didn't quite gel; and he could tell by the disapproving noises from the man at his elbow that Grunnings thought so too.

"Quite so," Lucius said after the man had rather embarrassed himself with his enthusiasm and run out of steam. "Of course, you would not, I suspect, be averse to taking on further responsibilities?"

One could almost hear the cogs in Vernon's brain turning. The only place to go was the Managing Director job; in his mind's eye, Vernon saw himself in that spacious office, lording it over the staff. It made a very pleasant picture indeed.

"Oh, no, of course not!" he began, the greed only too evident in his voice. Lucius cut him off smoothly.

"Very good," he said, turning back to George Grunnings, who was standing at his elbow. Lucius could feel anger pouring off the man in waves; he clearly did not approve of his employee's complete lack of tact. He smiled as he wordlessly cast a little charm Narcissa had suggested on Vernon Dursley.

This was going to be a lot of fun.

* * *

Later that evening, 'Luke Malloy' and George Grunnings had a quiet pint in a nearby pub. The Managing Director and his Deputy had been invited along; but, Grunnings explained, Collings had a prior dinner engagement, and Dursley seemed to have come down rather suddenly with a nasty upset stomach.

"How sad," Lucius observed, his eyes sparkling. "I do hope he recovers soon. And that it's not contagious."

"Yes, well, it is a concern," the other man agreed. "He has taken a lot of time off, what with that nephew of his and all."

"About that," Lucius said, spotting a useful opening. "I have been pursuing some enquiries of my own."

"Really? Oh, well, then, you'll know about the injunction and warrant, then."

"Yes," Lucius said, slowly. "I've also heard that there is another investigation about to start on the case. It seems that not all of the evidence that was presented was actually quite truthful."

"Really?" Grunnings said, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed," Lucius replied. "There's some suggestion that Mr Dursley and the officer in charge, what was his name now, …"

"Darren Dyson," Grunnings said, a little too promptly. A quick non-verbal Legilimens established for Lucius that Grunnings knew Dyson had a reputation for dealing with difficult problems, not necessarily quite within the law; but that he didn't know the specifics of this case. Grunnings would never know it, but that ignorance had saved him a world of pain.

"Yes, that's the chap. There's an internal investigation about to start. All hush-hush, of course, mustn't say anything to Dursley or Dyson, you know, police furious and all that …"

"Yes well, of course," the Yorkshireman replied, looking rather worried. It wouldn't do for a respectable business like Grunnings' Drills to be caught up in anything illegal. "Not a word, then."

"That's right," Lucius replied. "Not a word."

 _For now_ , he thought, as he discreetly charmed the ale to taste like butterbeer so he could at least get it down.

* * *

When Grunnings left the pub, he wasn't feeling the best. From the sound of things, Dursley had not been straight with him. He didn't like that. Not one little bit.

George Grunnings was not a fancy man. He made no pretentions at all to being cultured, which had turned Lucius's stomach somewhat. He was a man of the people; he had no time for what he called 'lah-di-dah ways'. "I'm bluff, I am," he would say to anyone who would listen. But he was surprisingly tolerant for a man of his generation. He knew for a fact that two of his male employees were in a relationship together; but as long as they kept it discreet, he didn't mind. They were good workers, after all. There was even one occasion, that had passed into company legend, when he had stood up for them on a building site; the biggest bully on site had yelled 'Nancy boys!' at them, and without even needing to think about it he had yelled back that, unless the man wanted to shag them, it was none of his business. That had shut him up good and proper.

But he could not, would not, stand people who were not straight with him. If what Luke Malloy said was true, he'd have to rethink his whole opinion of Vernon Dursley.

He got home and went to bed, deciding to sleep on it and forget about the whole thing till morning.

It was a shame that he was woken up at two a.m. with what must be the same stomach bug that Vernon Dursley had had …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Bicky Monster.
> 
>  **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free to 'like' it.
> 
>  **Thanks:** To all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cookies to those who commented, especially ruth_lily who has showered me with blessings! 
> 
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	43. Returning from Near at Hand

**43\. Returning from Near at Hand**

Draco spent Tuesday on tenterhooks; he was worried Harry might wake up at any time, so he Flooed backwards and forwards between the Manor and Grimmauld Place. The fourth time he arrived in Grimmauld Place, Flitwick had taken him by the arm – only possible because the tiny Professor was using his levitating charm – and told him not to be so stupid.

"There are plenty of willing hands here, Mr Malfoy. There really is no need for you to be here as well; we all understand that you want to be with Harry, and frankly I'd rather you were there giving him all of your concentration than here being distracted with only half your mind on your work."

The words assuaging some of his guilt, he returned to the Manor, where Narcissa pounced on him.

"Dragon," she told him, "if you're worried about Harry waking up and want to be there when it happens, I suggest you simply stay in your suite."

Draco knew well the tone of voice she was using; 'if you're worried about Harry' really meant, 'you had jolly well better be worried about Harry'. And, of course, he was; so, to her great relief, he followed this advice. Healer Touauld came in to check up on Harry just after lunchtime and suggested that he would probably need some pepper-up and nutrition potions when he woke up, so Draco divided his time between his library and his potions lab for most of the rest of the day. By five o'clock, he decided he had brewed enough for the foreseeable future, and sat on his bed next to his unconscious fiancé, reading the annotations Snape had made in what was now Harry's copy of _Advanced Potions Making_ and carding his fingers through Harry's hair.

At dinnertime, there was a knock on his door. Harry stirred at the sound, so Draco put a bookmark in his book and pulled him into his arms.

"Come in!" he called, and his mother entered. She took in the scene and smiled as she saw Harry's head nestled on Draco's chest while he was rubbing Harry's back soothingly. Her dragon was obviously taking good care of Harry.

"Any news?" she asked.

"He's hardly stirred," Draco replied. "He twitched a little when you knocked, but mostly he's been out of it entirely."

"How are you feeling about that?" she asked, sounding just a little contrite that she had sent him to a day of boredom.

"Oh, well, I'd rather he was awake, of course. It's nice to cuddle him, but I just miss the feeling of him returning it. But Healer Touauld assures me that his healing is going well, which is the most important thing. And I've been brewing all day, which helped to pass the time."

Mentioning passing the time reminded him that it must be close to dinnertime, so he asked whether they would be dining together.

"Your father is rather busy tonight, so I thought rather than a formal meal in the dining room, how would it be if we had a small mother-and-son dinner together here? That way, if Harry does stir you'll be right on the spot for him."

Draco smiled. "I'd like that," he replied.

* * *

Dinner was pleasant; he told his mother about Grimmauld Place, she told him about Andromeda and Teddy, who had spent the day at the Manor. The baby had spent most of the time he was awake playing in the gardens. They had found that Teddy loved practising his crawling on the lawns, and looking after him gave the house-elves something to do while she and Andromeda drank tea and chatted.

When his mother left his suite at ten, Harry had still not woken up. Eventually, at about eleven o'clock, Draco had finally given up hope that he would do so that day, and cuddled up to him. He placed his forehead on Harry's; it gave him the feeling of togetherness that he craved.

And then, it happened.

* * *

It was like falling through a long, dark, tunnel; and then suddenly he emerged into a well-lit meadow. The sun was shining brightly and would have been too hot but for the light, cool, breeze. He looked around and soon spotted what he was looking for: under an old oak tree, Harry was lying, apparently fast asleep.

As Draco walked over to him, Harry woke, turned, and propped himself up on one elbow. He looked into Draco's eyes, his face blank, the green eyes glassy. And then, all of a sudden, a flicker of recognition came into the eyes Draco loved so much, and Harry smiled. It felt to Draco like someone had cast the strongest Lumos ever; the brightness of Harry's smile lifted his heart so much that he almost ran – only almost, of course, because Malfoys _never_ run – to his lover and fell to his knees as Harry sat up, and they embraced.

Some time later – time here seemed to flow differently, it was impossible to quantify – they broke apart. Draco looked his lover over.

"You look different," he said.

"How so?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. Stronger, somehow. Like all the weakness has gone out of you."

"I think that's probably just what has happened," Harry replied, and told him about the darkness, and the words, and the sword, and the red and silver lights. As he talked, Draco held him in his arms, enjoying the feeling of Harry's muscles responding to the touch as he gently massaged them and felt the tension leaving them.

"Still that red light!" Draco said. "I wonder if we will ever find out what it means."

"Yeah, I wonder," Harry replied, then yawned.

"You're tired!" Draco said, concern etched in his voice.

"Mm," Harry agreed. "I'll be fine. Just need to rest here a little longer. I'll see you tomorrow, I should think."

And with that, the raven-head fell asleep.

Draco blinked. And found himself back in his bed, looking into the face of his sleeping lover. He smiled.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," he said, and snuggled close.

_Wednesday 17 June 1998_

As he came slowly back to consciousness, Draco felt warm and comfortable. There was an odd little breeze tickling his chin; when he opened his eyes, it became apparent what it was. He found there were green eyes staring into his; and Harry's breath was ghosting down his neck.

"Good morning," Harry said languidly, leaning in for a kiss. It was apparent that the Gryffindor had been awake for a little while; at least long enough to cast breath-freshening charms, Draco thought, for which he was rather thankful.

Draco made the most of the opportunity he had not had for days, finally having Harry awake and all to himself; the two of them lay together in their bed, sharing kisses and shy smiles, stroking one another, each enjoying the feeling of reacquainting himself with the other's body. A little while later it became clear to Draco that while Harry's breath might be acceptable, the rest of him could really do with a wash.

"Let's get you into the bath," he suggested. Then a thought struck him. Harry, he could tell, was rested; but he could feel his muscles twitching, and they still felt rather weak. "Can you walk?"

Harry considered this for a moment, for which Draco was glad; he could so easily have done the stubborn Gryffindor thing and said "of course", after all. But he didn't.

"I'm not sure that I can yet," Harry admitted.

Draco smiled at him, a warm, open smile full of gratitude. He knew from years of watching him that Harry had his own mask: for him to admit pain or weakness was quite something. It showed the blond just how thoroughly he had won his lover's trust, and he savoured it, treasuring the thought away in his heart.

Draco got out of bed and ran the bath, taking care to add some gentle invigorating potion. When it was full, and at the perfect temperature, he walked back into the bedroom, over to Harry's side of the bed, and carefully stripped off his raven-haired lover, then lifted him, casting a Lightening charm to make sure he didn't drop him. To his absolute delight, Harry did not complain; in fact, he put his arms around Draco and smiled.

"Thank you for taking care of me," Harry said, in a small voice.

If he had felt trusted before, it was nothing to now, and Draco almost dropped him at this point in shock that Harry would be so open with him. It had been clear to both of them that the words in the blackness had been Harry's memory of the utter neglect of his aunt and uncle, and their hatred for him. And those bastards had taught him that he had to look after himself; no-one else was going to. Well, they were wrong. Draco was caring for him, and Harry was grateful for it, and Draco never wanted that to change.

"I always will," Draco promised, as he lowered his lover into the bath gently.

* * *

It took nearly an hour to bathe and dress Harry and get him back into bed. He was still very tired, and kept falling asleep; and he also seemed to need a lot of contact and reassurance. Having heard about the fight Harry had had with his inner demons, Draco understood the tiredness, and didn't mind it much; and he loved the touching and cuddling. So he shushed Harry when the latter tried to apologise; he didn't begrudge a minute of the process.

Mappy was overjoyed to bring them food; once again, Draco asked him not to tell anyone except Healer Touauld that Harry was awake. This time, he felt, there was an even stronger reason: Harry had been away longer, and it seemed to have taken a lot more out of him. An impression that the elderly healer was quick to confirm.

"He will not need any more deep healings," she said, as she reviewed the results of her diagnostic spell while Draco hugged Harry closely. He seemed to need it; the brief time they were apart while she had taken the test, just to make sure the Shield didn't form and muck things up, had clearly distressed him somewhat. "But he needs a lot of rest, and, it seems, a lot of physical contact from you."

"We can do that," Draco said with a smirk, as Harry snuggled into him and fell fast asleep.

The healer looked at him, a slight smile on her face. "Enjoy it while it lasts. This looks like healing from past trauma, would that be accurate?"

Draco snorted. "Indeed."

"Very well," the healer replied. "In that case, I would say in a couple of days he'll be back to normal. Before that, make sure he takes it easy. Visits are fine, but apart from you, not more than ten minutes at a time. He can have Pepper-Up potions if he wants them, and pain-killers every four hours if needed. Do you have some to hand?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "I spent most of yesterday brewing fresh ones."

"Very good," the healer replied, impressed with his devotion. "I doubt he will need them, though. Nor, I think, will he need any further help from me; so I think I shall bid you farewell. It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr Malfoy; tell Mr Potter I shall check up on him again before the end of the month. And of course do not hesitate to get in touch if there are any further problems. I shall let your mother know the situation and give her my Floo address."

And with that, she left.

* * *

Healer Touauld turned out to be spot on. For the rest of Wednesday, and all of Thursday, Harry slept a good deal; they had plenty of visitors, but Draco was careful to explain the ten-minute rule and stick to it.

Narcissa was their first visitor, bringing the mail that Harry particularly needed to review; thanks to Draco's screening process, this wasn't a large pile, and she had already used a discreet charm to identify 'get well soon' cards, which she had opened for them. Harry skimmed them all and then Narcissa placed them on the wall opposite so that he could see them from the bed and remember that there were so many people who cared about him. She didn't tell him about the howlers that she had already incendioed, or the hate mail; he didn't need to know that there were people out there who still felt that male-male relationships were evil, or that in having anything to do with the Malfoys he had sold his soul to the devil.

There was one letter that particularly caught Harry's eye; unlike the rest, it had Muggle stamps on it. He could only think of one person who would send him post through the Muggle mail system. He opened it and checked from the signature that it was indeed from his cousin Dudley.

To begin with, Harry was a little apprehensive; their meeting on Saturday had gone very well, but there was still a long and unpleasant history between them. What did Dudley want? But as he read the letter, his face relaxed, and when he finished it, he was smiling. The two Malfoys naturally noticed this and he could feel they were both itching with a curiosity to know what the letter was about, though too polite to mention it. He decided to put them out of their misery.

"It's a letter from Dudley," he said, passing the letter to Draco.

 _Harry,_ Draco read, _I was so glad when you agreed to see me on Saturday. I'm so sorry I was a pig to you, you deserve so much better than what we gave you. I know I told you that, but I wanted to write it down as well, to let you know I really mean it and I really do want to be your friend now and make things up to you any way I can._

_Say hello to my new cousin Draco for me. I'm glad I met him. You two looked so happy together. I know Vernon and Petunia would hit the roof 'cos you're both guys, but he makes you happy, that's enough for me. And anyway, it won't matter after next Tuesday, right? Is that Mr Weasley guy still working on a name-change?_

_Thanks for everything. Please say a special thanks to Mr and Mrs Malfoy for having me at their house._

_Dudley._

Draco was a little puzzled.

"Well, that's really sweet," he said. "Sounds more like a fourteen-year-old than a nearly eighteen-year-old. But I don't really see why it made you smile?"

"Oh, it's not so much what he said," Harry replied, "as that he bothered to write at all. He could just ignore me, that's what they would have done before; or he could just have let things happen and expect me to do everything for him. But he's grateful, Draco, that's what's exciting."

And Draco could see that. For someone who had despised him to suddenly show gratitude: that was a big thing for Harry. And, he decided, looking at the clock, enough for the moment.

"All right," he said, "but I'm afraid ten minutes are up."

"I quite understand, Dragon," Narcissa said, gathering up the other mail and placing it on a side table and taking her leave. "I'll have Mappy tell you if there are other visitors."

And of course there were: Molly Weasley came half an hour later, and the twins called separately during the day, each explaining that the other was minding the shop while they visited. Draco's friends were also represented: Blaise and Pansy called at afternoon tea time, explaining to Draco quietly as they left that the work at Grimmauld Place was all but finished and would definitely be ready by Friday morning.

There was one exception to the ten-minute rule: on Thursday morning, Andromeda brought Teddy Lupin for a visit, and when they had been there ten minutes, and Harry started to fade, Teddy simply crawled over and snuggled up with him. The pair of them slept together for an hour.

Narcissa and Andy took advantage of Teddy's nap to take tea together in Narcissa's study. Draco was grateful for the chance to leave Harry; he hadn't wanted to leave him alone as he seemed to need a lot of contact, but it was obvious that Teddy was meeting that need for now. He sat in his study, and for the second week in a row had his weekly chat with Arthur Weasley by Floo-call.

The Deputy Minister said that he didn't mind at all as he quite understood the situation and was very happy to hear about Harry's healing. Of course, Draco mused, he must have heard from Molly; but he was gracious enough not to point that out, and that meant a lot to the blond. The conversation naturally moved from Harry's healing to the meeting on Saturday, and Arthur confirmed that the paperwork for Dudley's name change was now complete. Draco was relieved to hear this; he had, in truth, all but forgotten about it even though Dudley had mentioned it; Arthur must have realised this from his expression as he told him not to worry, it wasn't up to Draco to make these things happen.

Arthur also told him that the Wizengamot had allowed Rita Skeeter to register her animagus form, and only imposed a fine on her; but of course the real punishment was that now everybody knew about it, which made it much less useful; it was much harder to sneak up on people when every beetle was now examined suspiciously. As a result, she hadn't had a by-line all week, and Arthur shared his suspicion that she wouldn't get one any time soon.

'I think Cuffe has taken the opportunity to bust her back to junior reporter," Arthur said. Draco could not find it in himself to feel sorry for her.

There had also been an email from Ron and Hermione; together with Hermione's parents, Peter and Margaret Granger, and her baby sister Miriam, they had now left Australia and would be spending a couple of days in Singapore to holiday and break the journey; the Grangers had felt Miriam would be better with a staggered journey.

By the time his call had finished, Harry was awake again. Draco returned to see him watching Teddy, who was still fast asleep. Draco climbed onto the bed and the two of them moulded themselves around the baby.

Harry did not fail to notice unshed tears in Draco's eyes.

"You all right, Dragon?" he asked, with such tenderness that Draco couldn't stop the tears escaping.

"Fine," he replied eventually, when he had got his voice under control. "It's just, I was talking to Arthur; Ron sent an email saying they were sorry to miss the engagement party, but happy that we were engaged and hoping we were doing OK. Especially that I was, given the healing you're going through. He said he was really looking forward to see us both on the weekend. I was just so touched, Harry, that your best friend would be concerned for me."

"Hey, Dragon," Harry replied, kissing him on the forehead. "That's what friends do."

* * *

_Friday 19 June 1998_

It was immediately obvious when Harry woke on the Friday that he was much better. In fact, he leapt out of bed and into the en-suite by himself before Draco was fully aware that the day had begun.

Draco walked into en-suite to find Harry already in the shower, so he stripped off and joined him.

"Hello Dragon!" Harry said happily; "why the pout?"

For Draco, far from having a happy face to see his fiancé up and about, which Harry had half-expected, was indeed pouting.

"Malfoys don't pout," he insisted.

"No, of course not," Harry said, playing along. "So what is the explanation for the smile that isn't on your face?"

"I guess I miss you needing my help," Draco replied honestly. "I miss you needing me to wash you."

Harry placed flannel and soap into his lover's hands before wrapping his arms around him.

"Well, now you don't have to do it, I would be happy to let you do it just because you want to."

"You, my love, are far too much of a Slytherin," Draco replied, as he washed Harry. "You're too good at getting me to do all the work."

"You love it," Harry replied, teasingly.

* * *

For the first time that week, the whole family ate breakfast outside, and Harry got to see his garden again. As always, it buoyed his spirits. He remembered that the last time he had eaten here was when Dudley had been to see him; and that prompted a question:

"Lucius," he asked, and the older man turned to him with an enquiring smile on his face, "how are the preparations for getting Dudley free from my aunt and uncle going?"

"I had a chat with the Bursar of Smeltings Academy yesterday," the Malfoy patriarch replied. "He confirmed that, come Tuesday, Dudley can elect that his parents no longer be contacted at all by the school; as long as the fees are paid, there will be no problem. I have also consulted a solicitor and set up a trust fund with enough money to fund the rest of Dudley's secondary schooling. We thought we'd wait and see which University he goes to, if any, before buying him a flat nearby. Is that all right?"

"That's fantastic, thanks," Harry replied. Narcissa smiled at the enthusiasm in his voice; it was lovely to see how well they worked together. Of course, this was exactly the sort of thing Lucius loved doing, but she was very glad that Harry was happy to let him do it.

"I guess if necessary," Harry continued, "he can stay at Grimmauld—" Harry stopped in mid sentence, and his face fell.

"What's wrong love?" Draco asked.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry replied, "I wanted to get it ready for Ron and Hermione's return on Saturday …"

"Don't worry," Draco said with a smirk. "We can go over this evening and see what's needed, all right? Meanwhile, how about we spend this afternoon out and about? We could visit the twins' shop."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yes, I'd like that," he replied.

Narcissa kept her smile to herself. She rather suspected there was somewhere else in Diagon Alley that Harry wanted to visit; she had read the Prophet article about a dozen ice-creams …

* * *

Floriana Fortescue was overjoyed to see Harry again.

"It is good to see you have not been kidnapped, or wounded, or tortured, Mr Potter. Indeed you look very well!"

"Thank you," Harry replied. "I feel fantastic. I had been ill, and resting; but now I'm all recovered. Is that what people have been saying about me?"

"Yes," she replied, looking a little apprehensively at Draco. "I think you should be a little careful, there are the rumours, people may be feeling a bit … unsettled."

Almost on cue, the first insult rang out.

"Death Eater scum!" a deep voice yelled out, as its owner was running towards them. Harry noticed a few others were taking an interest almost immediately. _This could turn nasty,_ he thought.

"OI!" he shouted in reply. "That's my fiancé you're talking about!"

The man stopped in his tracks, his mouth open in astonishment.

"Here," said Harry impishly, gesturing to Floriana for a chocolate ice-cream cone, "let's close that mouth for you, you don't want to catch flies."

And quick as a wink, he shot the cone into the man's mouth. The rude man was so stunned that he failed to react at all, then jumped and snorted as the unexpected cold of the ice-cream hit him. The prank had exactly the effect Harry wanted: it was so comical a moment that everyone laughed, and the tension eased palpably.

"Well done, Mr Potter," Floriana whispered to him. "But I think maybe you should hide a little, just to be safe."

Much though he didn't want to do it, Harry could see that it was a good idea, so they quickly, but not too obviously so, sought the shelter of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

* * *

The twins were overjoyed to see them; Neville, they said, would be sad to have missed him, but he was working at Hogwarts. He and Blaise had now finished the greenhouses, apparently, and Neville had started propagating so many plants that Professor Sprout had run out of containers and they'd had to find more.

Fred took his silent partner for a walk around the shop, pointing out a couple of new lines. There were some items particularly for parties: hats and whistles, charmed so that the whistle made a bird-call, and the hat formed itself into the matching shape of the bird making its call. There were also some more serious items: the Bouncy Chairs had been such a hit that they had tried to come up with lines to complement them. They now had one which was much more controlled, and moulded to you as you sat in it; they had a lot of orders from older wizards and witches, who found they were excellent support for old bones. Fred had plans to expand this into a general line of less prankish products for the older wizard.

"You're not losing your mastery of mirth touch are you, Fred?" Harry teased.

"Oh, I don't think so," Fred replied. "In fact, we've found another line of – well, _mirth_ isn't quite the word. Come and see these," he said, leading Harry into a closed-off section of the shop. Half an hour later, having become very well acquainted with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' new adult range of products, Harry had a burning red face and a fierce determination never to taunt Fred again.

As they joined George and Draco, Harry yawned. Draco took one look at him, noticed the bags under his eyes, and sighed. Harry might feel a lot better; but clearly he still needed to take things slowly for a while.

"You, Harry, need a nap."

"No I don—" Harry began, but the yawn that followed gave the lie to the denial.

"Come on, Harry, you can kip on my bed," Fred offered, and took him upstairs.

Draco smiled to see Harry go. He had needed some diversion to avoid getting to Grimmauld Place too early; this was perfect.

* * *

By the time Harry woke, the twins had closed up for the day, so they had a light meal together. It was seven o'clock by the time they Flooed to Grimmauld Place. Harry was getting anxious as he wanted to have a good look around in daylight; it was fortunate, he told himself, that it was still June and there was plenty left.

But all of these thoughts were forgotten when he came through the Floo. The first thing he saw when he emerged into the drawing room was a huge banner strung up on the opposite wall, saying WELCOME BACK HARRY! The second thing he sensed – heard, more than saw, with the racket they were making - was the whole gang waiting for him. Most of their friends were there, both his and Draco's. He was particularly touched to see that the Slytherins were there, all wearing the Weasleys' silly hats. Professor Flitwick and Headmistress McGonagall were there too, together with some students from other years who Harry knew well. McGonagall, to Harry's amazement, was also wearing a hat. She had chosen a puffin, which did amazing dives when she blew her whistle. Harry doubled up in laughter at the sight: she had even charmed it so that the underside of its wings was tartan, obviously poking fun at herself.

The only people he would have wanted to be there who weren't were, of course, Ron and Hermione; and the twins, but they came through the Floo immediately after Draco.

A moment later, the room went quiet, as everyone realised he was there.

"Right you lot," George began, "let's not overwhelm Harry too much; / but mate, we wanted you to know how much you are loved, -"

"And were missed!" Flitwick interjected.

"—and were missed," Fred agreed; "so we've actually done a little bit of work for you. / Hope you don't mind."

With that, they grabbed him and led him on a tour through the house. Harry's eyes nearly fell out of his head as he found that 'a little bit of work' was the understatement of the year - everything was finished to a very high standard. Flitwick's influence was obvious – the charmwork throughout was outstanding. The ceilings had been charmed to show the constellations above them, as a nod to the Black family habit of using astronomical terms as names. Each room had been decorated in a different colour, with the furnishings all co-ordinated; even the different woods used were chosen with exquisite care to match the colour scheme.

Harry sat for a while in one of the new chesterfields in the library, which now had beautiful deep green walls with contrasting beech panelling, drinking it all in. Draco snuggled up to him, and Harry happily leant into his arms, still needing touch.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked, and there was no disguising the hint of nervousness in his voice.

"It's beautiful," Harry replied. "I love it. All of it."

* * *

The evening seemed to go by in a flash. Everyone seemed to want to touch him, perhaps to reassure themselves that he really was there; and everyone said how well he looked, which was nice, but got a bit wearisome after a while. The only conversation he could remember in detail later was when Neville pulled him into a quiet corner, and asked for a favour; one Harry was delighted to agree to.

Two hours later, after a splendid party, where Pansy and Ginny seemed to have taken particular delight in trashing the drawing room, Draco had decided Harry had had enough excitement for a convalescent and sent everyone home, pointing out that most of them would see Harry at the Welcome Home party for Ron and Hermione. Harry was grateful; it was lovely to see everyone, but he was very tired now, and happy to lie on a sofa in front of his lover, who was absentmindedly running his hands through Harry's hair.

"Do you want to sleep here, or return to the Manor?" Draco asked.

"Here would be good," Harry said. "As long as your mother won't worry."

"We're grown men, Harry, of course she won't," Draco replied. But a little while later, he called Kreacher.

"Now the young master calls Kreacher when there's a mess to clean," the elf muttered as he appeared, but Draco ignored him.

"Kreacher, please go and tell Mother that we will be staying here tonight. And then," he said, looking round and pretending he'd only just noticed the mess the room was in, "you'd better clean up, I suppose."

"Very good Master Draco!" Kreacher said. He might have muttered more, but Draco fixed him with a steely gaze, and he held his tongue.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said. "Is our room ready?"

"Young masters think Kreacher not be keeping room ready. Young masters not trusting Kreacher to do a good job," the house-elf muttered to himself.

"Stuff and nonsense," Draco said, a little too loudly, and Kreacher looked up startled. "You always do a good job, Kreacher. We just need to know if you're happy with it, that's all."

Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud: Kreacher actually blushed at this praise!

"Yes, Master Harry, your room be quite ready," he said, quite obviously not knowing how to reply to Draco, so electing not to bother; then bowed. "Kreacher be giving your message to Mistress Cissy now." And with that, with the inevitable pop, he disapparated.

"You've got his number," Harry said, with a grin.

"Of course," Draco replied. "Some of us were brought up with house-elves, after all. Shall we go to bed?"

Once Kreacher had delivered his message, Narcissa insisted on him taking some of the potions back with him, together with some rather sugary treats for her boys; which is how it was that they were fast asleep by the time he returned, Draco lying wrapped in his lover's arms with a huge grin on his face.

Harry was back, really back; and Draco's dreams were filled with joy at the knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for their input!


	44. ... And From Far Away

**44\. ... And From Far Away**

_Saturday 20 June 1998_

While Ron and Hermione were due to return today, Harry didn't actually know when that would be; nor did he have any idea where they would go to begin with. The Burrow was a logical place, of course; but somehow, he had a suspicion that they just might prefer to come to Grimmauld Place. Molly and Arthur were lovely; but they (by which he really meant, Molly) would fuss over them and the Grangers, which probably wasn't what they would want. So, to Draco's disgust, he made sure he and Draco rose and were ready early; as a peace offering, he had Kreacher make them pancakes for breakfast, after which they decided they needed another shower.

They had finished breakfast and were lounging in the drawing room when they heard the front door open.

"Harry! Draco! We're home!" Hermione's voice rang out.

Harry smiled; his instincts had been right.

"Blimey!" came Ron's voice. "George's email said the traps were gone, but the place looks completely different! Are you sure this is the right house? Harry?"

"We're up here!" Harry yelled back, and a minute later the peace of the morning was shattered by the arrival of four rather bleary-eyed adults and a very inquisitive three-month-old baby who had all come straight from the airport.

Ron introduced the Grangers; Harry knew them by sight, but Draco had never even seen them before. And of course neither of them had met Miriam before. She seemed to take an instant shine to Harry, reaching out to him and demanding that he hold her. He naturally sat down to do so, and everyone else joined him, Hermione sitting next to him and playing with her little sister. It felt very strange to Harry to see the always earnest and serious Hermione playing naturally with a little child, who obviously adored her; strange, perhaps, unexpected, definitely, but also surprisingly enjoyable. It certainly relieved what could have been a rather tense moment.

"Er, lovely to meet you, Harry," Mr Granger said once introductions were done and they were all seated. "And this is a lovely old house. Has it been in your family long?"

Hermione groaned, but Harry just smiled in return. "No, it belonged to my godfather, who left it to me. He wasn't actually related to me; in fact, he was Draco's cousin."

"Oh, I see," said Mr Granger, who had rather gathered that the question was something of a _faux pas_. "Um, I hope you don't mind us all imposing on you like this; but as you can probably understand, we didn't want to go straight back to the house we left standing empty a year ago without getting it ready first, and Ron said this house was likely to be quieter than the Burrow."

"Of course you're all welcome," Harry said. "Kreacher!"

The house-elf appeared, which made Miriam squeal and clap her hands; she was clearly delighted with the strange creature.

"Muggles and muggle-borns!" Kreacher whined. "Muggles in the Mistress's house!"

"Muggles in my house," Harry replied sternly, "and they are welcome, too. This is Mr and Mrs Granger, Hermione's parents; and her sister, Miriam. They are to be treated with the respect due to my and Draco's guests. Now, I'm sure we could all do with a cup of tea?"

Fifteen minutes later, tea finished, the Grangers were clearly flagging after the long flight; while Ron and Hermione looked only a little tired, and Miriam, with the traditional contrariness of young children with tired parents, was full of beans. Harry called Kreacher.

"Please take the Grangers upstairs so they can freshen up," he asked.

"Yes Master Harry!" Kreacher replied. He probably had disparaging thoughts about the Muggles; but Draco was watching him closely, and Kreacher could obviously tell, because he gave his best smile, and even reached out to tickle Miriam's little feet, which made her huff with laughter. Hermione winced and shielded Miriam's eyes from the smile; that smile could curdle milk, in her opinion. She was a little surprised that Kreacher had touched her sister; but Harry and Draco seemed to take it in their stride.

Harry turned to the Grangers. "Please treat our house as yours - do whatever you need to; Kreacher will give you a bedroom and show you where everything is."

Hermione's mum looked a little worried.

"Don't worry, Mum, Miriam will be fine," Hermione reassured her; and that clearly was what she needed to hear, for after that she was happy for the strange little servant to lead them upstairs.

"You said 'our house'?" Ron said once they were gone.

"Yes," Harry replied, "it's Draco's house too now. We're 'us' now, remember? And of course, it's yours while you're here."

Ron let out a breath. "OK," he sighed. "You're engaged. I get it. This is just going to take a bit of getting used to."

He stood up and walked over to Draco. "Well, mate, I guess you're really part of the family now." He stretched out his hand.

Draco stood up and looked at him, and Harry could see he was a little stunned. The blond's face betrayed no emotion, and Harry held his breath. This was a rather defining moment, one Harry had been a little afraid of, truth to be told.

And then Draco broke into a broad grin, pushed Ron's hand aside, and hugged him closely. It took Ron a couple of seconds to react; and then he did the slap-on-the-back thing and clasped Draco for a few seconds.

They broke apart, both looking a little embarrassed.

"I warned them about Kreacher," Ron said, to change the subject.

"I thought you must have," Harry replied. He passed Miriam over to Hermione, and she snuggled happily into her sister's arms. "Now, sweetie, I know someone who'd love to meet you!"

He turned to the Floo and called Andromeda. Five minutes later, she and Teddy had come to visit; Draco was shocked when the moment Teddy saw him, his hair went the same platinum blond as his. He scooped the little metamorphmagus up into his arms, and was rewarded with coos and spittle.

"Ew!" he said; to his consternation, the others just laughed; though he was visibly relieved when Harry had the presence of mind to cast a cleaning spell on him.

"No harm done, Dragon," he said, taking the little boy and placing him next to Miriam, who was now lying on a baby play mat that Hermione had produced from her bag, the one with the Undetectable Extension charm on it, and watching the new-comer intently. The mat had poles curving diagonally over it, attached to opposing corners, from which hung a variety of toys that Miriam obviously enjoyed playing with. As Harry had suspected, the two little children were very happy together, gurgling and cooing as they lay next to each other.

Harry looked around. Draco was watching both babies with a rapt expression on his face; Ron and Hermione looked dead beat; and Andromeda looked like she was anxious to be elsewhere.

"OK guys," he said softly. "Draco and I can watch these two for a while; Andy, do you want to go off for an hour or two? And Ron and Hermione, I think you could do with a lie-down too."

* * *

Margaret Granger awoke feeling more refreshed than she had since they left Australia. Singapore was lovely; but Hermione and Ron had wanted to see everything, and that didn't really make for a relaxed time when you are dealing with a small baby as well. The flight had, of course, been murder; Miriam had been very clingy and only slept fitfully. She looked at the little travel clock they had put beside the bed and was astonished to find she had been asleep for four hours.

She visited the bathroom, put some water on her face, and went in search of her younger daughter. She was very surprised that the girl hadn't woken her by now; she was due a feed, though as Margaret was too old to breast-feed (in her opinion, anyway, never mind what those bossy Australian midwives had thought), Miriam was on the bottle, and Hermione was a pretty dab hand at feeding her by now.

She heard noise from downstairs, and wandered into the kitchen, expecting to find Hermione feeding her sister; but it was a very different sight that greeted her. She stood at the doorstep, enchanted at the sight of the two young men, Harry and Draco, sitting at the table, each holding and feeding a baby. Harry was holding Miriam; the other baby must be – what was his name? She racked her brains for a few seconds before remembering about Teddy, Harry's godson and Draco's cousin. For, unlike her husband, she had taken careful notice of everything Hermione had said about Harry's family and friends when she had explained them to her. She would never have brought up the subject of Sirius Black, remembering quite well hearing about his death at some place called the Department of Mysteries, which apparently was a very secret room inside the Ministry of Magic. She well remembered at the time wondering just how it was that schoolchildren had managed to break into such a secret and guarded place, and why they had needed to – just what did this Ministry think it was doing to allow students' safety to be compromised in this way.

She returned to the present. The two young men in front of her looked relaxed; they were obviously very comfortable in each other's presence. And they seemed to be dealing with the two babies very competently. Despite her feelings about them being forced to grow up too soon, she had to admit that they had risen to the challenge magnificently. Truth to tell, she had been very impressed with how easily Harry had dealt with that little mis-step of her husband's. She loved Peter Granger to bits, but he could be an insensitive sod at times.

"Hello," she said, quietly so as not to alarm anyone. "Don't you make a lovely picture!"

"Ma?" Miriam said, in a voice that threatened to become a grizzle.

"Oh Miriam," Margaret said as she took a seat next to Harry, "don't be ridiculous. You were perfectly happy being fed by Harry. You don't have to perform just because I'm here!"

"Ma!" the little girl said again, becoming more insistent, and Margaret reached out for her as Harry handed her over. "Ma!" Miriam repeated, happy this time, and spat out the bottle, clearly wanting to play with her mother now. Margaret, with the ease of much practice, put the bottle on the table, took a posit cloth from the nappy bag that Harry had put by his feet, placed it over her shoulder, and burped her little girl. She then placed her on her lap and turned back to face her hosts. She was rather surprised to see that the empty bottle had disappeared; and even more surprised a few seconds later when it floated across the table, having been washed and now sparkling clean.

Harry chuckled. "Sorry," he said, "that's Kreacher. House-elves can't abide dirty dishes lying around."

"Oh!" said Margaret. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be any trouble!"

"Kreacher is happy to serve," the elderly elf croaked out, sounding anything but. "Master's guests are not being any trouble."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry replied, ignoring the grumpy tone altogether. The elf nodded to him, and padded over back to his little den in the boiler room in the corner of the kitchen.

At this point, Teddy, who had also finished his bottle and been burped by Draco, looked around, and spotted that Harry's lap was now free. "Har!" he yelled, and Harry reached over and took him from Draco. Margaret just managed to stifle a shriek when his hair changed from Draco's blond to Harry's black as he was passed across.

There was a low chuckle from the kitchen door, and Hermione walked in to join them. "It's a bit of a shock, isn't it, Mum? Teddy is what is called a metamorphmagus – he can change his appearance at will. They're quite rare; although it is genetic, his mother was one too. She used to have pink hair most of the time."

"Yes, well," Margaret Granger said, as she got her breath back. _His mother was Nymphadora Tonks_ , that part of her brain that had catalogued everything that she knew about the wizarding world helpfully supplied. She was grateful she'd made Hermione bring her up to speed with all the events while they had been away. "I suppose I have to remember that you people are different, after all; I can't expect wizards to be the same as ordinary people, I suppose. I'm sorry, young man, you just gave me a bit of a shock is all," she finished, smiling at Teddy.

Teddy put his head on one side and eyed her critically. He looked up at Harry for reassurance.

"It's all right, Teddy Bear, this is Margaret, Miriam's mum. She won't hurt you," Harry said, soothingly, knowing that Teddy would understand the tone, not the words.

"Ma-ga," Teddy said, and stretched his arms out to Mrs Granger. Margaret, shocked again that the child would accept her so quickly, reached over and gathered him into her arms. Immediately, Teddy changed his hair style and colour to the same bushy brunette that Mrs Granger shared with Hermione. This time Margaret just laughed.

* * *

Igor Karkaroff had forgotten just how much he hated Cairo. The heat, the bright light, the flies, the smell, and above all the noise drove him nearly out of his skull. Hardly surprising really; he had been hiding in the cold, wet, sparsely populated Scottish highlands for years, after all. He had loved it there; at least, he had ever since he had found that dying crofter. The man, Alex, his name was, had been a godsend. He had been eking out the Spartan, lonely life of that peculiarly Scottish form of subsistence farmer for decades; morose and taciturn, he had accepted the company and food that Karkaroff brought, shared his modest hut with the stranger, and didn't ask any awkward questions.

Karkaroff had helped him for months, and nursed him through the end stages of his cancer when he could no longer work. When Karkaroff explained that he was being hunted by killers, to his enormous surprise, the man had not hesitated: he had readily agreed to be killed in Karkaroff's place. He seemed quite happy at the thought that his death would be useful to someone, and in turn Karkaroff had readily agreed to pretend to be his cousin and take over the croft when he died.

When the man was near death, Karkaroff had sent two anonymous owls. The other Death Eaters had arrived first, to find Alex polyjuiced to look like Karkaroff. The Aurors were hot on their trail, and they knew it; so they had not tortured him, contenting themselves with a simple ' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' before they disapparated away.

And thus it was that Karkaroff had managed to hide out the entirety of the Second Wizarding War. He had heard that Potter had killed Voldemort, of course; but Voldemort had died before. He needed to be certain that he wasn't coming back again. And that was why he was making his way to a very small village south of Berenice on the coast of southern Egypt. A village that only existed because the Tropic of Cancer passed through it. A village where, quite by chance, years before, he had found a very secret and well-warded room that showed him just how much the Egyptian Wizards had known about death. A lot more than the West remembered, as it turned out …

* * *

Andy returned during the afternoon to find, to her great surprise and delight, that Teddy had taken to the Grangers very well. It usually took him a little while to get to know strangers; but he was obviously enchanted to meet a little girl. Indeed, he cried when she picked him up off the mat; clearly he did not want to be separated from Miriam. Harry prevailed on her to leave him with them until the party, which Hermione promptly invited her to when she told them she didn't know about it. She happily accepted both offers, and Flooed home to nap during the two hours or so that she had been unexpectedly given to herself.

* * *

By six o'clock, everyone at Grimmauld Place was well rested and back up and about. They all arrived at the Burrow a little after six to find that, for once, all of the Weasleys were there. Bill and Fleur had been around all day, it turned out, setting up the garden for the party. Robin Banks had organised himself the day off, and he and Ginny had been helping Fleur with the decorations. Charlie had managed to get the weekend off to welcome his brother back. The one Molly had been worried about was Percy; and Arthur had made sure that he was there. The third Weasley son had tried to cry off, saying he had to visit a young lady for a Ministry matter they were working on together; Arthur just told him to bring her along. Accordingly, he had Flooed into the kitchen at six on the dot, looking rather embarrassed, and introduced 'Audrey from the office' to his parents. Molly smiled and nodded, but he hadn't fooled her – as soon as they went outside to the marquee in the garden, she turned to Arthur with a knowing wink.

"I've not met her before," Arthur said, anticipating the inevitable questions from his wife on the matter.

"Well," she replied, "I have a suspicion we'll get to know her quite well."

Further conversation on the subject was rendered impossible for the moment by the arrival of the guests of honour, together with Harry, Draco, Teddy and Andromeda. Molly welcomed them all, reassured Andromeda (who had begun to apologise for turning up unannounced) that she was always welcome at the Burrow, and took them all out into the garden.

The marquee, Harry noticed, covered most of the space, and was beautifully decorated; he could see Ginny's touch, in ribbons of purple and green that ran along; and Neville's bell flowers were all around, letting off their soft light. Most of the space was empty; along the centre was a long table, laid for dinner, and there were a few tables scattered around.

"It's lovely," Andromeda said, echoing Harry's thoughts; "but it does seem a trifle large? Were you concerned about rain?"

George and Neville shared a secret grin while Molly looked a little abashed. "Well, actually, we set the marquee up ready for Monday's happy event."

"Monday?" Ron asked. "What's happening on Monday?"

George grabbed him by the elbow. "You get a new brother," he said.

Ron looked a little lost, and then all of a sudden understanding broke out. "You're getting married?" he asked, smiling warmly at his brother and Neville.

"That's the plan," Neville replied, looking happier than they had ever seen him. Hermione, who was holding Miriam, immediately gave her sister to her mother and grasped Neville and George in a huge hug.

"That's wonderful, guys! And thank you for waiting till we got back!"

There were general congratulations all round, though Harry did notice the Grangers looking a little wary. He took Hermione aside when things had died down a bit, and she promised him she would discuss it with them.

"How about now?" he asked.

Hermione went red. "You want me to talk about sex with my mother?" she asked him.

Harry smirked when he realised what the problem was; he hadn't often seen her embarrassed. "Yes, please," he answered.

"Would you…" she began, then thought better of asking him if he would talk to his mother about it; that would, after all, be a spectacularly insensitive question, and while Hermione was closer to her father than her mother on matters of tact, she could occasionally see the problem. "Never mind. Mum?" she called, and took her mother's elbow, steering her to a chair.

Harry took advantage of the moment to grab Neville and ask him about being best man, and whether he would have to remember anything, or be somewhere for a dry run or something.

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," Neville replied. "We're having a very simple, laid-back ceremony. Just be here at four, and we'll have a practice before the actual marriage at six. OK?"

"Sure," Harry said, pleased that he wouldn't have to do very much; he was still officially convalescent, after all.

"Great!" Neville said, beaming. "Now, what about the Chudley Cannons game?"

Ron's ears pricked up and he joined in the discussion as it happily wandered into quidditch, and passionate arguments about what was, and what was not, legal, a subject on which Neville seemed to have become very well informed …

* * *

Draco was sitting with Margaret, with Teddy on his lap gurgling to Miriam on hers, explaining from his point of view the situation with Harry and how he had come to be part of the gang – for Margaret had heard a good deal about him over Hermione's school years, not much of it complimentary – when he heard a name he really, really didn't want to hear again. He turned around to see that Angelina Johnson had arrived, and was giving Fred a big kiss – and with her were her two great friends from school. Alicia Spinnet Draco knew slightly, but it was the other girl who Molly was introducing around. The other name that sent shivers up his spine.

He watched as the group circulated. The twins and Neville greeted the three girls, Fred giving Angelina a kiss that made his intentions very clear. Katie looked over at Draco and her eyes narrowed.

"Please excuse me for a moment, Mrs Granger," he said to Hermione's mother.

"Yes, of course; and please call me Margaret. Would you like me to hold Teddy?" For, as Draco was getting up, Teddy had started grizzling, obviously not wanting to be away from Miriam.

"Thank you," he said with a smile, handing her the baby and walking over to the little group, feeling like he was a condemned man walking to his execution. As he did, Katie fastened her eyes on him, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He swallowed hard as he reached them.

"Hey Draco, how are you doing?" Neville asked, letting go of George and extending his hand to the blond.

"Hi Nev," he said, grateful for the distraction, and the easy acceptance.

"Neville Longbottom," Katie said, looking shocked to see how Neville had greeted Draco Malfoy, "how can you, of all people, reach out a hand to a former Death Eater? After what they did to your parents?"

Neville looked at her sternly. "Now hang on, Katie. Draco didn't Crucio my parents. We've fought the war, and it's over. Draco has been tried, and sentenced to probation, and that's it, as far as I'm concerned. Draw a line, move on. I accept that it might not be so easy for you, but is it really fair to want to keep punishing Draco forever?"

"No, Neville, thank you, but this is really something I have to do," Draco said, interrupting his friend. "Katie, I'm really sorry. What I did was gutless, and horrible, and you didn't deserve it. I accept that. Please accept that I wasn't in my right mind at the time…"

"What, and you are now?" Katie yelled back at him, and everyone seemed to turn and look at them. "You weren't in your right mind when you made me carry a necklace that could kill me, but now it's all sweetness and light? Is that how you think things should go? Well, maybe other people need justice too!"

Draco wished the ground would open up and swallow him; but before anything else could happen, Harry was at his elbow, while the twins and Angelina were telling Katie to calm down and not cause a scene.

"Um, how about we sit down and discuss this a little more quietly," the raven head suggested, dragging Draco back to where Margaret was sitting with the two babies on her knee. Draco took his seat back, and brought Teddy back into his lap, while Katie sat down next to Margaret.

"What a lovely girl!" she said, cooing over Miriam, who happily gurgled back. Then she looked over at Draco, and her voice hardened. "And who is this?" she asked.

"This is my cousin, Teddy Lupin," Draco replied, the anxiety in his voice palpable.

Margaret looked from one to the other. "Is there something up between you two?" she asked.

"You could say that," Katie said, but before she could say anything else they were joined by Ron and Harry, who pulled up chairs to complete a circle, with Harry sitting on Draco's left and Ron sitting on Katie's right. Harry put his arm around Draco, and Katie looked daggers at him.

"It's all right for you," she said to him venomously, "telling people it wasn't serious…"

"Um, actually, that was me," Ron said. Katie looked at him, surprised. "Yeah," he continued, in the face of her scowl, "I meant I didn't think Draco was serious about how he went about things. I mean, I'm sure he was trying to do what he'd been ordered to; if he didn't kill Dumbledore, his family was on the line, after all. And yeah, you getting cursed and me getting poisoned, that was serious; I just don't think the execution was really serious."

"Hmm," said Katie, looking just a little bit mollified. "I guess I can see that. I mean, who in their right mind would expect Dumbledore to wear a necklace? Drinking wine maybe, but he did have two potions masters to hand to help him even if he had. But you, mister," she said, turning to Draco, "you still used Imperio and you put people's lives at risk."

"I know," Draco said, looking genuinely contrite. "And I don't excuse myself; it was war, and that mad bastard held my family to ransom, I had to do something; but I didn't have to put you in danger, and I'm sorry I did that."

"Hmm," Katie said again, still looking unhappy, but a bit less hostile. "All right, I can accept that it was war, and your family was on the line. I guess if it had been my parents, I may not have been entirely rational about it. So I accept your apology; but that's it. I don't think we can ever be friends."

And with that, she stood up and looked around to find Alicia and Angelina standing behind her. The three of them were led away by the twins, and went over to find Bill and Fleur, who were chatting with Charlie.

Draco breathed out a sigh of relief. Margaret, seeing that he was visibly distraught, took Teddy back onto her lap to play with Miriam, and Harry, smiling gratefully at her, wrapped Draco up in a hug, while Ron explained to her about the opal necklace that Katie had touched by accident, costing her a six month stay in the magical hospital, St Mungo's. By the time Ron had finished, Draco had composed himself, and he and Harry were sitting in companionable silence.

"How old were you at this point, Mr Malfoy?" she asked as, unnoticed by anyone, Hermione came to stand behind her.

"Please, call me Draco, Mr Malfoy sounds like my father," Draco said. "I was sixteen when the Dark Lord ordered me to kill the Headmaster."

Margaret pursed her lips in disapproval, and turned to Harry. "And you were seventeen when you defeated Voldemort? The Dark Lord?"

"Yes, that's right, ma'am," Harry replied, "I'm still seventeen now, until the end of July."

"So in the Wizarding world, grown men and women use sixteen and seventeen year old boys to do their dirty work? It's despicable!" she raged. "And how old were you when your godfather was killed?"

"Fifteen," Harry replied.

"Fifteen! You had to handle that horrible woman at fifteen? What was her name?"

"Professor Umbridge," Harry replied, making a grimace.

"Yes, that was her. I don't understand your world sometimes," she said, shaking her head. "Just how can the adults allow students' safety to be compromised in this way by letting such people into schools? And then how was it that you managed to break into a secure Ministry at fifteen? Really, we had imagined that our girl would have a wonderful life living with magic, but your world doesn't sound like a very nice place at all!"

"It's not nice is it, Mum?" Hermione said, reaching over and taking Teddy from her so there would be some room on her lap, then sitting down in the chair that Katie had vacated. "But it's happened. The War is over now; we just have to sort out the peace."

"I suppose you're right. But it does seem to me that you all got the rough end of the pineapple," her mother replied. "But I guess you don't want to talk about it any more. You've probably done it to death. Now," she said, turning to Harry and Draco, "tell me all. Hermione tells me that you two used to be enemies, but now you have patched everything up, is that right? And you're ... together?"

"Yes," Harry said, deciding there was no point in prevaricating. "We've become engaged. I hope Hermione got a chance to explain about that?"

"That it's quite acceptable in Wizarding society? She said so, but I found it hard to believe. However, hearing about this marriage on Monday, and you being engaged, I can see that it's evidently real. Well, I suppose if Wizards are a little bit less hung up about such things, that's all to the good. And I must say, you two do make a lovely couple."

"Ah! There you are!" a voice said behind them, and Margaret turned to see Peter Granger and Arthur Weasley coming up to them. "Arthur and I have been having a chat about aeroplanes; he seems to be mad keen on them. And dental chairs!"

"Tell me you haven't been boring our host rigid about the intricacies of practical dentistry!" Margaret exclaimed; Harry and Ron battled hard to hide their sniggers at the idea that Arthur would find discussing Muggle inventions anything but riveting.

"Oh, not at all!" Arthur burbled happily. "It's been most entertaining! But now it's time to sit down to dinner."

They all sat down at the long table and ate their fill. The food was, as always, magnificent; even Draco commented on the pavlovas that Mrs Weasley had cooked in honour of the return from Australia, and asked how to make them, and Molly promised to teach Kreacher her secrets.

* * *

"Scuse me sir, scuse me sir," the grubby fellah he had sent out interrupted him.

"Have you got it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" the man said, handing over an equally grubby book.

The man smiled; a thin, mirthless smile. He saw the burn marks on the fellah's arms.

"Did I not tell you not to betray me?" he asked. "Did I not tell you Allah would set fire to your flesh if you did not rush speedily to fetch my prize?"

"I am an honest man, sahib!" the poor man whined, stung by the words as much as the pain from his arms. He was, in fact, as trustworthy as most men; but this complete stranger had offered him more money than he earned in a month to go and retrieve an item for him. It had been too much for his street-wise morality; the temptation to simply run and keep the lot, even if he had been promised more when he returned, was too great to resist.

"Such honesty," came the reply, with heavy sarcasm. "Still, you did what I asked, I suppose."

The fellah sat quietly, not wanting to anger the stranger further; but he just mumbled some strange words, and, to the peasant's great surprise, the pain in his arms vanished.

"Thank you, sahib!" he said, astonished. The man was obviously one of the Great Masters; he knew better than to question such people. Why this odd man with the strange accent wanted a book was beyond him; but the price was definitely right, he thought, as the man handed over a roll of Egyptian pounds and told him to get lost and forget all about it.

Half an hour later and with a great deal of relief to be escaping this horrible city, Igor Karkaroff left Cairo as the portkey activated.

The place was exactly as he remembered it. He was, he knew, just in time; tomorrow was the solstice, and while he could probably find out what he wanted to know at any time of the year, the best time and place was definitely when the sun was directly overhead, standing on the Tropic itself. The little hidey-hole he had made for himself as a student was still there; amazingly, the stasis charms had held for all this time. He settled down to read his book. He hadn't forgotten much; but this ritual would need to be performed exactly.

* * *

Fleur had been having a lovely evening, she thought. The twins had brought those three girls over to Bill and her earlier, and they had had a pleasant conversation. Although the one in the middle – Katie something – didn't seem to be very happy. Fleur wondered about that; but quite a lot of the nuances of family gatherings went over her head, so she just ignored it and smiled.

All of a sudden, Bill, sitting on her left, sat up very straight. She could feel that all of his senses were on high alert.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," he said, as he settled down a little, and engaged her in conversation. But all the while, as the talk continued around him, he was thinking. Something had tripped off a ward he had never expected to be breached. Someone else knew about the portkey in Cairo. He would have to investigate. He groaned inwardly; why did it have to be now, when he was having such a pleasant time with his family? And then he realised why now all of a sudden: tomorrow was the solstice. Damn. That meant he couldn't put this off; he would have to look into it first thing tomorrow. But, he decided, it could wait till then. He wasn't going to ruin Fleur's evening by rushing off, especially as the goblins would have his hide if he whispered so much as a word of where he was going.

"Darling," he said to Fleur, and she gave him a look that made it quite clear she knew what was coming next. "You know you are going to Paris tomorrow?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "And now zumthing 'as come up, as you say, and you cannot come too?"

"Um," he said, sheepishly, "yes."

"Oh well," she said. In truth, she knew her husband hated their trips to Paris and she actually preferred not having him with her. "Perhaps I shall have to find some other lovely man to take me."

Bill groaned. He knew she didn't really mean it; but being married to a quarter-Veela entailed putting up with a great deal of flirting, and he worried that one day someone she fluttered her eyes at would take her seriously and cut up rough. "I'm really sorry, Fleur," he said, "but the goblins will have my head if I don't check this out."

"It's OK," she said, with a smile. "I think I know someones who will come with me," she said, looking over at two of the company. Bill followed her gaze, and relaxed. At least they were no threat …

* * *

Ginny looked over to her brother for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Do you think they're …?" she asked Robin, who was seated on her left.

"Sorry, do I think who are what?" he answered.

"Perce and that girl. Do you think they're … you know?"

"Together?" he asked, amused at her reticence. "Oh, definitely."

"Shagging?" Fred, sitting on her right, suggested, half a second later. "Our Perce? Surely not."

Ginny blushed bright red. That was, indeed, what she had meant, but her brother didn't have to say it out loud! People might hear!

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Molly asked, concerned.

"Yes, mum," she replied sheepishly. "Something went down the wrong way, that's all."

Fred snorted.

* * *

The party did not go on very long, as the travellers were still jet-lagged. Molly invited the Grangers to stay the night; with all of the Weasley children now living away, they had plenty of room, after all, even with Charlie staying the night, and Margaret guessed, correctly, that Molly hated having an empty house. She could see that the Weasley matriarch was born to fuss over people and no doubt would love having Miriam; at the same time, it had become clear to her during the evening that, despite her former misgivings, Arthur and Peter were getting on famously. So the Grangers accepted Molly's invitation, feeling that Ron and Hermione might quite like to be free of them for a night or two.

Harry called Kreacher and told him of the plan; Hermione thought she could see a touch of disappointment in the old elf's eyes and wondered if he would miss Miriam; but she was sure he would die rather than let anyone think so, so she held her peace as he sullenly disapparated to fetch the Grangers' luggage. While he brought it over from Grimmauld Place, the four youths Flooed back there and sat together in the drawing room for a little while.

The moment they arrived, Ron challenged Draco to a game of Wizard's chess, a challenge that was happily accepted. In the meantime, Harry filled Hermione in on everything she didn't know about what had happened while they were away: Grimmauld Place being finished (she demanded, and got, a full tour); that the Eighth Year Tower was all ready for decorating; that by all accounts Hogwarts was practically ready for the new school year; the problems with Yaxley, which she knew most of already; and the healing he had been through. Only the last of these was really news to her, and she quizzed him pretty closely.

An hour later, she was starting to yawn, and Harry looked over as Draco let out an excited yelp.

"That's two-one to me, Weasley!" he said.

"Yeah, well, I'm tired. Let's see you win when I'm not jet-lagged," Ron replied, rather petulantly.

"It's a date," Draco said; then they all laughed at the inappropriateness of the word. With that, they all went to bed.

* * *

Harry lay beside his fiancé, pensive.

"A knut for your thoughts?" Draco asked.

"I was just thinking about how life does seem to be coming together," Harry replied. "Ron and Hermione are home, and the Grangers; and you seemed to get on with them well; thanks for that, by the way."

Draco sat up on his elbow and studied Harry, a bemused expression on his face. "Of course," he said, "I can do polite. And frankly, Miriam is gorgeous. And I'm so pleased to have you back; I don't mind having them as well."

Harry pouted, and Draco gave him a playful jab. "You know what I mean. All right, I like having them. They help make you happy. But you're right. Things might be coming together. There was that idiot in Diagon Alley, of course…"

"Yeah, it's not all roses. You know there's going to be more of that, right?"

Draco nodded. "We've been a bit cloistered away, haven't we? It's clear we still have work to do. People are still angry about the War. They have a right to be, I guess."

"It's good that we're going back to Hogwarts first, before being right out in public; but even that will be hard enough."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Draco replied sternly. "Right now, Mr Potter, you've been very active today, and you still need a lot of sleep. Nox!"

And with that, the lights went out, Draco cuddled Harry in his arms, as the raven-haired boy, more tired out by the day than he was prepared to admit, fell fast asleep. Draco lay there, watching his lover, a devoted smile on his face as he listened to Harry's even breathing and felt the rise and fall of his chest. Harry seemed to be at peace; it struck him that Harry hadn't been having nightmares since the healing. He hoped it would stay that way, as he nuzzled into Harry's chin and contentedly fell asleep himself.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily. Rather a lot of toing and froing trying to get this chapter right!
> 
>  **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged) to 'like' it.
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	45. Return Trips to Foreign Parts

**45\. Return Trips to Foreign Parts**

_Sunday 21 June 1998_

Bill rose very early that Sunday morning. But even so, by the time he Flooed to Gringotts, there were plenty of goblins already there, working away. Many of the goblins didn't care for things like regular days off; the ones who did, Bill had noticed, tended to work on a ten-day cycle anyway. In fact, this had been one of the major battles between the Ministry and the goblins: the Ministry felt that it had to stick up for all wizarding workers, and wanted the goblins to agree to work a six-day week. The goblins themselves understood quite well that humans needed a break; but they weren't human, and didn't see why they couldn't have different rules for different races. The wizards claimed it wasn't fair, and the goblins would feel aggrieved if they didn't get the same days off as everyone else; the Gringotts Head Goblin, faced with such nonsense, simply gave his goblin workers the choice of working or not; and most of them did. Whenever the wizards got their knickers in a twist, he would simply tell the goblins not to come in the following Sunday; they came anyway, but as it was unsanctioned by him, the books didn't show it and everyone wound up happy.

Bill thought the whole thing was very silly; he worked irregular days anyway, as most of his curse-breaking work was done in stretches abroad which could last for any amount of time. The goblins did not trust many wizards; but Bill was one they did. He would go away for two or three weeks at a time; the goblins, recognising his incredible skill at his job, usually told him not to bother coming to work for the following week. Generally speaking, he gratefully stayed home with Fleur.

Unless something important came up. Like an important ward in a secret place alerting him to unexpected entry.

He walked into the bank and sought out his boss.

"Mr Weasley," the goblin said, inclining his head.

"Raredd," he replied, with a similar nod.

"I was not expecting you in so soon?" the goblin said, with a quizzical look on his face. At least, Bill assumed that was what it was; goblin facial expressions were very hard for wizards to read, which was one of the many reasons why the two races didn't get on very well in general.

"One of the wards I set in Egypt went off yesterday," Bill said, opting to skip any preamble. The goblins liked his straightforwardness. "It's in the Museum we found near Berenice. I suspect someone wants to access the Chamber of the Secrets of Death today, on the solstice."

"I see," said the goblin. "You'd better get going then. Ragnok!" he called.

A younger goblin came in. "Yes sir?" he said.

"Mr Weasley will need a portkey to Berenice," he said, then turned to Bill. "Will that do?"

"Oh yes," Bill confirmed, "I can easily apparate from there. And we can set it to avoid the wards."

"Very good," the goblin said. "Off you go, Ragnok!"

Bill gathered a few important things into his backpack and left as soon as the younger goblin returned with the portkey.

* * *

Karkaroff consulted the ancient Book of Rituals again. It was a stroke of genius, he thought, to make the key to understanding what to do double as a port-key to get to the room itself. He checked through everything for the third time. The Map of the Worlds ritual he had chosen to perform wasn't the best one; it would only give him a partial map, but that should be enough to confirm that Voldemort was gone completely. It was tricky enough all by itself, and he couldn't see any way to get what he needed for the Full Map ritual.

He walked into the Ritual Room through the West door, as tradition demanded; that way, he greeted the sun shining through the enchanted skylight as he entered. He looked around; everything was quiet and still. There was not a breath of air, and it felt like there hadn't been for decades, if not centuries. And yet, the air was sweet; there was no doubt that the place was enchanted. He caught himself before he could fall into reverie; he had much to do. He swiftly warded the four doors, one pointing to each cardinal point of the compass, and laid out everything that he had brought carefully. The frankincense and myrrh in their jars he placed in the niches set aside for them; the hyssop branches he strew around the table; and on the table he laid out a perfectly new piece of parchment, on top of which he placed four scrupulously cleansed clear glass dishes. On each dish, he made the required mound: pure white salt, black charcoal, red cinnabar and deep yellow saffron. Alongside these, on dishes of blackest obsidian, he laid the magical ingredients that would be required: the single unicorn hair, the tiny vial of acromantula venom, the basilisk scale, and the phoenix feather; all items he had stolen from Severus Snape long ago.

After an hour arranging everything just so, there was nothing more to do for the moment but wait. Once the sun was overhead, the ritual could begin; and the latent power of the room, energized by the sun on this day as on no other day, would transform the ingredients into the map he sought.

Well, he hoped so, anyway. He had done the full ritual before, the only remembered occasion on which it has been performed; but no-one had performed the partial ritual in living memory, after all …

* * *

Draco woke up to find that once again Harry had got up before him. This time there was no sign of the black-haired youth; so after a quick shower the blond dressed for the day and went off in search of his fiancé, only to find him in the kitchen, fully dressed and just finishing cooking bacon and eggs.

"Morning!" he said brightly, "you're just in time," and floated over a plate to Draco, followed by a mug of steaming hot tea.

"Morning," said Draco, not quite so cheerfully. The morning was not his favourite time; though he would make an exception for the gorgeous sight of Harry in jeans and tight shirt coupled with the delicious smell of the bacon and eggs he was offered. "Um – how come you're doing the house-elf act again?"

Harry winked at him. "Oh, I Floo-called Molly first thing to thank her for last night, and she let slip that Andy and Teddy were there so the babies could play together. So I, um, suggested to Kreacher that they could probably do with some help –"

"And he leapt at the chance, didn't he?" said Hermione as she walked into the kitchen

"Yup," Harry said, sitting down to his own breakfast and summoning the one he had made for her as well. "You noticed that too?"

Hermione nodded. "He was really sweet with Miriam yesterday," she said to Draco by way of explanation, as the blond was looking blank.

Harry chuckled at the memory. "Did you sleep well?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes thanks," she replied. "Ron is on his way down. We really want to thank you for having my family here yesterday, Mum was gob-smacked that you just took them in and worked around them so neatly. And she was so pleased that Miriam seemed to fit right in."

"Of course," said Harry. "I mean, of course they're welcome. They're family, after all. Morning, Ron," he continued, summoning the fourth breakfast as the redhead walked in.

Draco held in a snort – just – as he saw that the breakfast Harry had made for Ron was twice the size of the other three; but then, he had seen Weasley eat, he would probably have no trouble getting through it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they all had empty plates in front of them and were sipping fresh cups of tea when they heard the distinctive Floo chime from the kitchen fireplace. Harry was rather shocked; the kitchen Floo hadn't been working; he decided that his friends must have fixed it as part of the renovations to his house. He wondered how many other odd things he would find like that; it gave him a funny feeling to think that so many people had loved him enough to come and do such an amazing job in the house, without any hope of getting anything back.

"Allo?" said Fleur's voice out of the grate. "Iz 'Arry there?"

"Hello Fleur!" Harry called out, moving over to the fireplace. "Yes, Draco and I are here, and Ron and Hermione."

"Oh! 'Allo! Wonderful! I was wondering, 'Arry, Bill 'as 'ad to go off for work and I am going to Paris for ze day to do zum shopping and 'ave lunch with my cousins; would you all like to come too? Isabella would love to see you all again, I am sure!"

Harry looked around at his friends. Draco looked excited at the prospect; but Hermione shook her head.

"Sorry, Fleur," she said, "Ron and I promised my parents that we would visit and help them sort out their house today."

"Oh," Fleur said, a little dejectedly. "That's too bad. But 'Arry? Will you and Draco come?"

"We'd love to!" Harry said.

"Excellent!" Fleur replied. "Can you be at Shell Cottage in 'alf an 'our? Yes? OK, see you then."

And with that she was gone.

"Right," said Hermione. "Well, we need to help Mum and Dad, and I guess there's no time like the present. Um, Harry, can we Floo from here?"

"Eh? Oh, I suppose so; I didn't even know the Floo here worked, to be honest."

They quickly found a box of Floo-powder on the mantelpiece; so Ron and Hermione braved it. It must have worked; they disappeared quickly enough.

"Well, shall we go?" Draco asked.

"Oh!" Harry said, his face miserable. "Your mother!"

"What about her? You don't want her to come too?"

"No," Harry said, and then realised Draco was winding him up. "Prat. No, it's Sunday, we go to the Manor for lunch on Sundays."

"Oh, that won't be a problem, I'm sure," Draco said, and immediately Floo-called the Manor. Dippy answered, and went to fetch Narcissa.

"Draco, darling, how lovely to hear from you," she said, the picture of elegance as always, even though Harry rather suspected she'd been called from the breakfast table. "Oh, and Harry, dear, how are you? Will we be seeing you today?"

"I'm sorry, that's what—" Harry began, but Draco cut him off.

"I'm afraid not, we have been invited to lunch with Fleur Delacour's cousins in Paris."

"Oh! How lovely! Do give Apolline my best regards if you see her," Narcissa replied, and Harry was relieved that there was not a hint of reproach in her voice. "Harry, have you been to Paris before?"

"No," Harry said, his voice oozing sadness; but he was cut off by Narcissa this time.

"Oh, of course you haven't, but how sad!" she said, quickly, feeling rather guilty at having asked – for she knew his history; there was no time in his schooldays when he would have gone, and those disgusting Muggles never took him anywhere worth going to, she was sure of that. "Have a wonderful time! Draco, spoil him rotten, and make sure you find him some proper macarons!"

"Thank you, mother, I'll take good care of him," Draco promised. He looked at Harry, worried about the tone he had just used; but the emerald-green eyes were sparkling.

"Macarons, eh?" he said.

Draco smiled. He loved macarons. Especially when eaten in Paris.

* * *

Bill approached the Museum with great care. He knew where all of the old wards were, of course; but there was nothing to say that whoever had entered hadn't set up wards of their own. So he treated it pretty much like every site he entered: performing each detection spell with exquisite precision. In the course of entering he found that three new wards had been set up; but what was more worrying was that three of the existing wards had been subtly changed. Whoever had entered this place was an expert, Bill thought; it was just as well that he was, too.

It took him a couple of hours; but eventually came to the West door of the Ritual Room without having tripped any wards. And there, standing with his back to him, was the intruder. Bill took a second to take in the scene: the jars in the niches, the parchment on the Map table, the glass dishes with their particular mounds; and the obsidian dishes. He ran through in his mind the possible rituals; there were only really two contenders, and one of them required two wizards …

At the same time, he examined the man in front of him. Without seeing his face, he couldn't identify him; he had the Dark Mark though. After years of practice with dark objects, Bill could feel that easily enough. So, a Death Eater? But they were all accounted for; at least, it couldn't be Draco or Lucius, and he hadn't heard of anyone breaking out of Azkaban. Was there one they didn't know about?

He decided he needed to take a chance; he silently drew his wand, and stood at the ready. He scanned the doors for wards and let out a slow smile. The man knew his spellwork; the wards were very sophisticated. He was no amateur; but neither was Bill. And Bill knew a secret about these particular wards: they were difficult to break, except for the simplest of spells, before which they would crumble silently. He sent a pulse of magic around the corridors, and counted to three. The magic hit the wards on the East door and set off its alarm; at the same time he wordlessly cast the necessary spell at the ward in front of him.

 _Alohomora._ The simplest of unlocking charms, and the ward was gone, as the wizard in front of him strained to see into the East doorway.

 _Petrificus Totalis._ And now the man was in the grip of the body-bind curse, and no longer a threat. He walked into the room, casting Levicorpus and turning the man around where he stood. Strange; Bill had studied all the known Death Eaters still alive, but he didn't recognise him.

And then it clicked. His mouth dropped open.

"Igor Karkaroff?" he asked, dumbfounded, relaxing the spell on him just a little so that he could talk.

"Indeed," the man replied, in a cold, haughty voice. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"My name is William Weasley," Bill replied, deciding that he owed him a name; fair exchange was no robbery. "Well now, this is a surprise. You're supposed to be dead."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Karkaroff returned. "Fortunately, the Death Eaters who thought they had killed me only killed a dying Muggle volunteer. Yes," he stressed, for Bill looked skeptical, "a volunteer. A man I befriended and nursed while he was dying."

"You'll forgive me," Bill said dryly, "if I'm not quick to believe it."

For answer, Karkaroff stared intently at the wall next to the North door, and gave a grim smile. "Tell me," he said, "were you aware that some stones in magical places are able to act like a Pensieve?"

With that, he shut his eyes and concentrated; an image started to form on the wall, an image of a man struggling for breath in a small shack in a wild, windy, lonely place; Bill recognised the Scottish landscape almost at once. And then Karkaroff himself came into view, offering the man broth and porridge. Bill watched, transfixed, as the scene played out. He listened astonished as the man agreed to take Karkaroff's place; no, not agreed, he had actually suggested it, Bill realised. He cast a quick truth spell; being a curse-breaker, they were something of a speciality of his. This one glowed bright gold; the memory was completely authentic.

"Well now," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"I forgive you for your caution," Karkaroff replied, emulating Bill's dry tone from before.

"Right," Bill mused. "I suppose I should still be cautious though. I take it you were aiming to perform the partial Map ritual?"

"Quite so," Karkaroff said, impressed that his captor knew about the rituals, though he tried hard not to show it. "I was hoping to prove that Voldemort really has gone for good."

"Do you think the partial ritual will be able to prove that?" Bill asked, sounding a bit dubious.

"I don't know," Karkaroff replied, "but I didn't have much choice. I'm supposed to be dead, as you say; it was a bit hard to get in touch with any of my contacts. Especially since I don't want anyone to know I'm alive if Voldemort isn't gone completely."

Bill smiled. "Fair enough. Well, I'd like to confirm that he's really gone, too. My employers would be very interested to know that; while it's generally believed to be true, if we can prove it beyond doubt, so much the better. So, how about we perform the full ritual?"

Karkaroff looked at him appraisingly. "Well, that would be surer," he replied, slowly. "And also, unlike the partial ritual, I have performed the full ritual once before; so it is surer. The only difficulty is in equipment; you may not be aware, but for that ritual we would need half-a-dozen branches of elder, which, as I was not expecting to require, I did not bring."

"I know," Bill said with a smirk. "You must understand, Mr Karkaroff, that I am a professional curse-breaker; it is a point of pride for me to know all about the rituals associated with the places I break into. And I have been here before. And, knowing the rituals, I always travel prepared. You never know what might happen." He removed the backpack from his shoulders and extracted half a dozen sticks of elder from it. "So. We'll perform the full ritual then, if you are agreeable."

"Of course," Karkaroff replied, his eyes going wide. This man would be a very useful ally he thought; well-prepared, quick-thinking, and cool as a cucumber.

"Right, we'll do it together. But one false move and I kill you. Understood?"

Karkaroff looked at the man's eyes, and believed him. "Release me from the body-bind curse, and I will give you a wizard's oath."

The truth spell was still active, and still glowed gold; so Bill released the man, who immediately conjured a ball of magic and said, in the formal way of these things, "I, Igor Karkaroff, do swear on my magic that Bill Weasley shall come to no harm by deliberate action or inaction on my part; that I will perform the Full Map of the Worlds Ritual with him to the best of my abilities; and that I will freely share with him the results thereof."

It was more than Bill had hoped for. And he too swore not to harm Karkaroff, or to reveal his involvement without his consent. And with that, they shook hands and Igor began preparations for the more intricate ritual as Bill reset the wards to ensure that no-one else disturbed them.

* * *

Vernon Dursley was not a happy man. The invitation from the Malloys had arrived in Saturday's post: the limousine would arrive at seven, it said, Part of him was in awe of the beautiful engraving and the thought of being fetched by limo; part of him felt it was just like that stuck-up Malloy to show him up so badly. Petunia had only stopped talking about it when Dudley had arrived home: as it was his birthday on Tuesday, the school had let him have this weekend at home so they could celebrate together, which meant going out to dinner.

He had booked a table at the best restaurant in Little Whinging; but he couldn't help feeling he was going to be shown up tomorrow. Which made him grumpy. Well, grumpier – he still wasn't able to eat very much; this obnoxious tummy bug was lingering around. At least he seemed to be able to drink again. Still, he had had Dudley there, he had made rude remarks about the waitresses, and Dudley had seemed to enjoy himself.

But now it was Sunday morning, Dudley had gone off shopping with the money they had given him for his birthday – girlie mags, he suspected, knowing horny teenagers; well, he had enough money to buy a lot of them. But the problem was that that meant it was just him and Petunia again. Petunia, who was going out to dinner tonight. Petunia, who was insistent that she had **nothing** to wear and they **had** to go shopping themselves, and no, Vernon's old suit Would Not Do.

By lunchtime he finally put his foot down and insisted that now that Petunia had chosen two different and entirely acceptable outfits, complete with all imaginable accessories, and he had a new suit, shirt, tie, belt and shoes, that they could go home. And no, he wasn't going to buy new underwear for the occasion; Mr Malloy wasn't going to see his underwear.

Lunch was a few dry crackers and water; he didn't feel up to anything else. He hoped his stomach would behave itself tonight …

* * *

As the sun hit its zenith, a single ray came through the crystal at the top of the Room of Ritual, taking on a deep yellow hue as it shone down toward the table. The room had become quite hot; light was streaming in through the windows dotted around the top of the walls, and it seemed to swirl around in a heat haze. The two wizards had been casting spells for a quarter of an hour, as the ritual required; sweat was pouring off them, but, deep in concentration, they hardly noticed; they dared not stop, even if they could have formed the desire to.

The single beam, now darkened almost to amber, hit the blue swirling cloud of magic over the table, and a very strange effect took place. As the light touched the cloud, they heard a buzzing noise; and the beam seemed to go first a deep, deep green, and then black. Not the black that was the absence of light; but a much more solid, definite thing. It hit the items on the table; they seemed to glow, then sizzle, then disappear. Colours erupted out of each bowl, tendrils of smoke arching into the air, swirling over the parchment, and then settling. If they had looked, they would have seen an intricate design form on the surface, finer than any draftsman could have drawn.

But they did not look. All of their attention was taken up by the spellwork. It took another fifteen minutes; and then suddenly there was a loud clap. The black light seemed to shudder and vanish as the sun finally moved out of position and the light from the top of the room suddenly ceased. And all was still and quiet.

At the same time, the magic ceased. To the two wizards it was as if they had been holding on to a piece of elastic that had now snapped. They both fell backwards, arms flailing uselessly in the air. Fortunately, it seemed that the ancients who had built this chamber had taken this into account; for as he hit the floor, Bill could feel a cushioning charm around his head. He was grateful to whoever had had this forethought; his magic, and his body were exhausted, and glancing over at Karkaroff he guessed the other wizard wasn't any better off.

It took them perhaps ten minutes to recover their breath and get their strength back; by the time they had, all the smoke had gone, the wood had burnt, the bowls had vanished, and before them was just the table, and on it the now illustrated sheet of parchment.

The picture was of a set of circles, all centred on the point at the very middle of the sheet; with intricate little patterns and designs all over it. Karkaroff touched the parchment with his wand, and incanted: " _Fac ut totus mundus pateat!_ "

Instantly, the design leapt off the page, in three dimensions, it appeared as a sequence of somewhat transparent concentric spheres. Bill thought it was at once one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and one of the most frightening. It sat there, shimmering in the air, and he could feel the powerful magic holding it together.

Karkaroff began to explain.

"I came here ten years ago, with one of the Egyptian magi, and made a map like this. Of course, we had the Book of Rituals to guide us, too; but he told me how to understand the map, better than the book does. Start looking in the centre. You can see a solid sphere there, like the Earth, only deep yellow." Bill nodded; he could see this clearly, and as he focused on it, the rest of the design seemed to fade, and it became very clear. It looked like a yellow cannonball; except that, instead of solid and fixed, its surface seemed alive, constantly shifting, and weird symbols seemed to move across it.

"This is the world of those still living;" Karkaroff explained further. "If we try hard enough, we should be able to focus in and find any wizard or witch known to us."

"Only wizards and witches?" Bill asked.

"Yes," Karkaroff said, his voice showing his irritation at being interrupted. "There are six billion people on this planet, Mr Weasley, I don't think we could get them all on here! Anyway, now move out."

As he said this, the inner sphere seemed to shrink a bit, and the second sphere, that enveloped it, became clearly visible. It was difficult to take in; the second sphere somehow didn't feel anything like as solid as the first, which was clearly visible inside it. It was still yellow, but more transparent; it was, Bill thought, a bit like a balloon; still strong, but much easier to break than a cannonball. Again, once you looked at it for any time, the sphere seemed to be alive and moving.

"This next sphere shows those who have passed on but are still tied to this world in some way. Ghosts dwell here; and so, last time I was here, did Voldemort."

He pointed with his wand at another sphere beyond this one, even less solid. If the first had the feel of a balloon, this one felt like a soap bubble; ephemeral, insubstantial. Yet this couldn't really be true, Bill thought; perhaps, he wondered, it seemed so because he was, obviously, anchored to the first sphere.

Karkaroff's voice brought him out of this reverie. "This is the realm of those who have left the world of physical living, and cannot return, but are still tied to people they knew here, people they loved, or hated, who remember them."

"And beyond that?" Bill said, very softly.

"Ah. You see the last sphere? The magus I was with said that there are some who can see into this sphere; but neither he nor I could. Nor, I think, can you?" The last was a shrewd guess; Bill nodded, his only reply.

"I see," Karkaroff continued. "Well, until we can find someone who can see into it, we won't know exactly what it represents, I'm afraid. And if there ever was anyone who could, they didn't leave any details about it; which suggests to me that either no-one can, or it is not a secret anyone will share."

They stood in silence for a minute, each marveling at the image before them.

"Now, to business," Karkaroff said briskly. " _Hominem demonstretis, quis_ _Voldemort_!"

The image became a little dimmer, and Karkaroff held his breath as the spheres seemed to roll around for a few seconds, then stop. He looked intently at the second sphere, but could find nothing. He let out the breath.

"Not the second sphere," he said. "He cannot return. Is he in the third sphere?" He searched intently for a few seconds, then looked puzzled. "No," he said slowly. "So where is he, then?"

"What are we looking for?" Bill asked.

"Hard to describe," Karkaroff replied. "And it depends on the wizard in question. When I performed the ritual last time, Voldemort showed up as a sort of kite-shaped black blob. Here, let me show you. Think of an example. Someone important works best."

"Harry Potter?" Bill suggested. After all, if they were interested in the Dark Lord, who could be more important than the Destroyer of Voldemort?

Karkaroff smiled, a thin, mirthless smile. "Yes, of course, your friend Mr Potter. We know he's in the inner sphere. _Hominem demonstretis, quis_ _Harry Potter_!"

The sphere rotated again, and then came to a halt; as soon as it had finished, an intense green light was visible in the centre of the sphere. It seemed, at first approximation, to be shaped like a triangle; but then the picture zoomed out, or the symbol became bigger, Bill wasn't sure which, and it became much clearer.

Karkaroff looked thunderstruck. It was indeed a triangle; but there was a line bisecting it, and circle within it.

"The sign of the Deathly Hallows," he breathed out. "Harry Potter is the Master of Death ..."

The next moment, there was no longer any question about it: the symbol was becoming bigger. Karkaroff's breathing became more ragged; Bill could tell he was astonished by what he was seeing. As the triangle expanded, it elongated, moving out through the spheres. It touched the edge of the second sphere, and as it did so it projected light back along its length, back into the first sphere. They could see now that what had at first seemed only green was in fact bound together with another shape; one that sent out fine silver threads entwining with the green. Before Bill could really examine it closely, the green triangle breached the edge of the third sphere, and a red line formed around it, suffusing the green. And still the triangle grew, getting narrower, and the red and silver lights twined around it more and Bill held his breath in wonder at the beauty of the sight; until it touched the outermost sphere and they could just make out a faint black symbol.

A solid, kite-shaped blob.

Bill looked up. "We have to tell Harry," he said.

Karkaroff nodded. Potter needed to know, that was clear. They could argue about who would tell him later.

* * *

It had been a wonderful, magical day. Harry had loved the whole thing: the colours, the sights, the smells, the sounds of Paris had completely overwhelmed him. He had loved the Delacours; they were so full of life. They had jabbered away non-stop all day in French, and Draco had replied, occasionally translating for Harry's benefit. It had made Harry realise just what life must be like for Fleur; he decided there and then he would have to learn French and return here with her often. She deserved to have someone around her who understood a little of what it was like to be surrounded by people you didn't quite understand.

Fleur herself had been wonderful. She, as much as Draco, had watched him like a hawk as they wandered around the city. The moment he started to flag, she seemed to suddenly find another café that they had to try, or the patisserie with the best _bichons au citron_ in all of Paris, or the chocolatier who made Belgian chocolate seem pedestrian … He knew he was being molly-coddled; but at the same time, the sheer zest for life, the pride in their city, took his breath away.

Now at the end of a perfect day, Fleur, Harry and Draco sat together at a small bistro in the Rue de Remarque, the Wizarding shopping district of Paris. Harry might have called it 'Paris's answer to Diagon Alley', except that Diagon Alley wasn't really a question, and comparing this place to it seemed faintly ridiculous. There was, he was sure, nowhere in the world that could compare to the Rue de Remarque.

He sat, watching the passers-by in the twilight. Everyone looked busy, and happy. Everyone greeted one another with a simple "bonsoir, M'sieu" (or "Madame", or "Ma'meselle"), and smiled, and nodded, without seeming to need to converse and he realised quickly enough that they were not greeting their friends, as he had at first assumed; no, everyone greeted everyone else, even strangers, and no-one seemed to think it impolite.

Unknown to himself, Harry was grinning at the sight. And Draco, watching him closely, grinned too.

 _Harry is happy,_ he thought to himself. He had devised all sorts of complicated plans to make Harry happy; but he saw now that it was the simple things that had done it. All it had taken was a day in Paris, talking to Fleur and her cousins, sitting in a salon and eating a simple, but delicious lunch of bread and cheese, walking around, and now dining in the Rue de Remarque.

As he watched his lover, he realised something else. _Harry is strong._ The whole day he and Fleur had been careful of tiring Harry out. Not only physically, but emotionally; he had worried that Harry would be overwhelmed by Paris, as he himself had been on his first trip. Especially after his mother's little _faux pas_ this morning. But there was no evidence of it. Harry might still be physically recovering from his recent sickness and battle; but he was emotionally much tougher than before. Than he had ever been, Draco suspected.

"Knut for your thoughts?" the blond asked, putting the coin on the table. Fleur looked across when he spoke, gave a knowing little smile, but said nothing.

Harry turned to Draco and his smile got wider. "Oh, I was just thinking how much I enjoyed today. Thank you both for an amazing time. I'm even enjoying just sitting here. In England, if I sat outside in public like this, everyone would mob me because I'm Harry Potter, the Saviour; or they'd come up and tell me how evil I was for being gay. Here, no-one gives a damn."

Almost on cue, two wizards appeared, holding hands, and very obviously very much in love with each other. And indeed, everyone smiled and nodded at them, just like they did to everyone else, and no-one stopped them, or looked askance at them, or paid any notice when they stopped outside a shop and gave each other a deep kiss.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "In England, everyone would mob me because I'm Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater."

"Ah," said Fleur, "but here, why should who you were be zo important? You are young, and beautiful, and in love. What else could possibly matter?"

They looked at each other.

"I love this place," they both said at once, then dissolved into laughter.

* * *

The limousine arrived right on time. The chauffeur got out, greeted them, expertly installed Petunia in the left hand passenger seat, then opened the opposite door and let Vernon sort himself out, before returning to the driver's seat.

Vernon looked around, very impressed. In the centre of the car was a low solid seat, in the middle of which was an ice-bucket, well braced against any possibility of slipping, and with a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne cooling it in.

"Good evening," the chauffeur said again. "I trust you are comfortable? Please enjoy the champagne; our journey should take about forty minutes to an hour."

"Can you at least tell us where we are going?" Vernon asked, a little gruffly. "I don't want to look a gift bottle of champagne in the mouth; but it would be nice to know what Mr Malloy had in store."

The chauffeur smiled a little. Dandelus Crockford was beyond pleased that Lucius had asked him to do this job. It showed an astonishing generosity of spirit on the part of the Malfoy patriarch, especially given the awful way he had treated the Malfoys while he was under the Imperius curse; and how disgusting he had been to Harry Potter, who really deserved nothing but praise and deference for his actions.

So he was determined to do the job well – to show that there was no ill feeling on either side. Which really amounted to not letting the two passengers in the back get any inkling of what was really going on. Vernon nor Petunia had never met him, of course, so all he had to do was to hold his opinion of them in check, and play the deferential, but ignorant servant. He was, of course, far from ignorant; he had reviewed the case file, like any auror would, and he knew quite well that any auror, given five minutes alone with them, would make sure neither would ever walk again. What they had done was beyond reprehensible; beyond inexcusable; it was purely and simply inhuman.

He allowed himself a little smile, unseen by his passengers, when Vernon said he would like to know what was in store. _I bet you would,_ he thought. _But if I told you, you'd walk over broken glass to get out now._ Aloud, he simply replied, "ah, that is Mr Malloy's little secret. He does love to give people surprises."

Vernon humphed, and poured a glass of champagne for himself and Petunia, in that order. Dandelus winced inwardly at the boorishness of the man. This was going to be a long forty minutes …

* * *

Dinner was wonderful. The restaurant was not well known; from the outside, it looked more like a private house. It did not advertise itself; it did not need to. The sort of clientele they wanted already knew about them, and told one another about them; and that was enough.

But inside, it was exquisite. Not that the Dursleys were really well able to appreciate the elegance; but even they could see that it was several rungs above anywhere they had ever been before. In the end, Vernon was quite glad to be wearing his new suit; he had worried that it was too fancy, but now he felt a little underdressed.

They were met by the 'Malloys' as they came in. 'Luke' introduced Narcissa, and Petunia made a little jest about them both having flower names as they were led into a small, discreet, beautifully furnished lounge where they enjoyed champagne cocktails in a very private alcove. Then they were taken to their table, and Vernon could feel the alcohol in his body; but it seemed to be filling him with bonhomie; certainly the Malloys laughed at his every joke, and the evening passed in a happy blur.

* * *

Dudley and Robin entered the quiet, dark house. Robin had visited him at school, and said they probably should get his things today before the balloon went up. He wasn't quite sure what he meant, but he trusted this wizard, so fell in with his plans.

He trembled a little when Robin apparated them to the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive; what if his parents caught them? But, as Robin had said, his parents were not there; and the wizard walked straight up the stairs and into Dudley's room as if he owned the place. He pulled out a tiny trunk from his pocket and waved his wand over it, enlarging it to the size of a coffee table.

"Well," he said, "let's get on with it. Might as well have the lot."

And so saying, there was a little more wand-work, and some muttering that Dudley couldn't make head or tail of; and then everything seemed to leap up in the air and spin around in a riot of motion and colour that quite made the Muggle's head spin. Seconds later, it all poured into the trunk, which shut itself and then shrank back down to the size of a matchbox.

Dudley looked around the room, speechless. Robin really had taken the lot; there was nothing moveable left in the room.

"Won't they get suspicious?" he asked. "There's still tomorrow before I turn eighteen."

Robin smirked. "Oh, I think they'll be worried about other things tomorrow," he replied, as he led them both back out to the corridor. "But, just in case, …"

He turned, and cast an illusion charm on the room, making it look like there was still furniture in it; he also cast an impelling charm on the door. "Now no Muggle will be able to enter the room," he explained; "anyone who tries to will decide they need to do something else, instead. Neat, huh?"

Dudley nodded his head, grinning, as Robin took his arm and apparated them back to Dudley's room at Smeltings Academy.

Magic was wicked!

* * *

Vernon couldn't quite seem to remember how the evening had finished. He sat up and looked around; he was, he realised, not home, but in a very well appointed hotel room. There was a note left on the table; it stated simply that the Malloys hoped the Dursleys had enjoyed the night as much as they had, and gave a number to call when they were ready to be taken home.

At this point, Petunia woke up. "I say!" she said. "This is posh!" But Vernon didn't hear her; his stomach trouble was back with a vengeance …

* * *

"What is it about that woman that made me take an instant dislike to her, do you think?" Narcissa asked Lucius over the breakfast table.

Lucius thought for a few seconds. Many things sprang to mind; but he decided a little gracious flattery was called for. "I think, my dear, that it is merely that you are so economical. After all, taking an instant dislike to her saves so much time."

Despite herself, Narcissa chuckled at this line.

"How true," she observed drily, passing over the marmalade with a deft wave of her wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily. Quite a bit of toing and froing trying to get this chapter right! I hope you think it was worth it.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks to faery66 and drew for commenting!


	46. Don't Return a Kindness, Pass it On!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter seems to have ended up as a bit of a monster!

**46\. Don't Return a Kindness, Pass it On!**

Bill spent Sunday evening trying to convince Karkaroff to return to England with him, to no avail. The man was adamant: his home was in Norway; there was no future for him in Britain.

"I belong at Durmstrang," he said. "That is where I shall return."

"But I thought we were going to tell Harry? Together?"

Karkaroff looked at him. "I'm sure Mr Potter won't wish to hear from me," he replied. "And if he does not believe you alone, then I don't think I will be able to convince him. No, that is not necessary."

"But you could explain it much better!" Bill said.

Karkaroff just looked at him stonily, not bothering to reply. He felt that young man was becoming petulant, and he had no wish to encourage it.

"What about the map? Who gets to keep that?" Bill asked, when it became obvious that Karkaroff was not going to reply.

Karkaroff looked at him askance. "The map? You want to keep it?"

"Of course!"

"Alright, keep it. You do understand that the _Reperiri_ spell won't ever work for it again? That's strictly a one-time-only thing, which is why the ritual needs to be performed more than once."

"Oh," Bill said, slightly crestfallen. "But, yes I do want it; it will give me something to show the goblins to convince them that this trip was worthwhile."

Karkaroff smiled, the smile of a wolf. He could understand, and appreciate, such slyness, especially from a member of a family known to be so … Gryffindor. This was how the young man had managed to keep his job with the goblins, he realised: he knew exactly how they thought. And it was undeniable: while the map was now useless for his purposes, it was a pretty thing, and would make an admirable addition to the goblins' store of artifacts; they would love that.

"Very well. But keep me out of the story, all right?"

Bill nodded. He had seen this coming. Well, the goblins didn't know about the need for a second wizard; he would simply neglect to tell them. He'd have to explain the tripped ward, thought, he thought; well, he could spin some yarn about a clumsy shepherd, or a mountain goat, or something. If they had the map, they probably wouldn't ask too closely about how he got it. They were quite used to their curse-breakers using not entirely orthodox methods to achieve their results; it was rare for them to investigate those methods. He rather suspected that they didn't want anyone to be able to prove they knew any dirty secrets; well, that worked for him.

They spent the night in an establishment he had stayed in before. You couldn't really call it a hotel; that implied separate locked rooms and concierges and people generally minding their own business. This was completely different; they had individual rooms, to be sure, but they all opened onto the central courtyard, where there was a blazing fire heaped high against the cold night and everyone sat around eating lamb and drinking hot, black tea together.

At first, Karkaroff sat in his room and brooded; but the voices outside sounded friendly, and people kept shouting out to him not to hide away; "come and tell us your tale!" they demanded, in passable English. Eventually he came out and accepted a mug of tea, which was strangely refreshing even after the heat of the day. His host, who owned the establishment, and treated his guests as family, fussed over him, making sure he had some food and cajoling him to speak; at first he said nothing, but under the patient onslaught of questions he told about how he had been living in the Scottish highlands for a few years.

The men around all perked up as he spoke; here, evidently, was a new tale, and they all hoped to learn from him. His listeners drew his story out of him with the amazing Eastern courtesy that evidently came naturally to them. They expressed great interest in everything he did, without once suggesting disbelief. He thought it would be rather sticky to explain why he was here; but once he had said that he was interested in the stars (which was true) and that he wanted to be at the Tropic for today's solstice (which was also true), he didn't need to make any further excuses: his hearers chatted excitedly in Arabic and once of them raced over to his pack and produced a chart of the stars, which they pored over together for hours.

Karkaroff was fascinated by this display. He had been brought up in a culture of excessive privacy, where all openness was judged immediately, almost always critically; he found that these men, so open, so friendly, so unjudgemental, made him question that whole upbringing and belief system. Above all, it made him question his whole philosophy of teaching; he had always maintained a huge distance between himself and the students (except for the occasional star pupils: one did not, for example, snub Victor Krum). But he could see as he read the charts, as excited as they were to look up to the stars and see them exactly where they were predicted to be, that these men, with their simple passion for astronomy, were sparking his, and giving him the space he needed to enjoy it.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when they all finished up for the night. Karkaroff sat by himself by the fire, gathering his thoughts. His hosts had been very kind to him; he had never known such openness. He felt a great debt, and wondered how he could possibly repay it. The men had enough of all the things they needed; nothing he could give them was of any value to compare with what he had received.

It was a few minutes before he came to his epiphany. He could not repay the kindness; but he could pass it on. He could go back to Durmstrang, and teach his students from a whole new perspective. One of tolerance and kindness. One which would encourage them to be the best they could be, without judging them for what they could not be. One that, perhaps, might just help to avoid another Grindelwald, or Voldemort.

His mind made up, he looked round to see where Bill was. The redhead was nowhere in the courtyard; eventually he could see a soft light in what he guessed to be the Weasley's room. He walked up to it and was sure when he felt the faint tingle of a privacy charm. He coughed quietly to tell the man he was there.

Bill's voice murmured, "Come in, Karkaroff."

"How did you know it was me?" the older man demanded as he opened the curtain and entered the space.

"Privacy ward would have kept anyone else away," Bill said, simply. "Since you're still up, I take it you had a pleasant evening?"

"Yes," the older man replied. "More so than I expected. They are interesting people, these Arabs."

"Not what you're used to?" said Bill, with a grin.

"No," Karkaroff agreed, but did not volunteer anything further. He would need to think on what he had learnt tonight. "What have you been up to?"

"Writing a report," Bill said. "The goblins will insist on one and it's always better to give them one first thing. They like to feel that it was written on the spot, not compiled later. They seem to think that you'll tell lies if you get a chance to think things through. But I'm done now, time to turn in, I think. Good night, Karkaroff."

"Goodnight, Mr Weasley. And thank you. You have been of great assistance to me today."

And with that, the Slav left a speechless Bill Weasley and went to bed.

By the time Bill rose at dawn, Karkaroff had already left.

* * *

_Monday 22 June 1998_

Lucius was still spreading on his toast the marmalade Narcissa had passed to him when they heard the Floo chime. A moment later, Draco and Harry walked into the dining room.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," said Draco, not sounding sorry at all, while Harry looked a bit sheepish to have walked in on the Malfoys at breakfast. He had insisted it was too early to visit, and it looked like, despite Draco's protests, he had been right.

"Not at all," Narcissa said warmly. "Come, join us. Have you had breakfast?"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied as he took the seat she indicated. His mind, unbidden, remembered the breakfast; they had had pancakes …

Narcissa could see the preoccupation in Harry's face and, by the sound of the laugh she gave when she saw it, may even have guessed its cause; but she simply said, "good! Would you like some tea?"

Tea was duly produced by Mappy and they sat there in companionable silence, until Lucius finished his toast and marmalade and spoke.

"Well, you two, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company at such an early hour?"

"Er, yeah, sorry, I did tell Draco it was too early-" Harry began, but Lucius cut him off.

"Harry, I remark on the hour not because it matters at all to us, you are welcome to come here whenever you wish; but simply because we are not used to seeing you up so early."

At this Harry blushed deeply and Draco decided to take pity on him and continue the conversation.

"Having missed out on seeing you yesterday, we wanted to come by and tell you about the wonderful day we had in Paris yesterday," he said.

Lucius had not heard about this, being rather caught up in his preparations for dinner with the Dursleys; so he raised an eyebrow at his son.

"Paris?" he asked.

"Yes!" Harry said, having recovered, "my first ever visit!" He went on to describe the day happily, completely missing the look that passed between Lucius and Narcissa. A look that boded no good at all for the Dursleys. As he burbled on, and Narcissa deftly engaged him in conversation, Lucius looked at Draco.

"And did you obtain…" he asked, letting the question trail off.

Draco huffed. "Of course, Father," he said, and took a small box out of his pocket. A small _Engorgio_ and the box returned to its original size. Which was large enough for Narcissa, deep in conversation with Harry, to notice, and shoot a disapproving look. A look which the male Malfoys completely ignored.

It was well known to many students at Hogwarts that Draco Malfoy had a sweet tooth; but Lucius had managed to keep his largely hidden. But there was one shop in Paris that sold pastries he just could not resist. And now he had a whole box full of them all to himself.

"Thank you," he said quietly, as he beamed at Draco.

* * *

Bill's portkey took him straight back to the office, where he made his report and produced the map. Raredd accepted the report with his usual apparent indifference, which Bill knew perfectly well meant he was pleased; actual indifference would have the goblin scowling, while if he didn't like a report, the reporter usually found himself on the end of a violent tongue-lashing. If not actual violence; Raredd was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

But there was no indifference shown to the map. There were three goblins present in the office, and all of their eyes lit up with unmistakable delight bordering on greed. He was not really surprised when, as they thanked him for his efforts, they all but told him to get lost.

"All I know about it is in the report," he said calmly, if untruthfully; he had not mentioned the green triangle at all. "If you don't need me, I'll spend the rest of the week at home."

He wasn't even sure if they'd heard him when he left; but then, he didn't really care very much either; after all, they wouldn't hesitate to send for him if they decided they wanted him for something.

* * *

They checked out of the hotel early in the morning, but it was a still a little after nine o'clock when Number four Privet Drive came into view. Vernon groaned. He was going to be late for work, and that prick Collings would probably have something to say about it. He could hear the man droning away already: "Not the sort of example we should be setting," he would say. "Makes the other employees feel hard done by if they have to be on time but senior management just swan in whenever they like".

Well, sod him. Malloy had invited him to dinner; that would have to do. He'd just repeat that and glower at Collings. The way he felt right now, glowering was going to come very easy to him; he had not managed to keep any of his breakfast down, even though it was only tea and toast. He would murder for a nice pair of kippers, he thought, as he wearily got out of the taxi and went inside to get ready for work.

Petunia wandered inside, half-wondering if Dudders was home; but no, of course not, he was at Smeltings again. She was, all of a sudden, bone-tired, and sat down on the sofa for just a minute's rest, as Vernon thundered back down the stairs, jumped into his car and sped off to work.

An hour later, Petunia came suddenly awake. She looked around her with growing dismay. Her beautiful house was in disarray. The carpets were all grimy; it was as if workmen had wandered through with their boots on – which no one, not even Vernon, had dared to do in all the time they had lived there – and sat in her lovely lounge chairs. She raced to the cupboard to get the vacuum cleaner. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Arthur was quite delighted when his oldest son was announced as a visitor, and declared it to be morning tea time. Bill happily accepted a cup of proper English tea – the way the Arabs drank tea worked in their country, he felt, but here one needed milky tea – and some of the pastries his father always had. The Arab sweets were amazing; but too sugary for Bill's taste. This morning, there were apple turnovers and small tartes aux citrons; with great enjoyment he had two of the latter.

"Now, Bill," Arthur began as they were comfortably settled. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You seemed a little preoccupied on Saturday night."

Bill sighed. His father might seem oblivious and put-upon; but in truth he didn't miss much. "There is a museum in southern Egypt that I warded a few years back. On Saturday night, the main access ward was tripped, telling me someone had entered the Museum."

"I see," said Arthur. "And so you had to investigate?"

"Yes. Yesterday was the solstice, you see."

"Ah," said Arthur, evidently putting the pieces together. "And this museum is on the Tropic of Cancer, I take it?"

"Got it in one," Bill said, with a grin. "So of course I had to investigate immediately. And this next bit is strictly confidential, OK?"

"Ye-es," Arthur said slowly. "I am the Deputy Minister, Bill, it better not be anything outright illegal."

"I'm shocked you could think that, Dad!" Bill rejoined; but the twinkle in his eye gave the lie to the statement. "No, not illegal, just private. The ward was tripped by someone who doesn't want it widely known that he's still alive."

"Who?" Arthur asked bluntly, a light of curiosity in his eyes.

Bill took a deep breath. He hadn't told the goblins about Karkaroff; but he didn't feel his promise extended any further. He would keep the man's reappearance confidential, but not secret. Not from the Ministry. That was the sort of thing they actually did need to know.

"Karkaroff," he replied, equally bluntly, and was gratified by the reaction as his dad sat bolt upright and his face went grave.

"How?" he asked.

And Bill began to explain, telling all that he had learned about Karkaroff's story from him meeting the crofter up to finding him in the ritual room; he mentioned the ritual but skipped over the details for the moment, and continued with the story of the night in the hotel and his not being there this morning.

"Bet he left you the bill," Arthur said jocularly.

"Funny you should say that, Dad," Bill replied. "I thought he probably would; after all, he can't have a lot of money, and I would have expensed it. But in fact he paid for both of us."

"Hmm," Arthur mused. The tale made a whole raft of strange facts, and this merely added to it: Igor Karkaroff was not famous for his generosity; _stingy_ was the word he would have used to describe the man. Something must have changed.

"All right," he said. "Well, as you say, nothing illegal; he ran away from the Triwizard Tournament, but that was in fear for his life. Quite justified fear, as it turns out. So there's no reason for us to pursue him. Do you think he poses a threat to Harry?"

"Ah," said Bill, "Karkaroff no, but there are some things I need to discuss with Harry. The ritual threw up some, ah, _interesting_ things."

"I see," said Arthur. "And you'd rather discuss them with him first, I'm guessing. Very well, keep your secrets."

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius had invited Draco and Harry to stay for lunch, but Harry did feel they should go to the Burrow and help out. He knew that his best-man duties didn't entail much; but he felt they couldn't just turn up at three o'clock for the rehearsal. And, truth to tell, while he had had a lovely time in Paris, he had missed Hermione and Ron. He hadn't seen them since Sunday morning as they had spent Sunday night at the Burrow. It seemed that Miriam had wanted her sister with her as she had cried every time Hermione put her down; so they had decided to stay just in case she woke in the night, inconsolable. And it is it the manner of small children that, this precaution having been taken, she, for the first time ever, slept through the night.

Accordingly, Harry and Draco Flooed to the Burrow, arriving a little before ten, to find that Ron had only just got up and was tucking in to a huge plate of bacon, sausages and eggs.

"Y' want some?" he asked, generously if not graciously; the two lovers refused, but happily had a cup of tea with Molly, who took their arrival as an excuse to sit down for five minutes. It was obvious that the rest of the household had been busy for some time; the house was spotless, and there were the noises of people working in the garden.

The back door opened and George and Neville walked in.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed in delight. "How was Paris?"

Harry gave a quick summary of the day. Neville asked some polite questions; but Harry could see that he really only had eyes for George today. In his turn, the twin looked like he was walking on air; Harry didn't think he'd seen him so happy since that day at Hogwarts when he got his ear and his brother back.

But he didn't have long to just sit and observed; a tiny voice called "Har!"

"Hey Teddy Bear!" he called out, and got up to go and play with his godson. He found Teddy and Miriam Granger playing together in the sitting room, while Andy and Margaret were sitting with Hermione and Ginny.

"The gang's all here!" he said happily as he sat down and Teddy crawled to him. A moment later, he had a happy dark-haired, green-eyed boy gabbling in his lap; and then Miriam, looking round and seeing Teddy had gone, began to wail.

"There, there Miriam," Hermione said, and picked the little girl up, taking a seat on the floor next to Harry so the two babies could see each other. She stroked her sister, who quickly calmed down with the attention.

"I heard what you told Neville about Paris. I guess that was your first time abroad, yeah?" she said softly to Harry.

"Um, yeah."

"Those _bast-_ " she began, then broke off; there were babies present, after all.

"Yeah," Harry replied, knowing full well who she meant. "But I got to go there with Draco, 'Mione. Which made it really special all round. Let's not think about them, OK?"

"OK," Hermione said, through gritted teeth. She didn't really want to leave the subject alone, but she would respect Harry's wishes. She had heard that Lucius was dealing with the Dursleys; she was torn between concern that he would be too vindictive, and her own feeling that they deserved everything they got. "Miriam has really been enjoying playing with Teddy," she continued, in an obvious, and welcome, attempt to change the subject.

"Teddy's been enjoying it too," Andy said. "When I took him home to bed last night, he kept saying 'Mi-Mi-Mi' in a hopeful voice and looking for her."

Margaret chuckled. "It's funny how even at only a few months old they can be social," she said.

At this point, Teddy took it upon himself to do what babies do best; and Harry heaved him up. "All right," he said, "where's the change table?"

* * *

When Harry and Teddy emerged from the bathroom, there was another red-head standing in the sitting room.

"Ah! There you are!" Bill said, turning to him. "You're a hard man to track down, Mr Potter!"

"Hello, Bill," Harry said, a bit mystified. "Er, why were you trying to track me down?"

"Let's go into Dad's shed and I'll tell you," the oldest Weasley son replied enigmatically. Harry could see that Hermione was desperate to know more following this mysterious pronouncement; for that reason alone, he decided to fall in with the plan.

"Sure," he replied. "Can Hermione come too?"

"I suppose so, if she wants to," Bill answered. Hermione got to her feet and handed Miriam to her mother so fast that no-one was in any doubt about what she wanted. Bill chuckled.

As the three of them walked through the kitchen, it occurred to Harry to wonder exactly where Draco had gone; but as they entered the garden, he spotted him. The blond had been roped in to helping Neville and Ron putting up yet more strands of flowers. Harry looked over as he and Bill passed through, and Draco gave him a funny look, mouthing 'save me'. Harry interpreted the look as mock-serious, and smirked at Draco.

"You're doing a great job," he said, blowing a kiss. He turned to Bill. "Can Draco come too?" he asked.

"Course he can," Bill answered, and Harry waved to Draco, indicating he should join them, and then went into the shed. A few seconds later, Draco came in, too, and stood looking mystified as he surveyed Arthur Weasley's collection of Muggle artifacts.

"Now you see why I love visiting museums," Bill said, clearly amused at the wonder on Draco's face. He led them over to a little sitting area next to Arthur's desk.

"Let's get comfortable. I'm sure we've all had enough tea by now," he said, enlarging a bottle of butterbeer he produced from his pocket, and _accio_ ing glasses from the kitchen. "Cheers!"

The boys all drank; Hermione declined the offer. Harry was actually rather glad to have something stronger than tea.

"Right," Bill said when he had taken a good pull on his beer. "Now, I want to tell you about some rather remarkable events of the last thirty-six hours. When last we met, we were having a party. Then I felt some wards being tripped in a museum I've been looking after in Egypt."

"Wards? What sort of wards?" Draco asked.

"Ah, well, this was mostly just an alert ward. But the museum it guards is a very special place. So of course if someone I didn't know had entered it, then I needed to check it out. Immediately. So I got a port-key and went to Egypt on Sunday morning."

"Really?" Harry asked; then, realising this sounded disbelieving, which was not what he meant, clarified, "I mean, why was it important to do it so quickly?"

"The solstice," Draco said, realisation suddenly dawning on him.

"Yep," Bill answered, delighted to have a listener who understood. "And you won't like this much, Harry. The intruder was Igor Karkaroff."

"The Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute?" Harry asked.

"The very same. The one you thought had it in for you. The one you thought put your name into the Goblet of Fire."

"Yeah, I did think that at the time," Harry replied. "But we know now it was Barty Crouch Junior using poly-juice. Anyway, what was Karkaroff doing there? And I thought he was dead?"

"Everyone thought so, and that's how he wanted it." Bill explained about the crofter, and how the Death Eaters killed him thinking he was Karkaroff. "So you see, he could now lie doggo until Voldemort was eliminated," he finished up.

"OK," Harry said, still a little puzzled. "But why didn't he come out of hiding after the War?"

"Well," Bill replied, "think about it from his angle. Voldemort had been killed once before, he thought, and came back. What was to stop him doing it again? And that brings us to the question of why he was in Egypt. You see," he continued, refilling their empty glasses, "the museum I guard is called the Museum of the Realms of this World. It is a very special place of ancient Egyptian magic, particularly concerning the secrets of the dead."

"You mean like necromancy?" Draco asked.

"You mean like horcruxes?" Harry asked at almost the same time.

"Both of those," Bill answered. "The Egyptians knew about Horcruxes – 'Eggs of Evil' they called them. But they never used them; to them, death is part of the progress of the soul, motion from this realm to another one. Horcruxes stop this motion; but motion is essential to life, so they saw their creation as one of the most truly evil things you could do."

"So you're saying they didn't try to cheat death?" Draco asked, incredulously. Surely everyone tried to cheat death? Who would actually want to die?

Bill chuckled. "That idea would have horrified them. In Egyptian magical thought, death is part of life, moving out of this sphere into another one. They didn't hold with suicide either, mind; we all have to progress through the spheres, but at the right times."

"What are the spheres?" Hermione asked.

"The Egyptians talk about a thing they call the Ascent of the Soul. Apparently there are various stages of being; we only know about one of them. There are four spheres of this stage of being. They give them fancy names, but I didn't really understand it very well until Karkaroff explained it to me yesterday. The inner-most sphere they talk about, the Sphere of Tangible Presence, is basically us – everyone who's alive. Then there's the Sphere of Intangible Presence. Karkaroff described it as those who have passed on but are still tied to this world in some way. It's where you find ghosts and other creatures that aren't really part of this world, but can interact with it. It seems that people in this sphere can still influence this world and maybe even return to it.

"Then there's what's called the Sphere of Intangible Extension, which is the realm of those who have left the Sphere of Tangible Presence and passed through the Sphere of Intangible Presence. They cannot return, but are still tied to people they knew here, people who remember them. There must be a fourth sphere, which goes by the strange title of the Sphere of Intangible Absence; but nobody really knows what that means."

"And everybody ends up in the fourth sphere eventually, right?" Draco asked.

"No, I don't believe so," Bill said. "All the writings I found indicate that people leave the Sphere of Intangible Extension and proceed out of this stage of being into another one. There's practically nothing written about the Sphere of Intangible Absence.

"OK," Harry said, obviously struggling to take it all in. "I think I've got that. Four spheres But so why did Karkaroff have to go to this museum yesterday?"

"Ah," Bill said, "this is where it gets interesting. See, there is a very special ritual that as far as I know can only be performed on the summer solstice, and only at the Museum of the Realms of this World. This ritual produces a sort of map, which shows the location of important people in the spheres of this world. Karkaroff used it once before, when everyone was worried that Voldemort was going to come back; he found Voldemort in the Sphere of Tangible Presence the first time he looked, which is why he made sure he was out of England as much as possible. This time he was going to perform a partial version, which would not have given as much of a view, but could be used to track a single wizard."

"But why not do the full version? Especially if he'd done it before? Is it too hard?" Hermione asked.

"The full ritual requires two wizards," Bill answered. "There has to be an intertwining of separate strands of magic from different cores. So of course he couldn't do it by himself. He found an Egyptian wizard to help him the first time; this time, of course, he didn't want anyone else to know he was alive. But when I turned up, I convinced him we could do it together, and share the result."

"Alright, so you did perform the full ritual then?" Draco asked. "And did it work?"

"Yes, and yes," Bill replied. He gave a very brief explanation of what performing the ritual entailed.

"So, once we had the map on the parchment, Karkaroff used a spell to make it quite literally jump off the page and show the map in three dimensions."

"That sounds really amazing," Hermione said breathlessly.

"It was," Bill agreed. "Karkaroff used another spell to show where Voldemort was; apparently the spell shows each individual up with a distinctive shape and colour, so we spent a few minutes checking for the one representing Voldemort – when Karkaroff had seen it before, it was sort of a black kite-shape; but it didn't show up in any of the three spheres that we could see."

"I thought you said there were four spheres?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Bill said, "but the fourth sphere wasn't really visible. It's the one no-one understands properly, remember?"

Hermione nodded.

"However, the next thing," Bill said, turning to Harry, "um, are you happy for me to discuss this with these two? It concerns you very intimately and it's rather sensational."

Harry looked dumbfounded. "Yes, of course. I trust these two with anything."

"OK," Bill said, letting out a sigh. That was a lot of trust; he might do the same for Fleur, he supposed, but he couldn't imagine letting anyone else know something before he was told it, after such a warning. "Karkaroff then cast a second locating spell, this one to find Harry. And that's when things got really weird. To begin with, Harry showed up as a green triangle."

Draco looked puzzled. He said, in a low voice, obviously speaking mostly to himself, "Green makes sense, I guess; it goes with Harry's magic in the Shield and all, but the triangle?"

"Well, actually, I understand the shape better than the colour," Bill answered, starling the blond who hadn't realised he had spoken out loud. "We could sort of zoom in on the image; and when we did, the triangle turned out to be a more complicated shape: it was an equilateral triangle containing a circle with a line through it…"

If Bill had hoped for a reaction, he was not disappointed. Hermione twigged first; her face went ashen white.

"The Deathly Hallows," she said in a loud whisper.

"That's what Karkaroff said, too," Bill replied. "And that Harry was Master of Death. But I thought that was a child's fairy tale?"

"No," Harry replied. "The Deathly Hallows are very real; and I am the owner of all three of them."

Hermione stared at him. "I thought you had lost the Resurrection Stone?" she gasped out.

"I had," Harry agreed. "But when I did that bit of magic after the Battle, the Elder wand brought it to me. So I've still got it, hidden away. And I trust the three of you will never mention that to anyone. I've had the Invisibility Cloak ever since my first Christmas at Hogwarts; and the Elder wand, well, everyone knows about that." He turned back to Bill, feeling that this was interesting, but not quite as earth-shattering as he had expected. He had known about the Hallows, after all.

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes," Bill said. "As I said, we could zoom in; we could also zoom out. As we did that, your triangle did something very strange. Most of the shapes stay the same relative size; but yours expanded as the image shrank. When it went through the Sphere of Tangible Presence we saw there were silver threads all through it."

"Draco?" Harry asked. "His colour is silver in the Shield."

"Could be," Bill replied. "Was there red as well?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "We don't know what the red is."

"OK, well, when your triangle breached the Sphere of Intangible Presence we saw a red line around it as well. So I'd say, yes, the silver was Draco. And the red …" Bill closed his eyes, obviously thinking back and trying to remember exactly what he had seen. "The red did not start in the first sphere, I'm sure of it. So it's no-one still alive. I can't remember if it started in the second or third sphere, though."

"That's a pity," Hermione said, "it could have been a useful clue."

"Yes," Bill replied, amused that the witch could be so objective. "But the most amazing thing is when the Hallows shape met the fourth sphere, the Sphere of Intangible Absence."

"What happened?" Draco demanded, as Bill paused for effect.

Bill smirked. He thought he could get a rise out of the blond. "You must understand that the fourth sphere was very dark. We couldn't see anything in it until the triangle entered it; then, by its green light, we could see a black shape."

"A kite-shaped black shape?" Harry asked.

Bill nodded slowly, and watched as comprehension dawned on all three faces.

The three teens sat in stunned silence. It was Harry who spoke first.

"So that means Voldemort is in the Sphere of Intangible Absence, right?" he asked.

"That looks like about the size of it," Bill replied. "We don't really understand what that means; but it certainly seems like he must be gone for good."

"Well, perhaps," Hermione replied. "But it would be nice if we weren't relying so heavily on guesswork and conjecture. I wonder if there's anything –"

"- in the Hogwarts library," Harry chanted along with her.

"I very much doubt it," Draco replied. "How about we do some research in the Manor library? If there are going to be books on this ideology anywhere in Britain, I'd bet galleons to knuts they'll be there."

Hermione looked altogether too pleased at the prospect of visiting the Malfoy library again. Harry groaned.

"So, when are we going?" he asked.

"You," Draco said sternly, "are not going anywhere. You are still convalescent; I know you've made incredible progress in the last few days, but you still need to take things easy. We had a very active day yesterday; today we're going to stay put here."

Hermione was both surprised and amused to hear this blunt, bold statement from the Slytherin, and the answering meek look on the face of the Gryffindor. Harry, she decided, was in good hands.

"I'm sure there's no need to do anything today," she said diplomatically.

"No, I agree," Bill replied. "And how about I see if dad will let us use the Ministry pensieve so you can all view the event for yourselves?"

The eager light in three pairs of eyes gave Bill all the answer he needed.

* * *

Collings, mercifully, had left Vernon alone. In fact, pretty much everyone had steered clear of him all day; the expression on his face was not at all welcoming, reflecting how he felt all too well. He had been to the local for lunch; but the very smell of the fish and chips they served made him heave, which was very unpleasant on an empty stomach. He had managed to keep a couple of sips of his lunch-time pint down, and counted that a success, at any rate, as he scurried back to his office.

In the afternoon, he was feeling a little better, and even managed half a smile when Grunnings knocked on his door and came in. It didn't do to show the old man any weakness.

"Afternoon, Dursley," Grunnings said in his chirpy northern way. "Fancy a pint after work? Mr Malloy said he was interested in catching up with the two of us."

The smile widened. A drink with Grunnings and Malloy, without Collings. Excellent.

"Thank you, Mr Grunnings, I'd like that," he replied.

"Good," the man said, beaming and nodding, as he walked back to his office.

Neither man noticed that the door to Collings's office was open, nor that he sat there scowling at them from within. _What was the old man doing showing kindness to Dursley?_ the general manager mused to himself. Still, it probably didn't matter. While he didn't like Dursley, he could handle the man; and anyway, Dursley was his own worst enemy, he mused, he'd probably cock this opportunity right up. Michael Collings prided himself on being a shrewd judge of character; and unless he was very wide of the mark, Luke Malloy didn't like Vernon Dursley one little bit, he thought, an evil smile playing on his lips…

* * *

It took the whole day to clean the house. Petunia could swear the dirt increased every time she turned her back; she vacuumed and washed and scrubbed and for the first time in her life actually wished that Harry was there to help. However much they had complained about his work, he had actually kept the place presentable; that seemed to be almost beyond Petunia today.

The final straw came at four o'clock, as she was sitting down enjoying a well-earned cup of tea. There came a crash, and she raced into the front room to find that some local yobs had thrown a pot-plant through the front window. She opened her eyes very wide at the scene of devastation. There was broken glass everywhere; and the pot had shattered on the carpet, throwing dirt and shards of pottery everywhere.

She took a shuddering breath, burst into tears, and fell into one of the armchairs. Tea was not enough, she decided, and she hunted in the grog cupboard for some brandy. After drinking half a tumbler full, she rang an emergency glazier, and then fetched the vacuum cleaner.

* * *

Harry found it hard later to remember much about Neville and George's wedding. Everyone agreed afterwards that was an amazing event: the two men, very obviously in love with each other, had both dressed in matching elegant pure white robes as they exchanged simple vows of fidelity before the beaming celebrant. There was no procession, or arrival of the bride, or anything at all that suggested either was subservient to the other; they simply stood, hands clasped together, before the congregation, supported by Harry and Fred as their best men.

The ceremony had gone in a blur; tables laden with food had appeared out of nowhere, and everyone had eaten and drunk their fill; George had got up and said that it was time for speeches, at which everyone settled back just a little. Big mistake.

"As if!" Fred roared out. Suddenly, all the bellflowers had glowed in reds and blues, making a spectacular light display, and the little stage they had been married on suddenly expanded to be a disco floor, a DJ appeared out of nowhere, and most of the chairs vanished as the congregation found themselves more or less unwillingly dancing to a hypnotic beat.

But in all of it, Harry found his eyes constantly drawn to Draco. There was something about the blond that just captured his heart all over again; and when a slow song came on at last, Harry grabbed his fiancé's arm and they stood together swaying to a gentle beat.

At ten o'clock there were the obligatory Weasley fireworks; but by then, best man duties over, Harry and Draco had snuck away to make fireworks of their own…

* * *

Vernon parked his car in the garage and came into the house swearing. One look at him and Petunia, who had been about to let rip about her disastrous day, fell silent.

"What happened?" she asked later, as he sat nursing a glass of whiskey.

"'M finished," he said indistinctly. "Drinks with Malloy and Grunnings. Should have known they're swine. Bastards, the pair of them." He took another sip. If he threw up later, too bad; he needed alcohol now.

"Tell me about it", she entreated. Vernon didn't usually swear like this, not in front of her, anyway. Something serious had happened, she could feel it. Her hands felt like someone was poking them with needles; and the irrelevant line her mother had drummed into her came to her: _by the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes_.

"(hic) We went to the pub after work. Had a small w'skey and soda," Vernon said, hampered by alcohol and hiccups. "Going well. Then Grunnings ordered a basket of chips. I had some and promptly threw up."

Petunia closed her eyes. Her poor Vernon had **such** a tender stomach at the moment. She wished he would go and see a doctor; but he simply refused point-blank: "just a bug," he had said whenever she asked.

"All over Malloy," he finished.

Oh dear, Petunia thought. "Oh dear," Petunia said.

"Grunnings was furious. Told me 'I'm not very happy with what I hear about that nephew of yours, Dursley. We've shown you nothing but kindness, but it seems that you didn't pass any of it on. Shame. Well, this is your last chance. Unless you can control yourself, you're finished'."

Petunia took in a sharp breath. "What has he heard about the freak?"

"Apparently someone has been filling his ears about how we mistreated the freak for years. Says he's heard that Dyson skipped the country because things were getting too hot for him. And I have a good idea who that someone was," he said darkly.

Petunia gulped, remembering her conversation with two detectives some days ago …

"Yes," he said, taking another swig of whisky, "that damn Malloy. Long and the short of it, I tried to apologize, of course, but no words came out."

"Oh," Petunia said uselessly, before she could stop herself.

"Unfortunately, something else did. I couldn't stop vomiting, so Grunnings told me not to bother coming back."

Petunia was now beyond shocked. "Oh Vernon!" she said, horrified. "What are we going to do?"

"Right now, I'm going to bed," he replied. "I suppose tomorrow I'm going to have to grovel to get my job back."

* * *

The two lovers, blond and dark, lay slightly drunk and very happy in each others arms. Draco was still being protective of Harry; too protective, perhaps, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to object. They had explored each other's bodies for the first time in what seemed to Harry like forever; but it was slow and soft, deliberate and gentle.

Now they lay together, quiet and still. Harry let out a sigh.

"Are you alright, love?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled. Smiled at the concern in the voice. Smiled that after all the horrible images he had been through while healing, he now had this wonderful man in his bed, who cared about him. Who looked after him.

"Thank you," he said, and kissed Draco. And if Draco wondered what it was that Harry was thanking him for, he didn't ask, choosing to accept the love that was offered him. For he in his own way had known horrors; and now he too had a beautiful man in his bed, who cared about him. Who accepted him.

"What did you think about the spheres?" Draco asked.

Harry turned to look at him. "Oh, we have to be serious now, do we?"

"No, sorry," Draco said; "Salazar! Way to kill the mood, Draco!" he berated himself.

"Hush, love, I was only teasing. You remember that Bill talked about the spheres being connected to 'this stage of being'?"

Draco thought back. Yes, he did remember that; he hadn't really understood at the time, but then perhaps they didn't understand much of it anyway.

"Yes; what do you think he meant by that?"

"I think that we can only see some of life. Our own stages, if you like. Maybe if we could see more dimensions, it would be more like a bowl, where the spheres really go on and on. But the fourth sphere that he talked about? That's more like the lip of the bowl. I think when you go there, you've fallen out of the Ascent of Souls altogether. That's why it's hard to see anything there; if you go there, you're not connected to anything any more."

Draco mulled over this for some time. "An interesting theory. Why didn't you mention it today?"

"Because Hermione would have attacked it and pulled it to pieces then and there. And I'm not sure about it. What would I know, anyway?" he said, with a yawn, and snuggled down in Draco's arms.

As Draco drifted off to sleep, two thoughts floated through his head. One was that, if Harry was the Master of Death, then his theory was almost certainly going to be the right one. The other was perhaps less pure; perhaps it was a little shallow of him, but he went to sleep with a smile on his lips because Harry had chosen to share his ideas with him rather than Hermione.

* * *

Vernon slept fitfully. Something was there, clawing at the back of his mind; some half-memory of the night before. Part of him wasn't really sure that he wanted to know; but his dream self had a courage that his waking one almost entirely lacked. In his dream, in front of him, he saw what looked like a door; before he could stop himself, he yanked it open.

He was back at the restaurant from last night. There they were, Petunia and memory-himself, sitting opposite Luke and Narcissa Malloy. It was strange to watch them; he knew the enormous man seated there was in fact himself, but he felt strangely detached from him. It was as if he was watching a stranger.

The table was very private, walled off in its own alcove, and somehow he knew that no-one could possibly have overheard them. He heard the voice again and it all came back as the scene played itself in front of him.

"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely honest with you," the blond-haired man was saying. "You see, my name is actually Lucius Malfoy."

Dream-Vernon snickered as he watched the absurd expression on memory -Vernon's face. "And you?" memory -Vernon said. "Are you really Narcissa?"

The woman smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Oh yes," she said, softly, too softly, "I really am. And I am a witch."

Memory-Vernon gaped like a fish. "A witch?" he said, unable to take it in.

"Indeed," Malloy – or Malfoy, or whatever his real name was – replied. "And I am a wizard. And we have a son. And that son is engaged to a very famous wizard. One I believe you have heard of. One Harry James Potter."

If dream-Vernon had thought memory-Vernon had gaped like a fish before, it was nothing compared to the stupefied look on his face now.

"Wizard – witch –" he said, stupidly. And then, anger in his face, he yelled out, "engaged? Wait, the freak is engaged to a **man**?"

Memory-Vernon was too caught up in the moment to see the expressions on his hosts' faces; but dream-Vernon saw clearly that, of all the things memory-Vernon could have said, this was probably the worst.

"Yes," Lucius replied, his voice low, cold and controlled. Dream-Vernon thought it would have been better if the man – wizard, whatever – had exploded in rage. This voice boded no good at all. "The freak, as you call him, is going to be my son-in-law. And I must say, of the two of you, he is not the one I would refer to as 'the freak'."

Memory-Vernon gulped, having finally decided that perhaps his usual bullying and blustering wasn't going to get him out of this one.

"No," Narcissa continued, "my husband has uncovered quite a lot of evidence about your actions, Mr Dursley."

And even though the title was the correct one, and the tone was icily polite, the effect on memory-Vernon was worse than if she had called him a filthy name; it was clear she had not one shred of respect for him, and the man quailed in his seat.

"Evidence that has been given to the Muggle authorities. I trust you understand what that means?" Lucius said, his voice matching his wife's.

"The police …" Petunia said, terror in her eyes. "But Darren …"

"Darren Dyson was arrested in Mallorca this morning," Lucius replied, looking briefly at the woman before returning his gaze to Vernon. "So if the two of you were relying on his good offices, I suggest you think again. No, Mr Dursley, the Muggles now have a pretty good idea of just what you did to Harry, and what lengths you went to to cover it up. And, dear lady," he said, turning again to Petunia, and the light in his eye giving the lie to the feeling in the words, "I'm sure they will be interested to know that you were aware of Mr Dyson's activities, and did nothing …"

"But… but…" Petunia spluttered. "What could I do? I had to! Don't you see?" she spluttered, ringing her hands as she tried desperately to make them understand. "Vernon is my husband; it's my duty as his wife to back him up!"

"You could have treated your nephew with kindness," Narcissa replied, her voice like steel. "You could have protected him, and loved him, and done what you were expected to by all the laws of family and blood!"

"Love him!" memory-Vernon exploded. "How could anyone love that fre—"

"ENOUGH!" Lucius said, and the single word stopped Vernon more surely than a rifle-shot would have. "My son loves him. We love him. Hell, half the wizarding world loves him; and all of the wizarding world is in his debt. So, put this foolishness at an end. Whatever happens, you two have done unspeakable acts, and you will be punished for it. You are going to have a rough trot, to put it mildly, there's no question about that. No, the question is, are you going to take the punishment that the Muggle world dishes out; or face up to Harry?"

Memory-Vernon sneered. "What, your punishment or ours? What do you take me for? Our lot might lock us up; but your lot, who knows what they will do?"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "I don't think you quite understand, Mr Dursley. It's not a choice between one punishment and the other. 'Our lot', as you so charmingly call them, will probably do whatever they do whether you are punished by Muggles or not. No, the choice is whether you will face punishment with or without Harry's protection."

"Harry's protection?" Petunia asked, through tears. "Why would he protect us?"

"It's what he does," Narcissa answered. "And let's face it, unless he does, you're pretty much sunk."

"And why would you offer this to us?" Memory-Vernon asked, his voice still slightly disdainful.

Lucius looked at him; it was a strange look, a compound of mostly revulsion with .. pity?

"Because Harry offered us the same kindness," he replied evenly, "and we could not fail to offer it on to you."

Dream-Vernon gulped at this, as Lucius murmured some words and the memory faded away. Soon, all too soon, it was locked away again; "until the right moment", he heard.

He shuddered as he fell back to sleep. There wasn't going to be anything 'right' about that moment for him, he felt certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily. 
> 
> **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.
> 
> Please leave comments and visit facebook!


	47. Returning into Friendly Hands …

**47\. Returning into Friendly Hands …**

_Tuesday 23 June_

Tap, tap, tap.

The sleeping lad came awake feeling rather groggy and peered over at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Half past six in the morning. He groaned and turned over.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Shut up", he yelled, and pulled the pillow tight around his ears.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Exasperated, he sprang out of bed, determined to find the source of the noise. Probably the other sixth years pranking him on his birthday, he thought. But as his sleep-filled eyes came unstuck, he saw that that wasn't the case; unless they had taken on a whole new range of pranks.

For the source of the noise was a very large, and very regal looking, eagle owl tapping at his window. He opened the window, and the owl flew in and dropped a letter and tiny package onto his bed, then settled onto the back of the chair at his desk, fixing him with a baleful stare. He looked back and to his surprise, the package had expanded.

Magic. Well, it figures, Dudley Dursley told himself. He wondered just what the protocol was with owls; this was the first wizarding one he'd ever seen that hadn't just dropped its payload and flown off. The bird seemed to just sit there and stare at him; it was rather freaking him out, to be honest. He picked up the letter, and extracted the piece of parchment within. He flicked down to the signature; the letter was, of course, from his cousin Harry.

 _Dear Dudders,_ it began, and he smiled to read it.

 _Happy birthday!_ it went on, and those simple, clichéd words cut him to the core. He knew for a fact that the Dursleys hadn't ever said that to Harry; or if they had, they certainly wouldn't have meant it. Given their history, he would not have been at all surprised if Harry had simply ignored his birthday altogether; that was all he deserved. He read on.

_Please don't mind the owl; he belongs to Draco; his name is Ozymandias, and he is very well behaved. I've told him you might want to send a reply, so he won't go anywhere until you send him. I've put a couple of owl treats in the package; you should probably stop reading and give him one straight away._

Dudley chuckled, glad that his apprehension had been anticipated; he sobered a little when he reflected that of course, having not grown up with wizards, this had all been new to Harry recently, so he probably well understood that Dudley would need the advice. A strange warmness filled his heart and it took him a few moments to recognise it for what it was: a mixed feeling of gratitude and shame for the care Harry was taking for him.

He opened the package; on top was a small bag marked 'For Ozymandias', and he extracted a couple of the strange-smelling items. The owl stretched and seemed to get excited as soon as he turned to it; he proffered the treats on his palm, and the bird very gently reached out and took one from him, then settled down and fixed him a beady stare again.

"Have it your way," he said, and read on.

_Now, to help you celebrate, there's also some wizarding chocolate; don't eat it all at once, and don't let anyone else see it. The chocolate frogs jump just once by magic when you take them out of the wrapper, and you really don't want to explain that to anyone else, right? Also, as well as the chocolate, Draco took me to Paris on Sunday and I found a little present for you. Hope you like it, since you're interested in engineering._

_Arthur gave me all of the paperwork you need for your name change last night. The deed enclosed makes you a Potter in the eyes of the Ministry and the Muggle authorities as soon as you fill out the paperwork and lodge it. You'll need a couple of witnesses; and for the Wizarding bit, you'll need me to perform a small ritual with you. We'll visit you this afternoon and sort that out at the same time as the money and everything; Lucius has squared it with the school that it's important enough for you to cut afternoon classes so we'll take you to the Muggle office. They have a premium service where they'll do it while you wait._

_I'm thrilled to be going to have you really, officially, in my family!_

_Harry_

_PS: Since we'll be there today, you don't need to reply to me; but I thought you might like to send your mum and dad a greeting via the owl. There's some extra parchment in case you do. He'll happily take the letter to them. There's no need to worry too much about the address; he can find anyone. It's a standard thing in our world._

Dudley sat on his bed, tears streaming from his eyes at the sheer love that flowed out of this simple letter. He wiped his face, and washed up in the little basin he had in the room now that he was a prefect. He really, really did not want anyone to see that he had blubbed. Even on his birthday, that was something he would never live down.

Presently, he turned back to the owl.

"What do you think? Would you take a letter to my parents? The Dursleys? Harry says you know where they live?"

The owl inclined its head to him imperiously, as if to say, 'of course'. Dudley chuckled and reached for the parchment.

* * *

Draco stumbled into the kitchen to find that once again Harry had got up well before him and had breakfast ready. To his surprise, Ron Weasley was sitting in the kitchen eating with Harry.

"Morning," he said to Ron. "I thought you and Hermione were staying at the Burrow last night?"

"Yeah, we did," Ron answered, "but it's a bit busy over there for me, I thought I'd come here for a bit of peace.

Draco smirked, and accepted a plate of food that Harry floated over to him.

"Kreacher still helping with Miriam?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah," Ron said, smiling. "Mrs Granger really appreciates having him around. He still mutters about 'mud-bloods' and Hermione's explained to her mum why she should get all upset about it; but she just smiles and tells him to speak up, she's not young and won't have mumbling. Which shuts him up. So everyone is happy about it."

"Even him, I'll warrant," Draco said.

"Yeah, I think so," Ron said, surprised. He hadn't really thought about it; but yes, Kreacher certainly seemed to be enjoying the work, as far as he could tell.

"I'm sure of it," Harry replied. "If he wasn't, he would have found some reason to come back here. Did Nev and George get off on honeymoon all right?"

"Mmm," Ron said affirmatively, the large lump of sausage in his mouth preventing him from saying anything else for a moment. The other two waited patiently until he continued, "yes, they're off; no-one knows where but Fred; and he isn't telling. Some Muggle hotel, apparently. Suggested, if rumours are true, by Draco's dad."

Draco arched an eyebrow. In that case, he thought to himself, there were a number of distinctly pleasant possibilities: a small hotel in the Cotswolds, a chateau in the Loire Valley, and a very posh hotel Lucius owned in Italy sprang to mind. He'd have to question his father on the subject, he thought; after all, Harry and he would need a place to have a honeymoon …

"So, what are you up to today, Weas- Ron?" he asked. If Ron noticed the blatant subject change, or the near use of his surname, he showed no sign.

"Helping Margaret and Peter," he replied. "They had a surveyor friend look over their house yesterday. Needs a bit of work, they tell me. I thought we'd see what we can do with magic. Actually," Ron said, suddenly remembering that the two other men had helped with the rebuilding of Hogwarts while he and Hermione had been in Australia, "you two have a bit of experience with renovations, right? Do you want to lend a hand?"

"We'd love to," Draco replied, while Harry said "sorry, I can't," at exactly the same time.

"Oh?" Draco asked, looking at Harry.

"Lucius and I have to sort out some formalities with Dudley today, as it's his birthday and he's now legally an adult, remember?" Harry replied to Draco.

"Dudley?" Ron asked. "As in, your cousin Dudley?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, a little hesitantly. He really didn't want a fight about it. "He and I have made peace, Ron. He wants to get away from his parents, so we're going to help him out with that."

Ron took a deep breath. He had a fair idea what Dudley had done to Harry, none of it good; but then he also had a fair idea what Draco had done to Harry, and they'd come to terms with that, so he supposed for Harry's sake they could get to grips with Dudley as well.

"OK," he said. "How can we help?"

Harry beamed. He loved his friends. "Well, I think, for today, I'm good; Lucius has this one covered. How about Draco helps you out though?"

Ron looked a little shell-shocked at the thought, but turned to the blond.

"Sure, if you want to," he answered.

"Like I said, I'd love to," Draco replied. That was, after all, what friends did; he'd learnt that much from the Gryffindors. And it was clear that was what Harry wanted; at that moment, Draco would have said anything to keep the smile on Harry's face.

The moment was saved from becoming mawkish and sentimental by a knock on a window, and when they opened it, three owls came in bearing official-looking envelopes, one for each of them. They gave the owls treats and sped them on their way before sitting down to open the letters.

As he opened his, Draco had a pensive expression on his face.

"Harry," he asked absent-mindedly while slitting the envelope with a butter-knife, "any idea where Ozymandias is?"

Harry looked a little sheepish. "Er, yes; I borrowed him to send Dudley a birthday letter. Sorry, I should have asked."

"Not at all," Draco said, reading the letter, "I said you could use him whenever you needed to. It's from Hogwarts."

The last observation was of course about the letters; but as the other two were reading theirs at the same time, it was quite unnecessary, and even as he said it, Draco felt a little ashamed at having pointed out the obvious.

"Well, I guess we're all going?" Ron asked, and the other two nodded. He pointed back at the letter, which contained extra details about the arrangements for the eighth years. "A whole new tower, eh? Wonder what it's like?"

Draco and Harry nearly kept it together; but when they accidentally caught each other's eye, they burst out with laughter.

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

"The Tower was designed by Flitwick and Draco and I were given the task of building it," Harry confessed. "So we're the only two who know. We're sworn to secrecy; but I can tell you it's octagonal in shape, and that it's absolutely brilliant."

"All right!" Ron said, sure that Harry would have done a good job and happy to take his word for it. It sounded like they had an interesting year ahead of them. Shared rooms, two people to a room, the letter had said. He guessed Harry and Draco would share, and he wondered who he would be sharing with.

But anyway, time was a-wasting, and there was work to do. If he didn't get back to the Burrow soon, someone might come looking for him; and he really didn't want Hermione to scold him about bunking off. Again.

"Draco, you right to go, mate?"

Draco looked at Harry.

"Yes, go," Harry said. "You know what I asked, I'm sure you'll keep to it."

Ron looked perplexed.

"Harry's legally responsible for me, remember?" Draco remarked. "I'm not allowed to apparate and I'm only supposed to go places he allows me to."

"That sucks," Ron said, and Draco wondered which of them the sympathy in his voice was for; but then, perhaps it was for both of them: Harry having to be in charge, and Draco having to be treated like a child.

"Yeah," the blond agreed. "But it's fine as long as I stick with you."

Ron looked at him amazed. "You actually want to stick with me?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Draco gave him a mock glare in return. "No, but needs must," he replied; but the grin on his face belied his words, and earned him one in reply from the redhead.

"All right, let's go!" he said; and they did.

* * *

Vernon groaned as he struggled out of bed. He looked at the clock. Could that be right? After seven?

He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Hmm. Quarter past seven o'clock, he saw. Just time for … **Shit!** He was supposed to be at his desk in less than an hour… And then he remembered. Oh. No need to go to work. He'd been fired.

He lay back again, hoping to get some more shut-eye. He felt exhausted. And that blasted tummy trouble was still there…

A moment later he bolted out of bed and just made it to the bathroom before threw up. _Well,_ he thought, his throat burning with the foul taste of bile, _I'm not going to get any more sleep now. I might as well get on with the day._ Fifteen minutes later, after a quick shower and shave, he made it down to the kitchen.

"Morning, 'Tunia," he said to his wife, who must have got up with the sparrows, and was sitting dressed rather primly at the table, drinking a cup of tea. Her fourth for the day, in fact, but he didn't know that. "Any chance of breakfast?"

"Do you think you're up for it?" she asked, her voice sounding a little more harsh than she meant it to. The feeling of dread from the night before had returned with a vengeance.

But if Vernon noticed, he didn't comment. "You're right," he said. "Stomach still a bit dodgy. Might try some tea and toast."

It seemed that tea and dry toast was acceptable to his system this morning. When he had eaten, she silently passed him the local morning paper, which lay still folded on the table. He idly wondered why Petunia had not read it already as he leafed through it. The first couple of pages were the usual drivel. But then he came across a full page photo spread. At first glance, it looked quite jovial; that standard of this rag, silly photos with captions like 'Colonel and Mrs Marchbanks celebrate the opening of the season', that sort of thing.

Except the caption wasn't about some inconsequential social-climbing idiot or other. It was about them.

'Can this really be our own Petunia and Vernon Dursley?' the page screamed at him. He stared at the photographs, transfixed with horror. It was immediately clear to him that the they had been taken at the dinner on Sunday night. The suit he had bought that morning and been so proud of was definitely way beneath the class of the restaurant, and it just looked cheap against the beautiful surroundings. And the photos made his beautiful Petunia look positively plain. The accessories she had bought, which they had thought smart, looked like costume jewellery. There was even a photo of Narcissa standing next to her, and the contrast between the rubies she was wearing on her Parisian dress and Petunia's outfit was obvious, even in the poor quality newspaper photograph.

Vernon dropped his head in his hands. He had planned on going into work and grovelling for his job back; but it was obvious now that that was a no-go. This story would cause a great hue and cry. He'd have to wait for that to die down. Oh well, a few days, it would all blow over, he thought, as he turned the page and his eyes lit on the next headline: **Surrey Children in Danger**.

He started reading the article for want of anything better to do. The article started for all the world as if it was one of those fluffy, no-content pieces about how deplorable it was that children should suffer at the hands of adults. They always made him gag; as far as he was concerned, it was just as deplorable that adults should suffer at the hands of children, or in his case freaks, but no-one ever wrote about that.

But it did not take long before he recognised the piece for what it was. While it was light on facts, and stopped short of any allegations, it mentioned policemen who had falsified evidence; employees who had lied about their treatment of family members; men taking their family on holiday and leaving some poor child behind; and suggested darkly at 'domestic abuse and the beating of children within our own neighbourhood, here in Little Whinging'. And was it his imagination, or was it no accident that one of the photographs from the previous page had somehow ended up being printed next to the article?

His brows darkened. Someone had been talking, he thought. Someone was going to get a stern talking-to. And, even with the freak gone for good, Vernon wasn't going to go anywhere for a week. People around here had long memories; someone was bound to remember him and put two and two together.

While he was in the middle of these thoughts, all of a sudden there came a knock on the window of the front room. Petunia started, and jumped almost out of her seat.

"Oh no!" she said in alarm. "It's not those hooligans again!"

"What hooligans?" Vernon demanded.

"Someone threw a flowerpot through the window yesterday," she replied, timorously. "Made a horrid mess."

"WHAT?" Vernon roared as he jumped to his feet. He was very concerned; his 'Tunia could take care of herself, she was a fighter; but somehow, the fight seemed to have all gone out of her. He ran into the front room, expecting trouble; a rock through the window perhaps.

But there was no rock, and no broken glass; at the window there was a bird tapping on the glass. He opened the window to shoo it away; but instead, it flew in and landed on his favourite chair.

"OI!" he said to it. "Clear off!"

The bird cocked its head and looked at him. If he had supposed the creature capable of rational thought, he would have said it was a disdainful look; but Vernon Dursley did not indulge in such flights of fancy. The owl, for he now realised that was what it was, flew off the chair, depositing a letter on the rug as it flew out of the still-open window. Mechanically, Vernon picked up the letter and went into the kitchen.

"It's one of those blasted freak letters," he said, looking at the envelope in his hand. Petunia glanced over, and then blanched.

"That's Dudders' writing," she said. "Give it here."

He did, and she opened the envelope and extracted the parchment. The letter was not very long; it only took her a minute to read it. Her face went even paler. She handed it back to her husband, and told him to read it out loud.

 _Dear Petunia and Vernon,_ it began, and already she felt awful: her Dudders referring to them by name, rather than 'Mum and Dad'.

_Now that I've reached eighteen, and am legally an adult, I've decided I have to square up to a few things. You guys brought me up, and never spared me anything; I used to think that was a good thing, that you were the best parents in the world. You gave me everything I wanted. But then Harry saved me from that Demented thing, and it kind of changed my view of a few things._

_I realised that you don't love him at all. And that's not OK. He came to us as a helpless baby; we treated him like a slave. That's not OK. You gave me everything I ever asked for; you never gave him anything. Which just made me a greedy pig and a bully, and him a fearful, love-starved mess._

_Then I realised you didn't really love me, either. You just wanted me to be like you. And in the end it was him who showed me that; it was him who told me I could be who I want to be, not who you want to be._

_So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to be my own man. You've spoilt me; but I can straighten out. But I don't really think you can help me any more, so this is it, really. Harry has welcomed me into his family; so I'm leaving yours. From today, I reject all things Dursley; from today, I will be a Potter._

_Dudley_ _._

"That ungrateful bastard!" Vernon shouted. "Why, he-, he-, he can't do this!" he spluttered.

"Vernon…," Petunia said in a low voice; but he didn't hear her as he ranted on.

"I'll take him out of that school!"

"Vernon!" a little louder this time…

"If he's not a Dursley, I won't pay another penny piece for his education!"

"VERNON!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. That did it; he shut up and looked at her, stupefied that she would actually shout at him.

"That's better," she said, fixing a beady eye on him. "Now, you listen to me. That is EXACTLY the attitude that caused everything with Harry."

"Wha—" he said, but she cut him off with a glance.

"Don't. If we ever want to see Dudley again, and I assure you I do, we are going to have to play nice here."

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.

* * *

Harry pottered around Grimmauld Place for half an hour or so; Ozymandias returned, having let himself in through the open slit in the owl-loft at the top of the house, and Harry fed him owl treats, and sat at the table with a fresh cup of tea. He looked over at the eagle owl, sitting on his perch. The bird looked for all the world as though he was out of sorts.

"You miss him too, don't you?" Harry asked.

Ozymandias looked at him, gave a slow, mournful nod, and set to preening his feathers.

"This is stupid," Harry said. "Draco's been gone less than an hour, and here I am moaning about it to a bird!"

This outburst earned him a filthy look, and he apologized to the owl; then felt stupid all over again for doing so.

"Right!" he said, mostly to himself. "I am not going to sit here moping!"

He got up, took a pinch of Floo powder, and called the Manor.

"Good morning, Harry," Narcissa said, once she had been alerted to the call by Dippy. "How can I help?"

"Er, it's a bit stupid I guess," Harry began; Narcissa held her tongue and let him continue, "but Draco has gone off with Ron and Hermione and I didn't because I have to go with Lucius, and I guess … I miss him. After an hour. How sad is that?"

Narcissa hid the smile that came unbidden to her lips. It would not do for Harry to think she was making fun at him. But in fact she thought it was very sweet that the two were so much in love.

"Why don't you come through?" she invited. "You don't have to be there alone."

He smiled at her, grateful that she understood.

"Thanks, I will," he said, reaching for another pinch of powder.

* * *

Having watched Ron eat a large breakfast already, Draco was amused that as soon as they arrived at the Burrow, Molly sat them both down and insisted that they must be starving and in need of breakfast.

"Thanks mum," Ron said, accepting a plate of bacon and eggs as he gave Draco a sly wink.

"Just tea and toast thanks," Draco said when Molly looked at him expectantly. "I'm not feeling particularly hungry just for the moment."

Molly shook her head, obviously worried that he wasn't eating enough. It gave Draco a strange feeling in his chest; the former feud between Malfoys and Weasleys was clearly dead and buried.

"Morning, Draco!" Hermione said breezily as she wandered into the kitchen, clutching a squirming Miriam tightly. "Is Harry here?"

"Harry has to—" Ron began, and Draco gave him a warning look.

"—run a few errands with my father," the blond finished. He knew Harry really wouldn't want Hermione to get all worked up about Dudley before he could explain things himself.

The brunette looked at him sternly for a few seconds, but seemed to accept the answer at face value.

"All right," she said, taking a seat. "We'll just wait for Ron to finish his –"

"Second", Draco mouthed.

"—third breakfast," Hermione said, too quietly for anyone but the three of them to hear. Ron brushed bright red at having been caught out, and Draco roared with laughter.

Molly, puzzled, turned around to see the scene, and decided that they were all adults, and she probably didn't want to know. At least Draco seemed to enjoy being at the Burrow; that was a positive thing, she thought. She would hate for it to become a bone of contention for Harry; the last thing she wanted was for her seventh son to avoid coming because of the blond. And that set her thinking: Neville was a day older than Harry, did that mean he was seventh and Harry eighth? Or was that all too silly?

She was interrupted by the children getting up from the table. Ron seemed to have finished breakfast in record time, she mused.

"Well, we should go," Ron said.

"Yes," Hermione said, still smirking at having put Ron so out of countenance. "Mum and Dad are already there; shall we apparate?"

"I have to Floo, sorry," Draco said mournfully.

Hermione's face fell. Of course he did; she knew about the terms of his release, and berated herself for not remembering. But Draco gave her a small smile, to show that it didn't matter and there were no hard feelings.

"Of course," she said, shortly. "Floo it is then. We'll have to get a connection set up to the network for you, though. That could take a while…"

Ron grinned. "Not if dad does it. It takes them about twenty minutes if it's a ministerial level request."

A Floo-call to Arthur Weasley, and half an hour later they were at the Granger's house.

* * *

Petunia opened the door to find that nice Mr Simpkins from No 10 on the doorstep.

"Oh!" she said brightly. "Mr Simpkins! Do come in!"

She ushered him into the front room and offered him a seat.

"No, I'm sorry my dear, but I won't sit. I shan't be here long. Is Mr Dursley there?"

Vernon, hearing his name, came into the room with them.

"Ah," Mr Simpkins said, looking them up and down. Mr Simpkins was the very stereotype of a town solicitor, elderly and grey. He was quite used to all sorts of strange people walking into his practice; he had learnt long ago to smile and be friendly to all, but never to believe a word they said until it could be proven.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said. "You'll have seen the newspaper this morning?"

The Dursleys nodded, not quite sure what to make of the normally genial man, who was currently eyeing them with a carefully blank face.

"I'm afraid," he continued, "that the majority of your neighbours have, too. And the ones in Privet Drive, at least, seem to have come firmly to the view that you are not the people they thought you were."

"I see," said Vernon shortly. "Who do they think we are now?"

"Bluntly," the older man replied, "a shameless hussy and a child-molester."

Vernon went red. "How dare they?" he blustered.

The solicitor eyed him critically. Years of experience told him this was not the bluster of an innocent man; on the contrary, it was exactly how a bully behaved when his bullying had been found out.

"I think," he said quietly, "that it is not up to you or me to tell people what to dare to think. But I do suggest, Mr Dursley, that you watch your step. There are no effective laws in this country to stop gossip; I for one am glad of that. You stand accused in the court of public opinion; that may prove even more harmful to you in the long run than the courts of the land."

Vernon looked at him, going redder and redder, and formed his hands into fists.

"Get. Out." He said, through gritted teeth.

"Certainly," Mr Simpkins said mildly, and did so.

When the front door had closed, Vernon let out a long sigh. Now that the immediate anger had gone, he felt all weak at the knees, and sank into his favourite armchair. It was at this point that he discovered that the blasted eagle owl had left not only the letter, but another deposit behind; one that he had now ground into the seat of his pants.

"Shit!" he screamed; and though this outburst met with Petunia's stony-faced disapproval, it was, at least, entirely factually correct.

* * *

Harry sat in his garden at Malfoy Manor, a cup of tea laced liberally with honey in his hand. Narcissa and Lucius had had urgent business with some Italian visitors, and were shut up in Lucius's study; he couldn't begrudge them this, feeling that he had pretty much forced himself on them this morning. But he would have welcomed their company nonetheless.

There was a rustle of feathers, and Ozymandias landed next to him.

"Hello there," Harry said, then wondered why Draco's owl was here. Perhaps… He hoped… "Have you got a letter for me?"

The bird shook his head, not looking at him. Harry could have sworn he was ashamed.

"OK, so why are you here? Were you just lonely too?"

Ozymandias lifted his head slightly, glanced at Harry, and then started preening himself. Harry decided that probably meant 'yes'. Well, he didn't mind the bird sitting there with him, he decided. He put his arms crossed on the table, and rested his head on them.

 _How stupid is this?_ He thought to himself. Here he was, it was a pleasant day, but the only thing he could think of was how much he wished Draco was there. It made him wonder if this was how Draco might have felt while Harry was healing, being without him for days.…

"Harry?" a voice asked, interrupting his dreams. By the position of the sun, it was clear that he must have fallen asleep for a couple of hours. He woke up, groggy, and looked up at the newcomer. He didn't recognise him at first; he knew as soon as he heard the voice that it wasn't the voice he wanted to hear, so he didn't feel in a great hurry.

He looked up to see the concerned eyes of Blaise Zabini looking down at him.

"Harry?" he asked again, the hesitation in his voice all too evident. "Um, you're not looking so well."

"Thanks," Harry said drily, and shook his head to wake himself up properly. "Not a good position for sleeping", he continued, trying to explain away his bedraggled look.

Blaise pursed his lips. It was an excuse, he knew that; and he didn't believe it. There was more to it than that. But Harry wasn't a close enough friend for him to call him on it.

"The Malfoys were concerned for you. They have nearly finished the business with my mother and step-father, so sent me to make sure you were all right. And say they will come out in a minute."

"Oh," Harry said, a little surprised to learn that it was Blaise's parents that the Malfoys were seeing; but he guessed that the name they had said – Renzi – was Blaise's step-father's name; his mother's married name was of course no longer Zabini. Also, he was not quite sure why he was being given the warning. Did they think he needed time to groom himself or something?

"Ah, there you are," came Narcissa's dulcet tones, interrupting his thoughts. "We wondered if perhaps you'd gone up for a short nap."

Harry was mystified. "Do I look like I need one?" he asked.

Narcissa gave him a look that said more clearly than words did that he did indeed look exactly like he needed one; then she tipped her head on one side, appraising him.

"Hmm," she said. "I see you have indeed had a nap; are you feeling any better for it?"

Harry pondered the question. It was pretty direct, for a Slytherin; but this was his future mother-in-law, she probably deserved to know the truth.

"Er, not really," came the reply.

"I didn't think so," she said. "I think perhaps we had better get Healer Touauld to have a look at you, just to be sure."

"Oh!" Harry rejoined, "Oh, I'm sure there's no need to bother her–" But he stopped in mid-sentence; Narcissa had already gone inside to make arrangements. It was clear that he wasn't getting out of this one easily.

* * *

Agnes Touauld did not share Harry's opinion; after taking Harry into Draco's bedroom for a full examination, she turned to Narcissa, who had accompanied them unbidden, and announced that she was very glad to be called in.

"You, young man, have been overdoing it," she said. "I think we need to do what I probably should have done in the first place and call in a specialist mind healer."

Harry looked like he would object; Narcissa silenced him with a look. "Is there someone you would recommend?" she asked.

"Oh, I'll get Armand in," she said breezily, "if that's all right with Mr Potter?"

Harry waved his agreement. It was quite clear to him that he wasn't really going to get a say in his healing, not with these two witches, and he decided to bow to the inevitable.

"Who is Armand?" he asked.

"Armand Ionescu," Touauld replied.

"The best mind healer St Mungo's ever had," Narcissa added helpfully, "but now retired, unfortunately."

Harry wondered aloud why someone retired would want to see him.

"Because he's also my husband," Touauld replied succinctly, and turned to Narcissa. "Where can I Floo-call from?"

Narcissa took her out of the room; she returned about fifteen minutes later.

"Healer Touauld has returned home, and Mr Ionescu will visit you tomorrow morning," she informed him. "You and Draco are to let him know where you are first thing. But for the moment, they both think it's important that we get hold of Draco and you spend the next little while close to one another."

Harry grimaced, and Narcissa had no trouble understanding the look on his face.

"Harry, you're not being stupid, or silly, or a clingy nuisance," she said, eyeing him fondly. "You are still not well, even though you may feel you are. You have been through a major healing event; you still need physical reassurance."

"OK," Harry replied, with a sheepish grin. "But Draco is helping the Grangers at their house, I don't know where that is."

Narcissa smiled at him. "Oh, I'm sure that Mappy will find him. I think perhaps I might invite them all to lunch?"

Harry's eyes went wide at this; Narcissa Malfoy would invite Muggles to Malfoy Manor? The sheer love of the gesture brought a lump to his throat, and, quite unable to speak, he simply nodded in reply.

Narcissa called Mappy and explained what was wanted.

"Of course, Mistress!" the elf replied happily. "Mappy will be finding Master Draco without delay!" With that, he vanished.

* * *

To his very great surprise, Draco had very much enjoyed the morning. It had taken an hour and a half to complete the preliminary diagnostic spell work, largely because Granger – Hermione, he berated himself – insisted on taking copious notes and questioning him on everything; but eventually he had managed to convince her to shut up long enough to actually cast some spells, and discover by doing, something she seemed rather bad at. She insisted that they would do a much better job if they understood everything first; which was rather blown out of the water when they started casting spells in earnest, and Ron managed to finish two rooms before Hermione had got very far from one.

"I don't understand!" she wailed. "How can Ron be so much better than me when he hasn't fully grasped the theory?"

"Because magic is elemental," Draco explained patiently. "It is attuned to your whole being, not just your mind. Weas—Ron can control his through feelings as well as mind, and that makes for stronger magic in practice."

Hermione blinked at that. No-one had ever suggested such a thing to her at Hogwarts, and she huffily pointed this out to the blond.

Draco just smiled at her and asked, "who would have dared?" That shut her up.

An hour later, he had taught her about flowing into the spell – not trying to understand it in every detail, just letting it be, and directing it with her emotional control – and he could almost see the moment when it all clicked. She had her eyes shut and was clearly concentrating hard; the mildew in the walls was evaporating slowly but steadily; and then suddenly, she opened her eyes.

"Oh!" she said, and the mildew was all gone and the walls were pristine.

Draco smirked. "Oh, indeed," he said. "Well done; I don't think I've ever seen anyone fix mildew so quickly."

Hermione smiled, but did not get to say anything as a house-elf appeared in front of her.

"Yes, Mappy?" Draco drawled.

"Mistress Narcissa is saying Healer Madam Touauld is saying Master Harry is needing Master Draco right away! And is asking if Master Draco's friends is please all being coming to lunch?"

"What?" Hermione said, perplexed.

Draco interpreted for her: "apparently Harry is at the Manor and needs me. If Touauld has been there, it must be pretty bad, so I'll Floo straight away. In the meantime, would you and your family do us the honour of being our guests for lunch?"

Hermione giggled. Draco might be a stuck-up ponce at times, but he did have nice manners.

"I'm sure that would be lovely. Please thank your mother for us. It's amazingly kind of her to invite Muggles to her house. I'll round everybody up; we're practically done here, away. Oh, and Draco?"

The blond, who had started for the fireplace, stopped and looked back.

"Thank you for your help today," the brunette said, and the sincerity in her eyes quite took his breath away.

"You're welcome," he said rather lamely, and then Flooed home to the Manor.

* * *

Blaise and his mother also stayed for lunch, his step-father having returned to work at whatever it was he did in the City. Harry was at first rather overwhelmed by the beautiful witch; but she gushed and cooed over Miriam, at which everyone laughed, and all the tension melted away.

They dined on the main lawn, so that Miriam could play on the grass, supervised by Mappy and Dippy. The toddler clearly adored the strange little creatures, and it was equally clear that the feeling was mutual. Harry rather wondered why they hadn't had lunch in a less open space, until Narcissa suggested that he might like to show Ron and Hermione his garden. Then he smiled at her gratefully, understanding that she was giving them a chance to spend time without the 'boring' grown-ups.

Ron and Hermione loved the garden, and were amazed to learn that the Malfoys had made it especially for him. Harry blushed as the story was told, and changed the subject by explaining that this was also the garden where they captured Yaxley. Ron knew the story from emails, but he made Harry, Draco and Blaise explain in detail what had happened and where everyone had stood and so on, asking such detailed questions that eventually Hermione threw up her hands in horror.

"Enough, already!" she all but screamed. "Do you really need to know every little detail of what happened?"

But the others looked at her, and the two Gryffindor youths burst out laughing (which did not help her temper at all).

"Now you know how it feels when someone wants to know everything!" they told her.

* * *

On the lawn, Peter and Margaret heard their daughter's raised voice and their ears pricked up.

"I shouldn't worry," Narcissa said. "It's only four boys against her, that's nearly a fair fight!"

Peter looked scandalised at this, but Margaret and Mrs Renzi laughed.

"Tell me," Mrs Granger asked, delicately (as she thought) changing the subject, "do you just have these two elves? Or are there more?"

Narcissa stumbled for a second. This wasn't the sort of question one asked; but of course the Muggles didn't know that. How to answer?

"Ah," she said, settling on candour with a small glossing over the bumpy points as the simplest and best policy. She wasn't, of course, going to mention that they didn't wish to flaunt their wealth for fear the Ministry might still confiscate it. But it wasn't like the Grangers were likely to cause trouble, after all; and Blaise's mum was aware of the situation. "No. The Malfoys have other houses with larger staffs; but we pared the Manor down to just these two when we had a rather unpleasant house guest, and we've decided to make do with them since out of habit, I suppose."

"Oh," said Margaret, satisfied. "They certainly seem to do an amazing job – your home is truly lovely, Mrs Malfoy."

"Thank you," Narcissa replied, pleased at the compliment. "And please, do call me Narcissa."

* * *

That afternoon there was an unusual assortment of persons in the Bursar's office at Smeltings Academy. It was not that unusual to have the headmaster present, of course; nor a student; and the gentleman present had an aristocratic bearing about him that was quite the sort of tone they wanted; but the bursar was unsure of the other young man; he seemed quiet and pleasant enough, but there was something about him that told the man he wouldn't fit in at Smeltings. And as for the two policemen, that was unheard of.

Still, young Dudley Dursley was now legally an adult and it was difficult to deny the requests. Particularly when the paperwork Mr Malfoy produced was impeccable – especially the cheque, large enough to cover all the remaining tuition. He surveyed everything carefully, of course; but there was nothing to find fault with, even for such a pedant as he.

"Yes, well, I think this is all in order," he harrumphed.

"Very good," Lucius smiled. He knew perfectly well that the most important thing was the cheque; and as that had been verified by the man's secretary already, he knew that there would be no further problems. "And, as agreed, we may borrow Mr Dursley for the afternoon?"

"It is a little unusual, as you are not next-of-kin," the headmaster began. Harry and Dudley fixed him with beady stares; Lucius, watching, felt a shiver run down his spine at the way the two faces had exactly the same expression; it was the first time they had displayed any shared familiar trait.

Dudley, oblivious to Lucius's thoughts, glared hard at his headmaster. This outing had already been agreed, and he wasn't about to be talked out of it. Dudley's face was so fierce that the man visibly wilted in the face of it. "But I suppose it is his birthday, and he is of age," he said a little less portentously. "So, very well, you may have a half-day to attend to these affairs, Mr Dursley. But please see to it that any further time required is advised with more notice."

"Yes sir," Dudley said, his voice that of the perfect, submissive student, though his eyes still looked dangerous.

Three hours later, Dudley Dursley was no more, and Dudley Potter proudly entered Smeltings Academy.

Lucius smiled as they farewelled Dudley at the school gate. Harry had forgiven his cousin, and been worried about him, ever since that meeting at the Manor. But now Dudley was safely out of his parents' clutches.

Vengeance on the Dursleys could now begin in earnest.

* * *

Harry was privately delighted when Lucius and Narcissa invited them to have dinner and stay the night at the Manor. He was still feeling a little fragile after his sudden outburst of emotion earlier that morning; for once, he allowed himself to ignore his dislike of being mollycoddled. It was nice to feel that Narcissa was mothering him; so he put up a token resistance to the idea, then accepted gladly.

For their part, Lucius and Narcissa gave a paper-thin excuse about the Manor being a better place for the mind-healer to arrive in, but in truth it was simply because Narcissa was worried about her boys, and wanted to keep a close eye on them. And she felt her concerns were proved well-founded at dinner, when she noticed that Harry, who she had taken care to seat next to Draco, seemed to constantly be reaching out to touch the blond.

"So, Harry, how was the visit to Smeltings this afternoon?" she asked him politely, as the main course was served.

"It was surreal," Harry replied, grinning at the memory. "The teachers there are really stuffy; I got the feeling that, apart from Lucius, they didn't want us there at all, especially the policemen."

Narcissa, ignoring the fact that Harry and Draco's hands were now touching, gave him a puzzled look in reply.

"They wanted Lucius there?" she asked.

"Well, I think he was 'the right sort'," he replied, and she smiled to indicate that she understood the point he was making.

"I see," she said, her eyes sparkling. It seemed that snobbery was alive and well in the Muggle world, too; and Lucius's aristocratic bearing worked just as well there. That didn't surprise her at all. "And how about Mr – I can't say 'Dursley' any more, can I?" she mused, casting around for the right way to ask. "How was the new Mr Potter?"

"Dudley was brilliant!" Harry replied. "He was so happy when we got all the paperwork done."

"What was the tower he kept thanking you for?" Lucius asked.

"Oh, he wants to do civil engineering, so I gave him a scale model of the Eiffel Tower for his birthday. It gives a really good view of how it all fits together. And I enchanted all the lifts so they work just like the real ones."

Lucius threw his head back and laughed, and Harry grinned to see it. But Narcissa did not miss the look of tiredness in the raven-haired teen's eyes, nor the fact that the two boys were now obviously holding hands below the table-top. Draco had contrived somehow to do so discreetly, and started to draw Lucius off into general conversation; but Narcissa felt it was only a matter of time before the Malfoy patriarch noticed what was going on, and he would probably feel he would have to intervene. Who knew how the demands of the Debt, and of hospitality, as against proper decorum, would play out?

Narcissa looked around, wondering if there was a way to avoid the question altogether. To her relief, she saw that everyone had finished, and clapped her hands for Dippy.

"Well, boys, I think we've bored you long enough, and I think Harry looks like he needs an early night; why don't you have dessert together in your room?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows at this very unusual suggestion; but looking at Harry he could see the boy was all in, and evidently relieved at the idea.

"Go on, go, the pair of you," he said, waving his hand to shoo them away, as Draco looked like he didn't quite believe he'd heard correctly. "Your mother and I have some grown-up things to discuss."

As he had intended, this remark caused Draco a moment of confusion; but then he too clocked the look of weariness in Harry's eyes.

"Well," he said, playing along, his tone at once mischievous and superior, "far be it from us to interrupt when there are matters of state to discuss. Come, Harry, we'll tip-toe away and leave these two to their delusions of grandeur, shall we?"

In the event, Harry didn't get dessert that night; it took them five minutes to get to Draco's bedroom, but he was in bed five minutes after that. Draco sat for a few minutes, holding his fiancé and carding his fingers through his hair, as Harry swiftly fell asleep.

"Oh Harry," he murmured. He hugged the man tightly. He was so much in love; and while he loved the fact that Harry was so obviously comfortable with being touched all the time, his heart ached that his wonderful fiancé still hurt so much, still had a way to go to be healed, was still plagued by weariness. As he fell asleep, his last conscious thought was the hope that the morning would bring help from the healer and that Harry would get over this soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions!
> 
> Lots of love to all who read, give kudos and comment!


	48. … and Not So Friendly Ones

**48\. … and Not So Friendly Ones**

_Wednesday 24 June 1998_

Vernon woke up early again, and stared at the clock. Quarter past seven. He sighed deeply. What was the point in getting up? He had no job to go to, and, if he was realistic about his chances, he felt sure that there was nothing to do about that but ride out the week and hope that he could get something happening next week. He didn't dare leave the house, anyway; from what that dry old stick Simpkins had said, the neighbours would probably lynch him on sight. And much though he hated to admit it, the man was probably right.

He really just wanted to pull the covers back over his head and fall back to sleep. There really was nothing stopping him from doing so, he decided. Except that … oh dear …

Five minutes later he had his head down the toilet again. It seems he could keep nothing down but bread and water. Well, if nothing else, this stomach bug should help him lose a little weight …

* * *

Armand Ionescu turned out to be quite the loveliest wizard Harry had ever met. He did, it was true, mutter under his breath about "damn healers who think they know all about mind healing", but it was clear there was no heat in it at all.

He sat Harry and Draco down together in Draco's study and asked them to tell him all about what had happened to Harry during his illness. Once he had heard the full story, the mind-healer sat in contemplation for a couple of minutes. The two lovers watched him carefully, wondering what he would have to say about the healing process.

"Well," he said, "I see now why Agnes thought you have been overdoing it; and as a provisional diagnosis, I must say I completely agree with it."

Harry looked a bit confused, so the healer continued gently, "once you agreed to see me, she filled me in on her own observations."

"So why did you make me tell it to you all again?" Harry demanded.

Armand smiled; it was a most disarming smile. "Because I wanted to know what you would tell me," he replied, simply. "And I am very happy that you have been quite open with me. And now I must ask you something I know is difficult, but I assure you is necessary. Will you allow me to cast Legilimens on you?"

Harry looked at him for a moment; but of course, the man was a mind-healer, the mind-penetrating spell had to be an important part of his diagnostic repertoire. The open, honest, serious expression the man now had on his face went a long way to reassuring the raven-haired lad that the man would not harm him, as other people had.

"I have had some rather bad experiences with Legilimency," Harry said, quietly. Draco snorted, having heard about the sessions Harry had had with Severus Snape. The mind-healer ignored him completely.

"I understand," the man replied. "I promise I will not add to them."

Harry gathered up all his courage. "All right," he said. "What do I have to do?"

The smile was back; the eyes crinkled and then grew wide; and all of a sudden Harry was aware of another mind alongside his.

"Can you show me the world you made that contained the blackness you fought?" he heard the healer ask. The man had been quite right; his Legilimency was so well-controlled, so subtle, that it felt not intrusive at all. It was much more like inviting a guest into your mind. Harry found that a comforting thought, and fixed on the idea of inviting Armand into the meadow he had sat in.

Instantly, the sky cleared and there was grass underfoot.

"Magnificent!" he heard – if that was the right word – the healer exclaim. "Your realisation of this space is truly impressive."

Harry watched as the older man walked over to the adjacent flowerbeds. The healer let out a big belly-laugh when the snapdragons snapped at him.

"Oh my," he said. "This really is most impressive. Now, where was the blackness?"

Harry thought for a moment, and they were falling through space, surrounded by the plumes of light. All of a sudden, they hit the ground; but there was no darkness any more, and the area looked clean.

The healer looked around, a concerned look on his face. "This area is empty," he observed, rather unnecessarily.

"Yes," Harry said. "It used to be black; isn't empty better?"

"Empty is better than black, yes," the healer said, slowly, "but full is much better than empty. You have a space here, a space that can hold memories; you and Mr Malfoy need to start filling it with happy ones."

He looked around a little more, and then smiled at Harry. "Do not worry," he said, simply, and Harry suddenly found that he had been worried, but no longer was. "Good," Armand continued. "Now, I think I have seen what I need to here; let us return."

Harry was sure that the man could easily have extricated himself from his mind, and probably without hurting Harry; but he decided that, for the healer, that would be rude. He was Harry's guest; it was Harry's duty to escort him out.

A moment later, Harry opened his eyes, to find Draco staring at him open-mouthed.

"You closed your eyes," the blond said, his voice a whisper. "How is that possible?"

Ionescu looked at him, the eyes brightening in delight at the intelligent interest the young man was showing.

"It is true that normal Legilimency requires open eyes," he said, in a clipped, precise voice that would not have been out of place in a classroom (where, Harry suspected, it had often been heard). "But Mr Potter had constructed an elaborate realm in his mind, one I believe you have visited?"

Draco nodded. "The meadow," he said.

"Quite so. It is possible to enter such spaces, and remain there, without the need for eye contact; indeed, it is easier that way.

"Now, we need to discuss the events since the healing."

Haltingly, the two boys told him things, finding that they wove together quite a story about the events: Ron and Hermione's return, Dudley's visit, their visit to Paris, the business with Bill, Neville and George's wedding, and the events of the previous day. The last interested Draco quite a lot; he had not heard about the visit to the Registry office, and was delighted to see how happy Harry appeared to be to have Dudley as a Potter.

The healer did not look quite so delighted. "Mr Potter, you have been very busy; you seem determined to make yourself useful to everyone else. Which is very commendable, of course; I'm sure your cousin is very grateful, and that the work you have done at Hogwarts is much appreciated. But the healing process you have been through is very traumatic all by itself. It's time for a little down-time. You need to go away for a while."

"Away?" Harry asked.

"Yes, away," the healer replied. "What, out of all the things you have recited, did you enjoy the most?"

Harry looked a little baffled. He was still worried that the man felt he had been overdoing things; to be truthful, as they had recited all of the events of the last few days, it certainly sounded like it.

"The Paris trip?" the mind-healer prompted, and Harry grimaced.

"I suppose that probably was overdoing it," he admitted ruefully.

Armand looked at him blankly. "Quite the opposite," he replied. "You may have been busy; but you were doing what you wanted, and you were being looked after. My professional opinion, Mr Potter, is that you need to go on another holiday like that, a holiday where you do what you like and nothing is expected of you. What do you need to do in the next week?"

"Hogwarts starts on the first," Draco said; "we need to get all our school supplies organised, and robes, and packing for the term…"

The healer waved his hand, the gesture clearly saying that this was all trivial detail. "I don't want you going to Diagon Alley; you won't get the rest you need there. I'm sure Madame Malkin can call here and measure you for robes; the rest can be ordered and delivered to Hogwarts. Do you have a house-elf, Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded, wondering if he was going to be allowed any say in the events.

"Very good," Armand continued, "he can pack for you both, I'm sure. What else needs to be done?"

Draco looked at him. The man was very business-like and professional; it was clear that this was going to happen. But what, exactly, was 'this', he wondered? It was all very well to say 'go on holiday'; but one had to find accommodation, and sort out transport, and pack …

"We do need to organise somewhere to go," he said, softly. "And then let our friends know we're going."

Ionescu laughed out loud. "Of course you do. But please, do not tell your friends where you are; just that you are away. I'm sure that they love you madly, but Mr Potter needs time to rest without being worried by anyone else. I'm sure that you'll think of somewhere; a family property, perhaps? Doesn't your family have a chateau in France?"

"Yes, indeed. I'll ask father if we may borrow it," Draco replied, and called Dippy and asked her to ask Lucius to come.

Half an hour later, it was all agreed: they would leave for the chateau after dinner that evening; and Harry was expressly ordered not to worry about a thing before the start of the next school year.

* * *

To Petunia's irritation, Vernon had spent most of the morning lying on the sofa, doing nothing. She had had to clean around him; why was it that people were always in the way, she wondered.

It was only after she'd vacuumed the room for the third time that she realised something was up. She looked around, slowly and carefully, and in front of her eyes she could see dust falling on the furniture, dirt patches on the carpet, and a slight odour in the air. It was almost like … magic.

Magic. The freaks. This was their doing.

Furious, she put down the Hoover, took off her gloves, and went and made a cup of tea for herself and Vernon.

When she returned to the front room, her husband was moaning.

"Stomach again?" she asked, handing him the cup of tea.

He looked up, surprised to be addressed. When Petunia started a cleaning frenzy, it usually took uninterrupted hours.

"Yes," he said, then took the tea with a hasty, "thanks."

"It's the freaks," she said, taking a seat, carefully avoiding the one the owl had done its business on earlier.

Vernon looked confused. Out of it, she thought. Well, in retrospect, he hadn't eaten much for the last few days.

"What's 'the freaks'?" he asked.

"All of it. Look, it can't be co-incidence. You've lost your job; we've had policemen here asking about my freak nephew; Mr Simpkins came and practically ordered us to keep our heads down in case the neighbours lopped them off; the house is always a mess, even when I've just cleaned it; that owl that brought the letter from Dudley yesterday, the bird must have come from one of the freaks; your stomach bug; and then there were those articles in the paper. It all adds up. Someone knows, Vernon. Someone knows what we did, and is going to punish us for it! And – ohh …"

Petunia had been working herself up, getting louder and louder as she ranted on, but at the end, she must have remembered something; she went strangely quiet, which Vernon found a lot more disturbing than the rant.

And then he too remembered. The dream came back to him again: dinner with the Malloys, who he had thought would be safe allies and hoped to impress enough to manoeuver Collings out, but who had turned out to be Malfoys, wizards, and far more dangerous than he had ever imagined ...

* * *

Having decided with Harry exactly who to tell what, Draco insisted that it was he who Floo-called the Burrow. Harry really wasn't going to worry about a thing, as far as he was concerned, even the small stress of telling people he was going away. Molly took the call, and told him that Ron and Hermione were at her parents' house. He thanked her for letting him know, explaining that they were going away for a few days at the orders of the healer.

"Oh!" said Molly. "But I thought Harry was looking better? Is it really as bad as that?"

"Healer Ionescu seems to think so," Draco replied.

"Armand?" Molly enquired, a stunned look on her face.

"Yes, indeed," Draco replied.

"But he retired years ago! Hasn't been seen for ages! How come …" and then realisation dawned on the face in the fireplace. "Oh. Of course, Agnes called him in. I see. How clever of Minerva!"

"Headmistress McGonagall?" Draco asked, a little confused.

"Yes," Molly replied. "Agnes is her aunt – that's the only reason she came, I'm sure; she's been retired for years and refuses all requests to come out of retirement. When Voldemort came to power, she and Armand left England for France and vowed not to come back. But Agnes always had a soft spot for her niece, and Armand would do anything for Agnes. It's funny, really. Minerva comes across as a tough-minded old stick, and Agnes can be even worse; but the family was always very close and loving to one another."

"Hmm," Draco said. "Thank you, Molly. Please excuse me; I must get on with a few more calls. We'll catch up with you sometime after we get back, I'm sure."

"Yes, well, we'll see you on the platform, of course, but you must come and visit soon after that."

Draco called off. He chuckled to himself. The platform. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at Kings Cross Station. He had quite forgotten about the Hogwarts Express. This time, they would all be – well, if not friends, at least not enemies. It was going to be a different trip to usual, that was for sure. To his wry amusement, he found he was, for the first time in years, actually looking forward to it.

* * *

Petunia was sitting at home in body, her eyes closed; but in her mind she was reliving the dinner on the previous Sunday evening. She watched as they entered the restaurant, and once again felt the sense of awe that she had been allowed into such a beautiful place. Everything screamed good taste, from the rich, velvet curtains right down to the simple but elegant damask napkins on the tables, all folded perfectly.

They sat down to the table, and the waiter unostentatiously helped her with her napkin and poured her some water. The food was laid before them. She had remembered before only that it was exquisite; but now she could see it again in front of her, and the delicate quails in the oh-so-delectably-light truffle sauce made her mouth water all over again with the memory.

The sole meunière had been even better; she and Narcissa had both felt so full after it that they forewent the meat course, and while the men had happily hoed into the delicious-looking beef, they had chatted like old friends. It was amazing to Petunia how well the other woman understood her; it was almost like having Lily back, she thought, Lily before the freaks had got to her sister and stolen her away from her.

 _That should have been a clue_ , she thought ruefully. But she watched on as the memory played out. After a delicious and sinfully rich tiramisu for dessert, they had had coffee and liqueurs in the lounge. She had expected a large, shared room; but they were shown into quite a cozy, intimate space, roomy enough for them, but clearly a private area.

And then the balloon had gone up.

"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely honest with you," the blond-haired man had said. "You see, my name is actually Lucius Malfoy."

"And you?" Vernon had asked of his wife. "Are you really Narcissa?"

The woman smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Oh yes," she said, softly, too softly, "I really am. And I am a witch."

Petunia had nearly fainted at that point, and even the mere memory of the event was enough to send shock rippling through her. It really was Lily all over again – the only people she could really have been friends with were stolen away by those freaks.

And then Mr Malfoy had said that his son was engaged to The Freak himself, her nephew, and Petunia had gagged. Trust the freak to marry a man!

Vernon had yelled at him, and the reply had come back in a very cold voice: "Of the two of you, he is not the one I would refer to as 'the freak'."

Petunia had found herself quite literally speechless, and remembered willing Vernon to shut up at this point. Mercifully, it seemed he had worked out just how much danger they were in, as the Malfoys explained about how much they knew. It was frightening; Vernon had assured her that no-one could ever work it out, but it seemed he had been completely wrong about that.

She played perhaps the last card she had left.

"What could I do? I had to! Don't you see? Vernon is my husband; it's my duty as his wife to back him up!" she spluttered, ringing her hands in her desperation to be believed; but it rang false even to her own ears. And Narcissa had dismissed her coldly, and she knew there was no further hope for them.

But then Lucius had mentioned 'Harry's protection'. Her heart leapt. The freak, protect them?

"It's what he does," Narcissa had said, and she realised she must have said something out loud.

Petunia opened her eyes, to find Vernon looking at her.

"Harry," they both said to each other. And both knew that, if there was any hope, he was it.

* * *

When he Floo-called the Granger's house, it was Hermione who took the call.

"Draco?" she said at once, a little concerned that it was him making the call, rather than Harry. "How is Harry? Has the healer been? Is everything alright?"

Draco smiled. The witch seemed quite incapable of asking one question at a time. "Yes, the healer's been. Harry is doing OK, but he needs a good break. We're going to go away for a few days, so I wanted to let you know we won't see you before Hogwarts."

"What?" Hermione nearly yelled. "But–" They had worked like Trojans and her parent's house was practically complete, much to the surprise of the Muggle inspector who had wanted to condemn the place on Monday and had visited this morning to find a pleasant, and entirely habitable, house. Nothing had been said, but she had rather assumed that, once the house was all done they would spend quite a lot of the next few days catching up with their friends, particularly Harry; it was hard for her to not feel totally let down.

But then her formidable mind kicked in. No-one had promised her that she would get that time; and she could hardly berate Draco for taking Harry away when she and Ron had been away for so long herself. Not to mention that this was doctor's orders.

She looked at Draco again. The blond had a pleasant look on his face; he was clearly waiting for her to continue. She wondered what her face must have looked like to him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I guess I'd hoped we would get to spend time with you both."

 _Mostly Harry,_ Draco thought, but surprisingly the thought didn't hurt. After all, he could well understand wanting to spend time with Harry; the difference was, of course, that he was going to. But he decided that being seen to be smug about that would not help the relationship with Weasley and Granger – er, Ron and Hermione – one little bit; and he couldn't lose them. Harry needed them, after all; and, truth to tell, so did he. He needed all the friends he could get. His and Harry's time together had been bumpy enough, but so far they had been mostly in private. Come July they would be back at Hogwarts, and it would be a lot harder to hide. At least for the first couple of months it would be only the eighth year students; but somehow, he felt that would be hard enough all by itself.

But these were worries for later.

"I'm sorry," he replied, in deliberate echo of Hermione's statement. "I would have liked that too; but Harry needs some time away, and that trumps everything."

"I agree," Hermione replied. "So, what did the healer actually do?"

"We discussed pretty much everything that happened since Harry fell ill; it was a bit strange, really, he didn't seem to ask a lot of questions, but somehow the story came out pretty much in full."

Hermione chuckled. "He's probably pretty adept at getting people to open up. Isn't he supposed to be rather good?"

Draco's eyes went wide. "Good? From what I hear, he's probably the best there is! Once we'd talked things through, he cast Legilimens on Harry."

Hermione took a sharp intake of breath; she remembered what Harry had been like with Snape. "Harry allowed that?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes," Draco replied, realising that of course Hermione would know all about Harry's failed Occlumency lessons. "But it was nothing like the sessions you're thinking of; they sat together, and then it was obvious that Armand had entered Harry's mind, but there was no tension at all. Then Harry closed his eyes, and—"

"What?" Hermione said, her voice shrill with surprise. "How is that possible? I thought Legilimency required eye contact between the parties?"

"Me too," Draco replied. "But apparently, when the subject has constructed a mindscape like Harry had, it's possible to stay in it without. I guess," Draco continued, thinking out loud, "that must be what happened when I saw inside his mind. Anyway, there was something about needing to fill space with positive memories, and going away, and relaxing with no stress. So that's why I'm calling instead of him; he's curled up in bed at the moment having a nap; the healer was very helpful, but it did take a lot out of him.

"So, we'll be leaving tonight, and we won't be seeing anyone, I'm afraid. Will you tell our friends?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied, as she made a mental note to look up everything she could find about mindscapes and their creation. She wondered if it would be alright to owl Mr Ionescu?

But that was a problem for later. There was a question she did need to ask for the moment. "Would it be alright for us to go to Hogwarts, do you think?"

"I'm sure it would," Draco replied. "You can Floo directly to the Great Hall; I'll be visiting there myself shortly, there's one thing I want to get done before we go. The Floo address is simply 'Great Hall, Hogwarts'. It should be open for you; Flitwick has welcomed all former students with open arms." _Which wasn't always a good thing,_ he thought, remembering Marcus Flint and an unfortunate attack on the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Petunia and Vernon sat together in silence, each wondering what to do next. It was all very well for that blond wizard to talk of the Freak protecting them; but even if they wanted him to, how were they going to go about it? It wasn't as if they could ring him up, or even drive to where he was; they had no idea where he was, no way to contact him.

Perhaps, Petunia thought ruefully, even this ray of hope was a mere illusion.

The front room window, the one which the owl had come through, suddenly swung open. There was no way to tell whether Vernon had not closed it properly when Ozymandias had left, or the wind had blown it open, or simply that some magic happened; but there was no time to, either, really, for a large black eagle owl, even bigger and more impressive than the one from yesterday, swooped in, lazily circled them, dropped an envelope on the rug, and flew out the window before either of them could react.

Vernon reached down with a grunt and picked up the envelope. He ripped it open. Petunia jumped up and stood beside him as he extracted from it a single sheet. She placed her hand on his shoulder as they both surveyed the parchment, on which was written, in the most beautiful copperplate writing:

_Have you made your choice?_

"Yes," Vernon said.

"Are you mad?" Petunia said, with a look that clearly indicated she thought so. "Talking to a piece of parchment?"

"Maybe I am," Vernon said, belligerently, looking up to her. "But it's magical, isn't it? Maybe it understands us. How are we supposed to know what kind of freakish things they do?"

He looked back hatefully at the parchment. He felt they had been cornered into being associated with this kind of unnaturalness, and he very much resented it. "Yes, we want his bloody protection!"

Vernon blinked as the writing on the parchment changed in front of his eyes.

_Whose protection?_

"The freak's," they said together. Nothing happened.

"Perhaps we have to say his name," Petunia suggested.

It was Vernon's turn to look at Petunia as if she were mad. But on the other hand, nothing was happening …

"Harry Potter's!" he said, disgust evident in his voice. Immediately, the parchment changed again; this time there were just two words.

_Touch me_

Without pausing for thought, the two Dursleys reached out and touched the paper. A few seconds later they felt a strange feeling, as if someone had put a huge hook in their bellies and pulled; and then it all went black…

* * *

Ron and Hermione had no difficulty getting to Hogwarts. The place was a-buzz with people coming and going; the Hall itself was filled with house-elves busy scrubbing floors and washing windows. In the middle of the room, near a huge board covered in lists of jobs, most of which appeared to have been crossed out, Filius Flitwick was sitting on an enormous stool. As Draco had foreshadowed, Flitwick was happy to see them, crying out with delight as soon as he saw them, and asked about their time in Australia.

"Wonderful, thanks, Professor," Hermione replied, not quite sure how to converse with a Professor out of term time. "Um, we were hoping we could help? Draco and Harry can't come, Harry's been unwell and they've been ordered away for a holiday."

"I'm very sorry to hear that!" Flitwick replied in his sing-song voice. "Mr Longbottom! Miss Parkinson!" he called.

The two students, who had been busy repairing the entry stairs, walked into the Hall.

"Hermione! Ron!" Neville cried, racing over and surprising his two friends by wrapping them in a firm hug. "How are you?"

"And how are Draco and Harry?" Pansy asked, as she walked up to them, somewhat more sedately.

Ron looked amazed. He had been told how much things had changed; but the evident easy camaraderie between Neville and Pansy still came as a shock, as did the fact that she sounded genuinely interested in Harry as well as Draco.

They explained about the holiday, and, to Ron's amazement, Pansy's face fell.

"That's too bad," she said. "They would have wanted to be here to finish the Tower. Still, never mind; we can do that when they get back, can't we, Professor?"

"Oh yes!" Flitwick twitted. "The house-elves can furnish the rooms easily enough, and we can leave the actual decorating for the students to do when they arrive. Now, we must find jobs for you two!"

He clapped his hands in glee, and Hermione laughed. The sheer exuberance he radiated was infectious, and even after spending a day and a half renovating her parent's place, she found herself excited to be joining in with helping repair the castle.

* * *

Harry and Draco entered the room to find a very strange meeting in progress. Lucius and Narcissa were seated together on a beautiful sofa, both looking cool, calm and collected. In front of them, looking very out of place, the Dursleys were standing on a cover-sheet. Harry knew very well that underneath the sheet was a priceless Chinese rug; the sheet, and the fact that they had not been offered a chair, were obviously designed to make it quite clear to the Dursleys just exactly how little regard their hosts held them in.

"Ah, boys," Narcissa said, "do come in," and with a swish of her wand she conjured another sofa for them.

Draco hesitated. He still didn't think this was wise, especially given what the mind healer had said; this was bound to be stressful for Harry, after all. But his mother had convinced him that Harry needed to finish with his uncle once and for all; and, despite his misgivings, he could see the logic of it. He looked at his lover, arching an eyebrow, silently asking if he was OK with this. Harry gave a slight nod, and he and Draco sat down together on the sofa and looked at the Dursleys. Harry could see that they were uncomfortable in the extreme; he made a show of holding Draco's hand quite openly, and felt richly rewarded when his uncle's face went a deep shade of red. He wondered a little if it was anger or embarrassment that coloured it. But only a little; it was probably both, but he could not bring himself to care.

"Good afternoon uncle, aunt," he said, with a very small nod to each of them. "This is my fiancé, Draco; I gather you have already met my in-laws-to-be?"

"Ah, yes, we have had that … pleasure," Vernon replied. It was very clear that he didn't find it even remotely pleasant; but he was trying to be on his best behaviour. Harry was amazed at that thought; the huge man had never had any regard for him at all, and **now** he wanted to play nice?

"You do remember why you are here, Mr Dursley?" Lucius asked.

"Yes," Vernon said, as bowed his head, but his voice was like steel and Harry could still feel the antagonism coming off him. "To face up to Harry, and to seek his protection."

Draco sneered at the man. "What makes you think you deserve that?" he asked, coldly.

Vernon began to glare at Draco, then dropped it, bowing his head and rubbing hands together in his lap.

"We just wanted to be normal, ordinary people," Vernon told them as though it would explain away all they had done. "Just wanted the… Harry," he corrected himself, having only just managed to keep the word freak from spilling out, "to have a chance to live a normal life, just like everyone else."

All three Malfoys began to speak; the men naturally deferred to Narcissa, waving for her to speak first.

"The way you treated Harry is simply abominable," Narcissa informed the Dursleys.

"Harry is far better than 'normal'," Draco sneered out. "And he is not like anyone else."

"And do you think all the things you did were normal?" Lucius said, his voice soft and full of menace.

"Anyway," the man snapped, his temper soon getting the better of him, "where do you get off, telling me how to behave? A man marrying a man? That's disgusting, that is!"

Lucius leapt to his feet, and Petunia put her hand on her husband, saying "Vernon!" to him sharply. But Harry waved them all down.

"Let him continue," he said, his voice like flint.

Vernon swallowed. He might, he thought, have gone too far. But he was not the sort of man who would kowtow to a mere boy; especially when the boy was the Freak! There was no way he could control his temper when these people thought it was alright for men to marry men! It was disgusting! He wished he could beat that out of him now; but all he had to wound with were words. He looked over at Harry and a poisonous thought came into his head as a malicious gleam entered his eyes.

"And anyway, marrying a man? That won't get you a family. How are you going to have children, _Harry_?" And the stress he placed on his nephew's name made using it sound like an even worse insult than 'freak'. "You aren't, are you? You don't deserve them! You really are a freak! At least your freakishness will die out with you!"

There was silence after this outburst, and a deathly stillness. Harry closed his eyes, and for a long minute nothing happened. Then the raven-head spoke out, softly, but in the firmest voice they had yet heard, almost hissing the words.

"Get him out of my sight. I never want to see him again."

When he opened his eyes again, only Draco was still with him. The blond wrapped Harry in a huge hug as the Hero of the Wizarding World dissolved into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.


	49. Returning on the Hogwarts Express

**49\. Returning on the Hogwarts Express**

_Wednesday 1 July 1998_

It was ten minutes short of eleven o'clock on the morning of the first of July. The gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express stood proudly at Platform Nine and Three Quarters of King's Cross Station, waiting for the magical hour of eleven when it would leave for Hogsmeade. But the usual air of bustle and bedlam was missing. The train, just two carriages long, was much shorter than usual and the station was a far cry from its usual heaving mass of people; instead of the full contingent of schoolchildren from years one through seven, there were only nineteen Eighth Year students returning today.

But of course the nineteen students had family and friends there seeing them off, so there was still a crowd on the platform. But for the first time in many years, there were no undercurrents of rivalry. No sneaky glances at enemies from Slytherin or Gryffindor. No worried looks on the faces of anxious Ravenclaws determined to keep their heads down and avoid trouble. No belligerent attitudes from Hufflepuffs just daring anyone to attack one of their own. On the contrary, there were smiles and laughter, and an obvious general feeling that the war really was over now, and they could just get on with the business of being young and being students.

Ginny Weasley was officially on the platform to see off Ron and Hermione; but in fact she had agreed to come because her boyfriend, Robin Banks, had been asked to travel with the students 'just as a show of solidarity'. The Ministry had been careful to stress that this was purely a precautionary measure and that there was no reason to expect any trouble; but Ginny was quite sure that the attack on Draco Malfoy less than a month ago was still fresh in everyone's minds, and the Ministry was desperate to avoid anything remotely like a repeat of the event.

She over at the groups of people standing happily chatting on the platform, and thought what a strange sight it made. But it did make her heart sing. Here was the first indication that maybe, just maybe, they could all get over the madness that had been visited on their society by a man obsessed with not dying. She idly wondered why there were two railroad cars standing at the platform waiting for the students to board; a single car could have accommodated all of the returning students, and the four Aurors on duty, quite handily. Why, then, were there two cars? The question was answered when, with a sudden burst of excited chatter, two groups of students emerged onto the platform, each with an accompanying chaperone: there were seven female students dressed in the school uniform of Beauxbatons; while the uniform of the two male students proclaimed proudly that they were from Durmstrang.

"Wow!" Blaise Zabini, standing near her, said as the Beauxbatons students appeared. "Looks like we have some new talent this ye-" He did not get to complete his sentence; the rather vicious dig in the ribs from Pansy Parkinson made sure of that.

Meanwhile, Hermione Granger was annoyed, perplexed, and worried all at once. She had managed, by sheer dint of force of personality, to get Ron Weasley to Platform Nine and Three Quarters by quarter to eleven o'clock. The magnitude of this achievement cannot be understated, particularly as Molly, Ginny and the twins had insisted on accompanying them; and Arthur, who could usually get them in line when he had to, was at work. This was probably the earliest that any Weasley had ever managed to get to Kings Cross Station for the Hogwarts Express, a fact which Ron was currently pointing out to her with some annoyance.

"See, Hermione," he said petulantly, "they're not here. I could have slept in another ten minutes!"

But Hermione ignored her boyfriend, as she always did when he started acting childish. If he wanted sleep, he could get it on the train, after all.

'They' were, of course, Harry and Draco. The fact that they were nowhere to be seen was the principal cause of her annoyance, perplexity and worry. As they had been away for six days, she had hoped to catch up with them before they boarded the train. Surely, she thought, they would want to be here to say farewell to parents? She rather suspected, in fact, that the chance to see Harry again was the real reason that Molly had come at all. Ron had stayed at the Grangers house last night, and Peter and Margaret had said they were quite happy to take the pair of them to Kings Cross Station; but Molly had insisted that she 'had to send her boy off for the last time'.

The train tooted to warn them that they had only five minutes before departure. _Where are they?_ Hermione asked herself. _They should be here!_ And the accompanying horrible thought of _Has something gone wrong?_

She was side-tracked from her thoughts as the warm, loving arms of her mother wrapped around her.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so going to miss you! I've only just got you back, and you're off to school again!" Margaret cooed into her ear, and for a moment Hermione forgot all the angst she felt about Harry as she accepted this rare moment of her mother loving on her so openly.

But all too soon, the moment was over. As she pulled away, her mother looked at her, disappointed to begin with, but then an understanding look dawned on her face.

"You're missing them, aren't you?" she asked, and Hermione smiled a sad smile, happy that her mother understood her and so obviously sympathised. "They're big boys, they'll be fine," she continued, the words more reassuring than the look that accompanied them.

"Thanks mum," Hermione said, as she turned and scooped up Ron's arms before the tears she felt coming had a chance to come.

Doubly dejected to be leaving her parents without Harry and Draco's company, she kissed her parents and Molly goodbye, and boarded the train.

* * *

As Hermione walked down the train corridors with Ron, the dejection she felt became more solid by the minute. She hardly saw any of the other people; she passed by all of the compartments that had people in them already, she couldn't cope with anyone but Ron just at the moment.

All of a sudden, a door flew open in front of her, interrupting their passage down the corridor. She looked into the compartment; it was, mercifully, empty, so she walked in, hefting her travelling case onto the rack, and flumped down into the seat. Ron entered behind her and started to close the door; but before he could do so, it flew open again and Pansy and Blaise came in.

"Oh!" Pansy said, obviously not sure about coming in, and Hermione could see at a glance that she too had wanted an empty compartment. No doubt the Slytherin was just as worried for Draco as Hermione was for Harry, she realised. The thought warmed her heart just a little. But it was enough.

"Come in," she said, simply and welcomingly. "This compartment seems to have chosen us."

The two Slytherins smiled and entered, while Ron sat down next to Hermione, putting his feet on the seat opposite.

"Ouch!" said a voice, and Ron's feet were pushed off quite violently.

"What the—" Ron said, drawing his wand; but his anger and surprise turned to joy as all of a sudden Harry and Draco appeared.

"Surprise!" Draco yelled with a grin as Harry gathered up the invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his backpack.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted. "You're here! What happened? Why didn't you tell us where you were? -"

"Hermione," Harry said, but the tide of questions continued unabated.

"Are you all right? Did you have a restful time?"

"Hermione," Pansy said, louder than Harry, but with no better success than he had had.

"What did the healer say? Where did you –"

"GRANGER!" Draco yelled. Hermione became silent instantly. "Sorry, but Harry's still feeling a bit fragile, so perhaps just one question at a time?"

"Fragile?" Ron asked. "Why?"

Harry looked at him warmly, grateful that his first friend had managed to ask what was probably the really important question.

"It's a bit of a long story, Ron," he began.

"Well, we've got the whole trip," Ron replied, with a smile.

* * *

Harry and Draco's absence had not gone unnoticed by the other students on the platform. Nor had the happy conviviality. But not everyone was excited by it. The three male Ravenclaw students, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein, were particularly unhappy by what they saw as the Slytherins sucking up to the Gryffindors. Something had to be done about it, they decided. But the three of them were not enough. They needed allies.

So as they got on the train, they had grabbed the two students from Durmstrang together with their chaperone, and found themselves an empty compartment for the six to sit and chat. The Ravenclaws decided to play a long game, and asked the three visitors all about themselves and Durmstrang; the two students seemed quite flattered with the attention and were happy to tell the Hogwarts students a great deal about themselves: Anders, the older, was from Denmark, and brilliant at Charms, while Stefan was from Bulgaria, and a whizz-kid at Potions. Michael Corner smirked inwardly; Draco Malfoy wasn't going to have it all his own way, then. Good. The Death-Eater bastard shouldn't be there at all, as far as he was concerned; he and his father should have been locked up in Azkanban.

But the three Ravenclaws could hardly avoid noticing that the chaperone seemed to keep himself very much to himself and didn't say anything to them; he was evidently happy to content himself with occasional warnings to the other boys when it seemed that they were about to say something that they weren't supposed to. Terry Boot was getting rather annoyed about this; it seemed that whenever they were making some headway, and about to get the boys to commit to an opinion about the War, the chaperone warned them off.

They had been chatting for about an hour when the door opened and Neville Longbottom stuck his head in.

"Oh, sorry," he said, "just wondering if anyone had seen Harry or Draco?"

The three Ravenclaws shook their heads, scowling. The Durmstrang chaperone, noticing this, evidently came to a decision, for he stood up and addressed them for the first time on the trip.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice icily polite, "thank you for your hospitality. But I think we will wander around and perhaps meet some other students. Starting with this gentlemen here, …"

"Longbottom," Neville said, extending his hand. "Neville Longbottom."

"Mr Longbottom," the man replied. "Am I right in thinking that you were married recently?"

"Yes, that's right," Neville said. "To George Weasley."

"Ah, indeed!" came the response, and there was nothing to indicate what the man thought of this at all. "Well, let us see if we can find some room in a compartment and chat some more."

He turned to the Ravenclaws. "Gentlemen," he said again, nodding rather dismissively, and he left the compartment, followed by the two Durmstrang students.

As the door shut, Anthony Goldstein was seething. How could that bumbling Gryffindor idiot Longbottom possibly be a more interesting companion than them? For he definitely got the impression that the chaperone had judged the three of them, and found them wanting. It was all too obvious that if they were going to capture the Durmstrang students as allies, they would need to get the chaperone out of the picture.

* * *

It was quite exciting, Hermione thought, to see how interested and concerned Pansy and Blaise were as Harry told them about the healing, and the visit from Armand Ionescu. Of course she was interested in Harry's rendition too; but having heard the story from Draco before she was able to spend time observing the others.

She had, of course, done some more reading; but she was hampered by a lack of material. It seemed that mindscapes were not commonly studied and she had not managed to find much about them by herself; she had sent an owl to Mr Ionescu, who had given her a very polite reply explaining that of course he could not discuss the case itself with her, but the enclosed pamphlet might be helpful. She had nearly given Ron a heart attack with her shrieks of delight when the pamphlet turned out to be a two hundred page monograph by the mind-healer himself, long out of print.

But even this booklet had not been a lot of help. It had explained that entering a mindscape was more difficult than normal Legilimancy, simply because by its nature the scape was carefully controlled, and one needed permission to enter. That certainly chimed with Harry's comments about inviting the healer in as his welcome guest, and she explained this to the other five.

"But what about when I entered?" Draco asked.

"You're always welcome," Harry said.

"Sap," Draco said; but the kiss he gave Harry rather took the sting out of the insult.

"You love it," Harry replied, then returned the kiss. Rather heatedly.

"So," Pansy said, deciding to ignore the kisses, "what happened after the healer left?"

Draco and Harry gave each other rather hesitant looks, and Hermione knew at once that it was nothing good. But it was Ron who got in first.

"Let me guess," he said. "Something to do with the Dursleys?"

Harry nodded, and started to explain the events of the previous Wednesday.

* * *

It was quite fortunate that they were interrupted by the witch with the tea trolley; her happy "anything from the Honeyduke's Express?" made a strange counterpoint to the feeling inside their compartment. Harry had just finished his explanation of the confrontation with the Dursleys; Ron, and Blaise looked like they wanted to kill the bastard outright, while Hermione and Pansy were looking at Harry with such solicitous eyes that Draco felt a pang of jealousy. He grasped Harry tightly and was rewarded by his fiancé melting into him, leaning his head on his shoulder as he let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later, as they were nibbling on Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties, Draco took up the story, Harry having fallen asleep in his arms.

"So you can imagine that the first couple of days of our holiday were pretty intense," he said. "We pretty much just sat in the room as Harry came to terms with a few things. Then he seemed to shrug it off and we went out every morning for the next few days; but by late afternoon he was pretty much done."

"Do you think he's over it?" Pansy asked.

Draco looked around. _Can I trust these people that much?_ He wondered. By the look in Hermione's eyes, she had already guessed; and that, more than anything, spurred him on. He wordlessly cast a silencing spell around his sleeping lover, just in case he woke up.

"No," he replied, bluntly. "He was really, really hurt by that fat bastard's words. I hope father didn't kill him quickly."

The girls gasped at this, but it was obvious to Draco that the other four actually agreed with him.

"Well, we're just going to have to look after him," Ron said. And Draco noticed the steely glint in his eye, and knew at once that he was glad to have the redhead as … what was he? Ally? Friend? Friend. Harry would accept nothing less.

"Agreed," he said. "As friends?"

"As friends," they all agreed. All five of them knew it had to be. That was part of the price of loving Harry: they could not stop at less than being friends.

And all five found that it was a price they were more than willing to pay.

* * *

Harry woke up about half an hour before they reached Hogwarts.

"Oh," he said, a little shocked to have fallen asleep. "Sorry, guys. Did I miss anything?"

"Not much," Ron said, with an odd goofy grin on his face.

Harry looked around the other five, and wondered. They all looked at him strangely and for a moment, he couldn't put his finger on it. It unnerved him; he could feel the tension ratcheting up in the room.

And then all of a sudden he placed it. Of course, he knew that look on Ron and Hermione; but he was not used to it on the Slytherins. Because the Slytherins had never looked at him that way. They had never really had his interests at heart before.

As he looked around, he was sure now. They all looked _protective_.

Protective of him.

He didn't really know how he felt about this. On one hand, he was glad that they all had his back. On the other, he was a grown wizard, an adult now; he had killed Voldemort, surely he could be allowed to look after himself?

But he closed his eyes again as he realised that, in truth, he couldn't. Not now. The Debt that Draco owed him had become a mutual thing. Because he would not, could not, accept Draco as his servant, they had become equals, tied together by much more than mere gratitude, or obligation.

Tied together by love.

He wondered if the blond fully realised that yet.

And the words of Vernon Dursley were still there in his head, taunting him. To be sure, the power of the past hurts was gone; but the memories were still there, and those cruel, heartless words had stirred up all of the inadequacies he felt. All his insecurities about not being good enough had flowed around in his head. He shuddered at the thought that he would not measure up to the expectations he felt his parents would have of him, and his own desire to have a family. He wondered how he would ever be free of them; after all, it had taken days of deep healing to rid himself of that pain before, and Vernon's complete lack of love had ripped him open again.

He felt strong arms encircling him, and realised that, without knowing it, he had started crying. He turned his head into Draco's chest and sobbed, as the blond stroked his back and whispered words of endearment into his ears.

It was all still so intense. He only hoped things would calm down a little once they reached Hogwarts.

* * *

When they arrived at the platform in Hogsmeade, they found, to their great surprise, that it was still only mid-afternoon. Of course, being July rather than September, it was going to be light for so much longer; but the journey seemed to have taken a couple of hours less than usual. They alighted onto the platform in a huge rush of chatter; and the volume must have doubled, Harry thought, when the other students realised that he and Draco were there.

One of the Beauxbatons students came up to him and gave him a dazzling smile.

"'Arry!" she said. "It is so good to see you again!"

"Gabrielle!" Harry said, recognising Fleur Delacour's sister, the witch he had rescued during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. "But, but, how can you be here? You're too young!"

Gabrielle laughed at him. "Oh, not so young," she said. "People 'ave always thought me younger than I am; I 'ave turned fifteen, but I am well ahead in my studies, so Madame Maxime said I could go." She gave him a wink. "She thought it would be good for me, and for you?"

Harry blushed. He hoped she didn't mean what he thought she just might; she was a very lovely witch, after all, and he did like her very much; but she wasn't Draco. "Excellent!" he said. "Er, do you remember Draco Malfoy? He's my fiancé, now."

If Gabrielle was at all disappointed to hear this, she hid it well, "Congratulations," she said to Harry as she gave Draco her hand to kiss. As he did, she said to him, "you have caught yourself a wonderful man, Mr Malfoy."

"Please," Draco said, "call me Draco."

Further discussion was forestalled by the arrival of the teachers.

"Ah! There you are, there you are!" chirped Flitwick. "And the train was able to make double time as the Ministry promised! Excellent! Now, quick, quick! Take the carriages up to the castle and we'll explain things in the Great Hall!"

Double time? So the trip really had been faster? It was Blaise who said what they were all thinking: "if they can get us here so fast, why don't they always do that?"

"Only two carriages?" Ron suggested.

"I bet it's to make sure that that first glimpse the first years get of the Castle is when it's all lit up at night," Hermione said, and Draco privately agreed with her; in fact the explanation was so obvious and logical that he was glad it wasn't he who had asked the question.

"Yes, yes!" Flitwick agreed. "Now, hurry! Take the carriage! Don't worry about the trunks, the house-elves will fetch them!"

Half an hour later they were all happily seated in the Great Hall, drinking tea and munching on the huge piles of cakes and sandwiches that the elves had laid out. Hermione noticed with some amusement that Harry deftly moved the cakes away from Draco, insisting that he have a sandwich first. The blond pouted; but did as he was told. Of course, it wasn't long before someone else started talking to Harry and in his moment of distraction, Draco quietly snagged two apple turnovers and a huge piece of chocolate cake.

Hermione laughed out loud at this, and Harry looked over at her.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, Harry," she said. "Um, did you hear about the Quidditch while you were away?"

 _Quidditch?_ Harry thought, his eyes narrowing. _Since when did Hermione care about Quidditch?_ He looked over at Draco just in time to see the last of the chocolate cake disappearing into his mouth.

"Ah hah!" he said, with the exultant tone of one who has caught a miscreant bang to rights in the middle of the act. "What did you promise me, Mister?"

"I am eating healthily, Harry," Draco said; but there was no mistaking the guilty whine in his voice. "I had the sandwich, and then a little cake to follow."

Harry said nothing, but arched his eyebrow in evident disbelief.

"All right," Draco said, with the air of one coming clean, "maybe it wasn't that little …"

"And what else?" Harry asked.

"Um…" said Draco, "an apple turnover."

"Oh love," Harry sighed, "what am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," Draco said, a salacious smirk forming on his face.

"Um, that's enough of that, I think," Dean Thomas broke in, and by the looks on the other faces nearby this was the general sentiment. "So what else did you to get up to while you were away?"

* * *

McGonagall called them to order.

"Now," she said, "now that we have got you all here, I want to lay down some ground rules.

"Firstly, the war is over. Done. Finished with. Got that?"

They all nodded.

"Excellent. Then you will understand when I say that we are going to treat the past as the past. There is to be no victimisation of any student. You are all here to learn. No bullying, no hexing one another. There will be zero tolerance shown on this issue. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a general chorus of "yes, Headmistress".

"Excellent," she beamed. "Secondly, we are very well aware that you are all adults, and I will expect you to behave like adults. Of course, some of you are in committed relationships –" she looked particularly at Neville, Hermione and Ron, and Draco and Harry at this point, all of whom blushed just a little — "and we accept that. But please keep your private activities private.

"Thirdly, as you are all what we have dubbed Eighth Year students, we're going to try something a bit different. You won't be in Houses any more; you will have your own table in the Hall and we expect you to sit together and get on together. Under previous Headmasters, the House system has tended to create rather a lot of rivalry; this has not always been a positive thing. We are hoping that you will work together, and by September be ready to show the new and returning students that the Houses don't have to define their lives and relationships. As such, you will be under the pastoral care of a Co-ordinator, rather than a Housemaster. As the staff are stretched rather thin following the war, I am most grateful to Professor Flitwick who has agreed to be Eighth-Year Co-ordinator as well Housemaster of Ravenclaw once full classes begin in September. We do expect you to sort out your own problems; but if you have any problems you wish to discuss with a staff member, you will find both Professor Flitwick's door and my own are always open to you. Again, is that clear?"

There was another chorus of "yes, Headmistress".

"Good. Next, during the last two months we have been approached by both Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute to ask if we would consider reciprocal studies programmes. We have decided that, in the interest of inter-school unity, an idea begun and championed by Headmaster Dumbledore, we would agree; so we have nine students visiting us, seven young ladies from Beauxbatons and two young gentlemen from Durmstrang, accompanied by two chaperons. I hope that our Hogwarts students have already made a point of getting to know them during the train journey?"

She looked around, and was happy to see the chaperones nod, and the Beauxbatons students smile and giggle together with the Hufflepuff girls. The Durmstrang students looked a little uncomfortable; clearly they would have to work on that, she decided.

"Very good," McGonagall continued. "We have set aside tomorrow as a day with no classes for you to settle in and make friends with the eleven visiting students. We have so few, not for want of volunteers, but because we have been constrained by the available accommodation; the Tower that will house our visiting students is also what has been called the Eighth Year Tower, and will house the nineteen returning students."

At this point, Hermione plucked up courage to interrupt the Headmistress.

"Excuse me, Headmistress McGonagall," she asked, "but does that number include Theodore Nott?"

Minerva looked at her with a neutral expression; on the one hand, she was privately pleased that someone cared about Mr Nott, but she was not about to let people expect they could interrupt her.

"No, if Mr Nott is able to join us, he will make a twentieth student," she replied. "But that will not cause any problem for our accommodation. Let me explain the setup to you.

"The Tower, which was designed by Professor Flitwick—" here the tiny Professor took a bow and tried, and failed, to look modest – "comprises a central section, with four dormitories off it. Each one has accommodation for eight students; so we can accommodate thirty-two students all together in the structure. This is, of course, considerably fewer than the House dormitories provide space for; but I think you will find that the set-up is of a more appropriate standard for adults."

Draco and Harry, well aware that McGonagall was suppressing major details – like the four dormitories actually being four Towers, and the rooms being in pairs rather than dormitory-style – smirked quietly to each other; but the other students did not notice; they were hanging on McGonagall's every word. The Headmistress herself, well versed in watching students after teaching Transfiguration for so many years, did not miss the smirk; but other than a very slight inclination of her head, did not acknowledge it. It would not do to warn the other students in advance, after all.

"Once this year is finished, we intend to continue the inter-school transfer programme, and the Tower will be used to accommodate visiting students. As such, we have decided to give it a proper name, which I am sure you will all agree is very suitable. But before I announce that, I suggest we adjourn there."

With that, she and Flitwick led them out of the Hall, up the staircases and along to the picture of Fawkes in front of the Tower. When they got there, Harry was delighted to see that Professor Dumbledore was in the picture as well, stroking his phoenix, his eyes twinkling as ever.

"Ah, Harry, my boy!" he said happily as soon as he saw the raven-head. "Though I suppose you're not really a boy any more! I hope you will do us the honour of cutting the ribbon?"

And it was only as he said this that they noticed, in front of the portrait, a ribbon set up, in purple and orange.

"Oh, I think perhaps Professor Flitwick should –" Harry said, unsure that he should perform the honour; but the diminutive professor simply smiled at him and handed him a large pair of scissors.

"Well," Harry said, deciding to bow to the inevitable with as much grace as he could muster, "then I would like Draco to help."

Dumbledore chuckled in his frame. "And that, dear Harry, is what makes you the perfect choice. Minerva?" he finished, looking at the Headmistress for her to make the requisite announcement.

"Yes indeed. Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to announce that this Tower, dedicated to fostering co-operation and unity in Hogwarts and the Wizarding world in general by inviting students to reside here without regard for any House associations, will henceforth be known as the Dumbledore Tower. Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, please cut the ribbon."

And, as the watching students applauded enthusiastically, Harry and Draco cut the ribbon, which immediately burst into flames and vanished as Fawkes chirped in what certainly sounded like laughter.

"I am deeply honoured," the portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore said, "and I trust you will all work together towards these laudable aims." At this, he looked around the students, fixing some with a twinkling eye, some with a sterner gaze, before finally saying, in loud and happy tones, "enter!"

The door opened, and the students passed in.

* * *

There were gasps of astonishment as the students entered and looked around slowly. Of course, Harry and Draco knew the design of the Tower very well indeed; but the decoration! The walls were covered in a beautiful ivy motif, charmed to curl around with the breeze outside. The room was, of course, an octagon; one side had the door they had come through, three of the walls had huge ivory fireplaces in them, with the ivy curling around the pillars. The ivy rose up and around high windows set in the walls, letting in plenty of light and air. In the room itself were plenty of sofas; bookcases were set up as dividers, making little separate nooks to allow students to have some privacy within the shared common room. Around the walls were set many sconces, holding torches that would provide plenty of light once the sun had gone down. Them, and the huge chandelier that hung in the middle of the room.

"It's beautiful," came the common response, and Flitwick beamed with joy.

"Please! Try the sofas! Look around! This is your space!" he twitted.

The students milled around for ten minutes or so, doing just that: bouncing on sofas, checking out the books, and generally laughing and chatting. One of the boys from Durmstrang, used to more solid fare than the afternoon tea that had been provided, called for a house-elf, and was delighted to learn that they were happy to come and provide as much food as the students wanted; and so most of the boys sat down at once to an impromptu late lunch of cold chicken and ham in bread, washed down with butter-beer.

The remaining four walls were blank; even Harry and Draco, who knew very well what was actually in each of the corners, were fooled for a moment by the concealment charms that had been placed on the entrances to the towers. But eventually someone, one of the Beauxbatons girls Harry thought, asked "excuse-moi, but where are the dormitories?"

Flitwick giggled. "Yes! Yes! Now, you must understand that this room has been decorated for you; but your bedrooms, they have been furnished but left for you to decorate. You have the rest of the afternoon to do this; to give you time, a late dinner will be served in the Great Hall at seven o'clock. The accommodation is in four sections, eight to a section; you will find the student names on the notice boards."

"Notice boards?" the cry went up. "What notice boards?"

"These ones!" Flitwick replied, and with a wave of his wand, a board appeared on each of the four blank walls. "And here are the sections themselves!" Another wave of his wand, and the concealment charms fell, revealing the staircases to the separate towers.

A general cry of astonishment went up, and the students rushed to see where they were to stay, and raced up their tower. Harry and Draco, sitting together on a sofa in the common room, chuckled as they heard all the cries of excitement from their fellow students, only matched by the evident delight on Flitwick's face.

"Well, Professor Flitwick, I think your Tower is quite a hit," the headmistress said with a smile. "I think we can leave them all to it, don't you?"

"Yes! Yes!" Flitwick replied. He turned to Harry and Draco, the only students now left in the common room. "Thank you two gentlemen again for your wonderful help! And please, please, remember that my door is always open to you. In fact, there are some matters I need to discuss with you two in particular; would you come to my chambers at ten o'clock tomorrow?"

The two promised that they would.

"Excellent!" Flitwick said. "Then I shall leave you to decorate your room."

And with that, the Eighth Year Co-ordinator and the Headmistress left the room.

* * *

"Sit with me," Harry implored as Draco got up to go up to their room.

Draco looked down at his fiancé, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as he sat back down next to the raven-haired man.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's just … It's been a bit much."

"All those people?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. Draco was not surprised; he had seen how they had all wanted to touch him, to chat to him, and it didn't surprise him at all that this was freaking Harry out. After all, they had spent the last weeks in the company of very few people; even Draco was finding the sudden immersion into their new cohort quite hard to deal with, and he hadn't had serious sessions of healing, or had his heart ripped to shreds by a heartless bastard of a …

Draco took a deep breath. However much he hated Vernon Dursley, Harry needed him to be present now. He needed to be able to depend on his lover. So Draco swallowed the hatred, and caressed Harry gently, rubbing his back and feeling his stress decrease.

It was a few minutes later that he asked, "ready?" and Harry nodded. He got up slowly, and pulled Harry up too, and turned to the stairs. Though, when it came to it, Draco found that he had his own reasons for being reluctant to go up to their room …

* * *

"Can I open my eyes now, Dragon?" Harry asked.

"One more step," Draco replied, and Harry shuffled forward a little. "That's it," Draco said encouragingly. "OK, you can open them now."

Harry did not fail to note the little hint of tension in Draco's voice as he said it. What was his lover afraid of, he wondered. Just what had he done to their room?

Harry opened his eyes. There was a golden stripe painted horizontally around the room at about chest height. Below, the walls were painted a beautiful deep green; above, a silvery grey that faded almost to white at the top. He recognised from their trip to Paris that the furniture was all French antiques; as he looked closer he realised that Draco had picked out every piece he had particularly commented on, and managed to choose a set that worked together harmoniously.

He turned around the room, looking at every item, drinking it all in.

In silence.

Harry could feel the tension building in Draco; but he honestly could not find words to describe how he felt about the room.

It was, quite simply, stunning. There wasn't a single detail about it that he would change.

He turned to Draco and, deciding that actions speak louder than words, gathered him into a rib-crushing hug as he kissed the breath out of him, desperately, trying to make the kiss say what he did not trust his voice to.

Eventually they broke apart, needing air.

Draco still looked worried.

"Please," he said, "say something. Is it alright?"

Harry didn't quite trust himself; but he knew Draco needed to hear, so he forced out words that came whispered through the lump in his throat.

"No. It's perfect."

And later that night, after they had eaten with the other students, and begged off staying up late due to having traveled all day, they lay together cuddling in the huge bed that Draco had installed, and Harry showed Draco just how much he loved the room.

They had not had full-on sex since the weekend of Draco's birthday; Draco was still a bit apprehensive about having Harry inside him, and Harry would not press the issue; and of course they had had rather a lot of things going on since then, what with attacks from Death Eaters and Harry's sickness, coma and visits from healers; even their time away had been more about gentle healing and relaxing and caressing than full-on sex. But tonight, being able to relax in the Castle, in their own room, Harry felt it was time; so he invited Draco to make love to him.

"Are you sure?" the blond asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Absolutely," Harry assured him, eyes sparkling with lust as he pulled his lover in to a needy embrace which quickly became a steamy kiss.

It was not long before Draco impatiently spelled their clothes off, and they made love together; and it was wild and furious as the air crackled with the magic they released together and the bond between them sang with a fierce joy as their bodies united in this most intimate of acts. And as they came together, a little of the tension of the day eased away from them. Harry was still worried about children; Draco was still worried about the Debt; but somehow, they both knew, they would work things out.

Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks to all who comment and subscribe! Please do review and let me know your thoughts!  
> Thanks to 'Another one bites the dust' for a differing opinion; there are many different ways to write the story I suppose, and different logics that our hearts use. Thanks to PerfectFour, and thanks and welcome to Tlyna! Comments are love!


	50. Returning to Class

**50\. Returning to Class**

_Thursday 2 July_

Harry woke up the next morning still feeling elated from their evening the night before. He raised himself up on his left side and looked over at the sleeping form of Draco lying supine next to him. Draco asleep was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought. All of the worries that seemed to tense the blond's face up for a good deal of the time were gone. The snarkiness, the self-control, the immaculate grooming were all absent: Draco's hair was messy, his face soft and rested, and his lips curled in a geniune smile.

It occurred to Harry all of a sudden that they were **here**. Back at Hogwarts. Back at the place where he had killed Voldemort. Back at the place where Tonks and Lupin had died, not to mention all the others. And he had managed to sleep through the night. Without nightmares.

It was that fact, more than anything, that stirred his blood. That brought home to him that he was no longer tied to the past. The love that he and Draco shared, the healing, the rebuilding of Hogwarts, it all pointed to the future. Of course, the past still reached out, still had to be dealt with; but it was happening.

It was really real.

Harry smiled. And in one of those cosmic co-incidences that give Chance a bad name, Draco chose that moment to open one silver eye and look at his fiancé.

Harry's face lit up with a smile was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought, as he reached over for a good morning cuddle.

No surprise, then, that even though they were awake before most of the inhabitants of Dumbledore Tower, they almost missed breakfast …

* * *

The din in the Great Hall was astonishing, given that there were fewer than thirty students present. But not everyone at the Head Table appreciated it, it seemed.

"Can't we do something about the noise?" Slughorn asked petulantly, puffing himself up out of self-importance.

McGonagall looked at him. "Yes, Horace," she said calmly, "of course we can do something about it."

Slughorn deflated a little, glad to have her as an ally. But her next words gave the lie to that.

"We can encourage it," she said. "Or would you rather go back to the days when everyone was quiet as a flobberworm for fear of being noticed and singled out for torture?"

Slughorn looked down, not quite daring to meet Minerva's eyes. He didn't quite know how to deal with her habit of ruthlessly cutting through all the sensibilities he threw up. From anyone else, he would have dismissed it as rudeness, a lack of breeding or social standing; but the McGonagalls were a very old, well-connected family, and no-one in their right mind would dare call Minerva rude. The approved word was 'direct'.

"Yes, well, I suppose, if you put it like that," he rambled.

She decided to take pity on him. "Oh, Horace, if the noise really bothers you, do take your breakfast in your quarters," she suggested, with a tolerant smile.

Horace went bright pink. "Oh no, that would be very remiss of me," he stammered, "staff solidarity and all that," and proceeded to attack his ham and eggs with gusto.

The headmistress hid her smirk by taking a sip of coffee. She knew perfectly well that the real reason he wanted to be there was to recruit members for his Slug Club; she privately thought he was on a hiding to nothing there, these students knew a thing or two and his methods, which had worked well thirty years ago, were hardly likely to appeal nowadays.

Still, good luck to him, she thought. It was time to put away mean-spiritedness, and that included amongst the staff.

* * *

It was clear from the look on his face that Michael Corner definitely didn't get the owl about putting away mean-spiritedness. The Hufflepuffs and the Beauxbatons girls were waxing lyrical about how _wonderful_ it was to be in Hogwarts, and how _amazing_ the new Tower was and how incredibly _skillful_ Harry and Draco were to have built it essentially by themselves and … Corner tuned out before he felt the need to throw up.

It didn't help matters at all that two of the Beauxbatons students were the Patil twins … what exactly was the point, he wondered, of transferring to a different school and then signing up for an exchange programme to your original school? He despised them for being illogical, and he hated them because Padma seemed to have sucked in Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin, the two returning Ravenclaw girls, and infecting them with the 'Potter is wonderful' vibe.

He just didn't understand how anyone would think that helping ex-Death Eaters was a good thing. He'd even tackled the two Patil twins about this last night, trying to get them to see reason, but they had just told him to grow up. Grow up? As far as he was concerned, it was he, and the other two male Ravenclaws, who were the grown-ups here; at least they understood a logical argument when they found one. How could you hope to build a solid, decent society on a proven rotten foundation? Looking around, he could see that Terry and Anthony weren't coping with the stupidity of it all much better.

He was shaken from his brown study by the older Durmstrang boy.

"You don't seem so happy today, Michael?" he asked.

"You see they're letting the Slythenins back?" Anthony Goldstein said.

"Yes?" Anders replied. "Why should they not?"

"Death Eater scum," Corner replied.

"But .. your war is over, surely?" Anders said, looking puzzled. "There are no Death Eaters left, they are in prison, ja?"

At this point, Ernie Macmillan, who had been keeping an ear on the conversation, leant over from the Hufflepuff side of the table.

"Yeah, forgive and forget, isn't that the thing now?"

"Easy for you to say," Justin Finch-Fletchey, seated next to him, replied. "You got to come here last year. My parents are Muggles; with all the blood-purity stuff I had to go into hiding. McGonagall warned us that the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, headed by that prize bitch Umbridge, had asked for a list of Muggle-born students and was likely to imprison or torture us. My whole family went to Denmark to avoid the crack-down."

"And coming here wasn't much better if you weren't in Slytherin," Corner continued, bitterly. "The Carrows had their precious pets using Crucio on students as punishment! They used to bind and torture students they didn't like; there was no-one to stop them. They say that Snape was a double agent, but he never lifted a finger against the Carrows the whole time. They just got worse and worse; in the end you didn't really have to do anything to deserve it. I sneaked out and released a first-year that had been chained up once. They caught me …"

He stopped abruptly and shuddered at the memory.

"It was bad, yes?" Stefan interjected.

Corner just nodded in answer.

"You do know that our former headmaster was a Death Eater once?" Ivan, the Durmstrang chaperone, added. "But he turned in his fellows and was pardoned."

"Yeah, I know about Karkaroff," Corner replied. "But that's even worse! How could you trust someone like that? A dirty turn-coat spy! You never know which side they're on. Like Snape. Everyone says how wonderful he was as a double-agent. But it's a good thing he's dead. How could we trust him? Why didn't he do anything about the Crucios?"

At this point, the volume from the girls all but doubled, and the boys looked up to see Harry and Draco walk in for breakfast.

"Right, I'm off," Corner said, in disgust. "I'm not staying to watch the Potter - Malfoy fan club go wild. I wish someone would calm them all down." All of a sudden, his face changed and a glint came into his eye. "I think I might just send an owl to my father," he said softly.

He got up and started to walk out of the Hall, with Goldstein and Boot following him. Goldstein did not miss the little sign of interest that Finch-Fletchley sent him, and gave him a little nod as if to say _we will catch up later._

* * *

"Padma? Parvati?" Harry said in wonder as he sat down at the table. "I don't remember seeing you on the train?"

Parvati Patel giggled. "We were under glamours, Harry," she said.

"Our father did not want us to return to Hogwarts," Padma explained.

"So he enrolled us at Beauxbatons; but when we heard about the visitor programme, we begged Madame Maxime to let us go to Hogwarts," Parvati continued.

"And she said yes, but made us come under glamours just in case someone got wind of us and told him about it," Padma added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"We only took the glamours off last night at the welcome party," Parvati continued. "The one you missed. Where were you, by the way?"

Harry grinned. He had no intention of telling anyone what Draco and he had got up to last night. Twice. And again this morning.

"You two are just as bad as the Weasley twins," Draco drawled, taking their attention onto himself. "I'm getting a crick in my neck from turning from one to the other as you speak!"

To Harry's surprise, this remark earned a titter from the other Beauxbatons girls. He gave Draco a puzzled look; but it was one of the visitors who explained.

"We too 'ave noticed that these girls are 'ard to follow," Angelique Delacour, Fleur's cousin, said. "As are the Thibault twins."

"And who would they be?" Draco asked, curiously.

"Ah!" came reply. "Of course, you were not there last night, so you did not meet everyone. 'Ere, may I present the students of Beauxbatons: Padma and Parvati Patil you already know, and Fleur's sister Gabrielle; me, of course; our two twins are Marie and Danielle Thibault; and this stunning beauty here is our resident Transfigurations expert, Eva Thillin."

Harry was bemused to see that as each student was introduced, she stood up, gave a simple, but charming, curtsy, and sat down again. All of the motions were the same; in two short months, even the Patil twins seemed to have grasped the Beauxbatons way of doing things.

"Bravo, girls, bravo Angelique!" said the buxom lady sitting with the girls. "And gentlemen, I must tell you I am Madame Dubois, the official Beauxbatons chaperone. I must say hope some of you have dishonourable intentions, or I shall have very little to do!"

Harry, rather astonished with this pronouncement, replied "sorry, Draco and I are taken; and so are quite a few of us, I'm afraid."

"Yes, it's not fair, not fair at all," one of the Thibauld twins – Marie, Harry thought – pouted. "So many of you are paired up, how shall we find 'usbands?"

"We are delighted to meet you all," Draco said, his eyes sparkling. Unlike Harry, he was well acquainted with the flirtatious side of French life; he just rather hoped that the girls would not be misunderstood by the more phlegmatic English wizards. "Perhaps Mr Thomas and Mr Finnegan might like to accommodate you?"

At this, the two Gryffindors flushed bright red, and Draco knew he had scored the bull's-eye he was aiming for. Before they could comment further, Professor Flitwick came up to the table.

"All getting along splendidly, I see," he said, and no one disillusioned him; the two Gryffindors couldn't, they were still choking after Draco's remark. "Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, could I have a word in my study at your convenience?"

Harry looked at Draco, and they had a conversation-without-words, Draco nodding his agreement for Harry to speak for both of them.

"Shall we come now?" Harry asked.

Flitwick beamed. "Excellent!" he said, and they left the Hall together.

* * *

After breakfast, Ivan Smetana, the Durmstrang chaperone, sought an interview with Headmistress McGonagall. She welcomed him warmly into her office and offered him tea, which he declined with a polite smile, explaining that he mostly drank coffee or firewhiskey, and didn't feel the need for either just at the minute. A response which Minerva realised could easily have come from anyone; but somehow, this man reminded her of someone … She couldn't place who. Never mind, it would come to her.

"Now, what can I do for you, Mr Smetana?"

"Oh, please, call me Ivan," the man replied smoothly, pronouncing the name as 'Ee-van' in the Continental way. "I wished to speak with you about some of the events of the last twenty four hours or so. I was a little – concerned – at the views your students hold on a number of matters."

The headmistress lifted an eyebrow in surprise, "Go on," she said, her tone mildly encouraging.

"There seems to be some marked dislike for the Slytherins," he began.

Minerva smiled at him. "Well of course. People need to sort out what they feel; we need to give them a little room to do so."

The other man hummed and hawed; he clearly was not convinced, but thought it would be rude to say so openly. "Well, perhaps. But there was a marked dislike for the Death Eaters. Now of course, the things the adults did were awful. But I saw the anger against Mr Malfoy this morning. I am worried it will boil up."

McGonagall scrutinised him carefully. The man did have a point; but she always prided herself on being fair-minded, so decided to play Devil's Advocate.

"Well now. Mr Draco Malfoy did do some wicked things himself. Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley nearly died at his hand."

"Yes, I heard," the man replied, "but Mr Weasley, I understand, has forgiven him; I am not sure of Miss Bell. But surely he did these things for fear of retribution against his family?"

"I'm sure he did," the witch replied. "But does that really excuse him? Does it excuse helping Death Eaters to break into this school?"

Smetana looked thoughtful. "I think perhaps, in a war, maybe it does. For a pure-blood, family is all, after all. And I think Mr Malfoy was not trying to hurt anyone but Dumbledore, no? And Dumbledore forgave him, ja?"

"Indeed I did, Mr .. Smetana, was it?" said an ancient voice behind the headmistress, as Dumbledore's portrait sprang to life behind the headmistress. "Mr Malfoy is no angel; nor is his father. But at root they were both terrorised men, forced into situations they had little control over. Surely everyone deserves a second chance? I know that most of us need one …"

"Lucius Malfoy as well?" the headmistress asked, her lips pursed. "Do you really think so, Albus? Even after the diary?"

"Yes, even then," the former headmaster replied. "I know you think it was attempted murder, but Lucius didn't really know what he was doing. He had no idea it was a Horcrux, I'm sure of that. He just thought it would discredit the Weasleys and open the Chamber of Secrets."

"Thus allowing the basilisk to potentially kill Hogwarts students and staff," Minerva replied hotly.

"Yes, well, he didn't really understand that. Nobody did. But this is an dull argument, and we have a guest; I hope, Mr … Smetana, you will forgive us for rehashing an old canard."

"Not at all," the European replied smoothly. If he noticed the slight hesitation over his name, he made no sign of it. "Your conversation has been most – instructive. And now, Headmistress, having told you of my concerns, I shall take my leave. Thank you for so graciously hearing me out."

With that the man turned and left, with no further ceremony. Minerva turned to the painting of the old headmaster.

"And just what was all that about?" she asked.

But Dumbledore just smiled, with that infuriating twinkle in his eye. McGonagall was a patient witch; but she knew there was no way she could out-wait a painting, so she huffed and got back to the inevitable paperwork on her desk.

* * *

When they reached Flitwick's office, he explained that this was to be a mentoring session, and that Arthur Weasley was waiting at the Ministry to chat with Draco. Accordingly, the blond Flooed to the Ministry, while Harry and Professor Flitwick sat down for a little chat.

Two hours later, Harry mused on how exhausting a 'little chat' could be. Without any obvious difficulty, he had been expertly led through all of the events of the last two weeks, and Flitwick had added some interesting insights about what exactly was happening with the Debt.

"I think perhaps the Debt is becoming less of an external obligation and relying more on Mr Draco Malfoy's devotion to you," he suggested.

Harry was flummoxed. "You speak as though the Debt were sentient?" he asked. "Capable of thinking? Is that really true?"

"Hard to say," the Ravenclaw replied honestly. "But there is literature that discusses the higher debts in that way. Life Debts, for example, seem to know when they have been satisfied, and people find that the relationship between them changes once they are repaid. From what I understand, though, they never revert to the previous relationship; all Debts create some sort of bond between people, though it may never amount even to so much as friendship. It is a fascinating subject. But I think that Mr Malfoy is returning to us."

And indeed, the Floo chimed to indicate incoming travel, the flames flared up with their eerie green glow, and Draco stepped out. As always, Harry envied the sheer grace of the man; he stepped out for all the world as if he were just stepping across the fireplace, not across the country. And, Harry noticed, there was not a spot of soot on his robes. Well of course not. There wouldn't dare to be.

"Now, gentlemen. How about a spot of tea?" Flitwick offered.

Even though Harry was sure Draco would have had tea with the Deputy Minister, they accepted happily, and in a very few minutes were seated comfortably around a tea table set with an enormous plate of buttered scones.

Flitwick noticed that Draco didn't look particularly keen on the scones and smiled to himself as he Summoned a pot of strawberry jam. The young man's sweet tooth was legendary, after all; and indeed his face brightened a lot as soon as the jam arrived. They sat happily munching for a little while.

"Now, tomorrow you will be starting classes; I believe, Mr Malfoy, that you are not keen on continuing in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Um, no," Draco said, after swallowing the rather large mouthful of scone and jam that he had just eaten. "No, I think it would be too much of an invitation to hex me. Forgive me Professor, but I don't think your Ravenclaws like me particularly much."

"I'm afraid you may be right. Nevertheless, I do want you to attend the class on Friday, please; I think it will do you a lot of good."

Draco arched an eyebrow at this. "Can you tell me why, Professor?"

"You will find out tomorrow," Flitwick replied, "but it won't hurt to explain, though I think the Professors would rather you didn't tell everyone."

"Professors?" Harry asked. "More than one?"

"Yes, yes; I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I. Let me explain; but don't tell anyone else, please. We've decided that it's a bad idea to rely on a single Professor for each subject; Albus's troubles with DADA over the years are proof of that. So we are calling on some former teachers, and training up some new ones; so your classes will involve quite a few staff members. We thought it was an ideal opportunity to change things around, given that there are so few students for the next two months. For DADA, the three lessons will involve theory and practical spells, and the Friday session will be largely about dealing with the mind – a lot of Defense is really about getting yourself in the right frame of mind. We all feel that you two in particular will benefit from that class."

Harry and Draco both nodded at this.

"Excellent!" Flitwick beamed. "The other thing I should tell you, which Arthur has probably told you, Draco, is that the Ministry is keen for us to completely revamp Muggle Studies. As such, this will be a compulsory course for our eighth year students."

Harry groaned; but surprisingly, it was Draco who spoke up for the idea.

"No, it's well thought out," he said. "We'll be working on projects aimed at taking a good look at the Muggle world and working out what they're up to, what we can learn from them, and what steps we should take to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. And you'll love the teachers, too."

"Who are they then?" Harry asked.

"Uh-uh!" Draco replied. "Spoilers!"

* * *

They returned to the Dumbledore Tower common room, and found quite a few students sitting around chatting. All of the inhabitants of their own Tower – the North Tower – were there, and after complimenting them on their building work, invited them to come and survey their handiwork in decoration.

On the first floor, Seamus and Dean were rooming together; Draco was astonished to see that Dean had accepted a room decorated largely with shamrocks and leprechauns; when quizzed, he said simply that the red-and-gold of the Gryffindor dormitories had always been a bit garish to his taste, and he found the green soothing. _Chacun à son goût,_ Draco thought; it definitely wasn't to his taste.

Opposite the two boys, Neville had a room to himself. It was no surprise to find that it was decorated with a plant theme – there was ivy spelled onto the walls, and a curtain of bamboo around the bed. It could have been awful, Draco thought, but somehow Neville had made it all come together.

"So you'll be alone, Neville?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the tall Gryffindor replied. "Though the Headmistress has given permission for George to visit at weekends, or me to go home. Unless Theodore Nott comes back, which won't be for another month at least."

"Theo?" Draco asked. "You'd bunk with him? A Slytherin?"

Neville looked at him fixedly. "Of course. He's had a tough time of it, he deserves to be given a place here, and I'd want to help him any way I could."

Not for the first time, Draco wondered at the generosity of Gryffindors. Once he would have considered it to be stupid; but having lived with Harry, he knew better now.

The room opposite theirs was another lion-snake pairing: Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini. Draco privately wondered how that was going to work; the two seemed to have both become magnets for gossip. Their room was, he had to admit, tastefully decorated in browns and creams; except for the awful posters of Chudley Cannons players on the walls around Ron's side of the room. Draco decided not to comment.

Their tour of the Tower had taken them up to lunch; after which, there were games on the lawn, and a few impromptu game of Shuntbumps, one of which Draco won, two Flitwick, and the last, to everyone's surprise, was won by the Beauxbatons student Eva Thillin.

Then came dinner, followed by cards in the Common Room, and bed.

It wasn't until they were in their room that Draco wondered exactly why he had not seen the three Ravenclaw youths since they had left the breakfast table just as he and Harry had arrived.

* * *

_Friday 3 July_

When they woke up on Friday, the sky was a dismal prospect; rain was teeming down their windows. Draco found the sound very soothing, and insisted on cuddling Harry in bed for so long that they had to race to make breakfast

It being the first day of classes, Flitwick and McGonagall handed out timetables.

"Can you explain please just why classes are starting on a Friday?" Seamus asked the headmistress.

"You will find out in good time," she said, smiling enigmatically. Harry had a strong sense of déjà vu – this was exactly what Dumbledore would have done. He hoped that McGonagall wasn't going to turn out like him – one wonderfully dotty head teacher in his life was enough, he rather thought.

He came to, suddenly, realising he had zoned out as Flitwick was explaining that most classes were going to have two (or more) professors.

"We will be calling on old, experienced Professors and also training up some new ones to try to avoid the problems that plagued some of our classes in the past."

"You mean DADA," Michael Corner said, rather derisively.

"Yes indeed, Mr Corner," Flitwick replied, not at all put out by the interruption, and seeming to ignore Corner's tone.

"Five points to Ravenclaw," Justin Finch-Fletchley said _sotto voce_. But it was not soft enough; the Headmistress had heard, and turned a calm gaze on him.

"That's enough of that, Mr Finch-Fletchley," she said. "We have decided not to regard the Eighth Year students as being in Houses; that has already been explained to you."

A horrible thought occurred to Ron Weasley.

"Does that mean no Quidditch?" he asked.

Hermione, sitting beside him, looked to the skies, the classic 'God give me strength' gesture.

"Well, I suppose not," the Headmistress replied. "Though perhaps you could organise a small tournament amongst yourselves, if you wished."

"Very good," Flitwick continued. "Now, to your classes. This morning, you will have Defense, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies. Some of you are not taking Defense, but we do suggest you attend this class, as the curriculum should be interesting to all students. And you will note that you all have Muggle Studies; the Ministry has decided to expand its scope a great deal, to include studies of all the societies that you will potentially interact with: Muggles, Centaurs, Veelas, Merfolk, Werewolves, and other sentient creatures. Such as Wizards."

This was obviously meant as a joke; no-one actually laughed. Flitwick cleared his throat and continued.

"The idea is to attack the blind prejudices that have led to discrimination and outright hatred in the past. I'm sure you all remember the Defense professor you had in Fifth Year…"

There was a general shudder from the Hogwarts students; evidently they all agreed that Dolores Umbridge had been the worst teacher imaginable.

"Yes, well, we were asked how such attitudes might be avoided; and we decided on education, by expanding a class that I know is traditionally viewed as a soft option by our students. I think you might find it rather more challenging than you thought. Off you go!"

And with that clear dismissal, they headed off to the DADA classroom.

* * *

Hermione was feeling a bit miffed. True, it was nice to be sitting next to her fiancé; but she had rather counted on not having Draco for the three periods that Harry had DADA, and now one had been taken away. She had bustled up to him at the beginning of class, hoping to sit with him; he had been the perfect gentleman and held her seat out for her, then, once she was seated, signed to Ron that he should sit next to her.

It was strange. Harry had always relied on her, needed her help in class; but here he was, sitting next to Draco, and by the looks of it they intended to study together quite a lot. She felt the green-eyed monster of jealousy rising up in her heart, and tried to push it down as the door opened to admit the teaching staff.

The Headmistress entered first, followed by an elderly-looking witch and an even more elderly-looking wizard. Harry and Draco smiled broadly when they saw the newcomers. Hermione was surprised; she thought there was something familiar about the witch, but was sure she had not seen the wizard before.

"Well, the class is not quite due to start," McGonagall began, "but as you're all here, may I introduce Professor Dalmatea Merrythought, who will be in charge of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

There came a knock at the door, and a man entered wearing Auror robes. It took a second before Hermione recognised him; she hadn't seen him robed for a while…

"Ah! Auror Banks! Glad you could join us!" the Headmistress said.

"Thank you," Robin replied. "Um, I do hope I'm not late?"

"No, we made an early start. And now I will hand over to Professor Merrythought for the rest of the introduction."

With that the Headmistress nodded to her fellow staff members, and left the room.

"Very good!" Merrythought said. Her voice tinkled; there was really no other word for it. It had the sweet, crisp sound of a well-tuned bell. "Now, as you have heard, this young gentlemen is Auror Banks; he will be assisting me in your practical sessions, which will be held every other week during our double period on Tuesdays. I should say that next week's double period will be our first Theory class."

There was a general moan from the less industrious students.

"I should also say that you will not find Theory quite as dull as you expect," she continued drily. "Now, Friday's class will be a little different, and will largely be taught by our third staff member here. Permit me to introduce a man we are very honoured to have coaxed out of retirement: this is Armand Ionescu."

"Thank you," Armand said softly. "This class will concentrate on an area that I have always felt our curriculum does not handle well: Mind Studies. We will be looking at Legilimency, and Occlumency, and the various disciplines of Mind Healing that are known to the wizarding world."

"So we won't be learning any spells then?" Terry Boot asked, a trifle belligerently, with an unpleasant smirk on his face.

Ionescu looked at him. The expression on his face was mild; so the steel in his voice came as rather a shock.

"Your name, sir?" he asked.

"Terry – Terry Boot," the youth stammered.

"Well, Terry Terry Boot, you are quite wrong. _Prosecho!_ "

A yellow light flared out from the teacher to Boot, and he suddenly sat up very straight, his full concentration aimed at the teacher, his face carefully blank and attentive.

"You see?" Ionescu chuckled, his voice soft again. "The _Prosecho_ spell vastly increases concentration. We shall master it today, and I will teach you how to use it on yourselves and you will find that your studying will become much more efficient. We really should teach this to first years…

"However, for the moment, I should say two things. Firstly: _Finite Incantatum_." With this, Boot relaxed again. "Mind spells are very dangerous, and you must not use them on one another without permission. Something as mild as the concentration spell is acceptable in a controlled environment; but it is very mild compared to other things you will learn. Mr Boot, how would you explain the effect?"

"Just as you said, Professor," the now wide-eyed youth replied. "I found suddenly that I was concentrating on what you said, and all the thoughts of previous DADA classes came to mind, and it was like they were meshing together inside my head. Actually, it was pretty amazing."

"Thank you," Armand said, smiling, then turned to the class. "I will expect you to pair up with fellow students that you trust for any practical work.

"Secondly, this class is not a bludge, or an easy option. You will have to work hard. The aim of this strand of Defense is to teach you to control your own minds and protect them against attack; mind attacks can be very brutal, as Mr Potter is very well aware."

Harry grimaced at this, and Ionescu nodded to him.

"Right! Form yourselves into pairs and we will get you learning the Prosecho spell."

* * *

Transfiguration, they discovered, was being taught by Professor McGonagall.

Angelique Delacour put up her hand. "Excuse me," she said, "but I thought Monsieur le Professeur Andre Dreyfuss would be teaching this class, non?"

"You are quite correct," the Headmistress answered, "but as Professor Flitwick has explained, the classes will have multiple Professors; while Monsieur Dreyfuss is an excellent teacher, he has no experience teaching in English, so he and I will be teaching in tandem to assist him in that.

"Now as the Hogwarts students have heard me say before, Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You should consider this to be the only warning I will give you.."

And with that, the class began in earnest. They were stunned at how fast-paced the class was; there was no turning matches into needles in this class! No, they discussed Vanishment, both Partial and Absolute, and by the end of the class were all able to perform the _Evanesco_ spell with varying degrees of proficiency.

* * *

Muggle Studies was something completely different. The first surprise was the teachers: Ron and Harry's jaws gaped wide as Elphias Doge and Arthur Weasley walked in.

"Dad!" Ron said once he regained the power of speech. "You never said you were teaching!"

Arthur Weasley gave a very uncharacteristic smirk; as Harry looked around, he saw that there was a matching one on Draco's face.

"You knew!" he hissed.

"Yep," said Draco, grinning at him. "Told you you'd like the teachers."

"Right!" Arthur said. "Well, as Ron has indicated, I am Arthur Weasley, his father; but not during classtime. I am also the Deputy Minister for Magic, and this gentleman is Elphias Doge, the Chief Warlock. Our being here should give you a clear idea of just how important this class is in the eyes of the Ministry. It is so important, in fact, that we have asked all students to take it.

"The course will concentrate on Muggles, in particular what we can learn from them, and what we need to do to keep the Wizarding world safe from them. We have traditionally looked down on them; but they are actually very clever indeed, and we need to beware lest the Statute of Secrecy be breached by them being able to detect us. Yes, it is a very real possibility," he said, as some students were looking at him incredulously.

"We will also be studying other important societies: Centaurs, Veelas, Werewolves, and so on. The idea is to make sure that we greet other races and creatures with understanding, rather than the prejudice that we have used before – but am I boring you?"

This time it seemed to be Ernie Macmillan's turn to be the resident troublemaker. "Yeah, Flitwick said all this before."

" **Professor** Flitwick did, did he, Mr …?" Arthur said, rather sternly.

"Macmillan, sir. Ernie Macmillan."

"Thank you, Mr Macmillan. And did he mention the projects?"

"Um… no… I don't think so."

"Right. During this course, each student will be given a different section of Muggle society to study. We want you to write a report detailing the things Professor Flitwick and I talked about earlier: what we can learn from Muggles and what steps need to be taken to keep the Statute of Secrecy in place.

"This is going to be the main piece of assessment for this course; let's face it, the historical exams have largely been a farce. But your reports are expected to be of a very high quality; once you have finished them, you should be an expert in your chosen subject.

"So at least half of your class time will be spent in self-study; and you will be expected to do a large amount of research outside class. You may use whatever materials you can find to assist. The Headmistress will give permission for field trips, provided you can convince her that you are actually working and not just bunking off."

With that, the two Professors gave each student a topic to investigate.

* * *

By the end of the class, they all had their topics, together with a large sheaf of notes to assist them. Harry was very impressed with the work that had gone into this curriculum already; he had to study the Muggle Judiciary, and had vast notes detailing the British Court system, and contact names of Wizards who worked in the Muggle world and would be happy to help. And his materials were not unusual; Ron, who was studying the Police system, had contacts in the Police force, and for Court Officials and Magistrates to give a view from their side; Hermione, studying Administration, had many contacts and also, surprise, surprise, had written three pages of notes already; Draco, studying the Pharmaceutical industry, had information about research chemists, and marketing, and epidemiologists; and so on.

It was at about this point that Harry suddenly got it.

"Nev," he asked, "what's your topic? Plants?"

"Um, yeah, it's called 'horticulture'," Neville replied.

A light went on in Draco's eyes.

"Clever!" he said.

"What is?" Hermione asked.

"Don't you see?" the blond asked, but seeing that she was not happy that she hadn't, he continued before she could speak, "the topics have been chosen not only to inform the wizarding world but also to fit each student."

"Yes, I do see," Hermione said, getting the point. "Like, you love potions, and pharmaceuticals are the Muggle world's version of it. And Ron wants to be an Auror, which is our version of the Muggle Police. It's brilliant!"

Harry nodded in agreement. But he did wonder just exactly why he had been given the Judiciary to study …

* * *

Hermione and Draco had Ancient Runes last thing, while Ron and Harry had a free period. Hermione told them to spend it in the library; and so, of course, they went to the Quidditch pitch and flew.

Once the class was over, Hermione went to the library while Draco, who had seen the glint in Harry's eye and knew exactly what he was going to do, told her he'd see her at dinner and headed off to the pitch.

And so a little while later Hermione was sitting in the library at a desk that gave a good view over the grounds. She was a little miffed that Harry and Ron had blown off time they could have been studying; but she couldn't help the smile that came over her face as she spotted the three students who were instantly recognisable by their hair – the deep rich red locks of her fiancé, Harry's black messy bird's nest, and the distinctive platinum blond of Draco Malfoy. Two of them, of course, she had nearly seven years of friendship with; and Draco, she realised with a surprise, was fast joining them in her affections, even if part of her was upset with the thought that Harry was relying so much less on her. Of course, that didn't alter the fact that Draco had been a git, and horrible to them, and nearly killed Ron with the poisoned wine; and yet here they were, playing Quidditch together as though they had been best friends for years.

They were all growing up, she thought.

About time too.

Her reverie was rudely interrupted by an eagle owl knocking on the window. She recognised Archimedes, Ozymandias's sire, at once, and let him in. The bird hopped lightly onto her table and proffered his leg. She removed the letter attached to it, and he cocked his head at her.

"Sorry, I have no treats," she said, a trifle mournfully. "You could try the kitchen."

The owl hooted huffily at her and flew out the window again.

She shut the window and turned to her letter. It was, as she had seen at a glance, from Lucius Malfoy. They had corresponded quite a lot over the last week; she was finding him to be a very stimulating and courteous correspondent. And how the hell had that ever happened?

But his letter offered her almost no hope at all. There were no known potions that would do what she wanted; no rituals; no documented spells, light or dark. Though Lucius did point out that it was the sort of thing you weren't likely to document…

Days like today Hermione wondered just exactly what was wrong with her. Here she was happily researching methods for men to have babies, and her co-researcher was the father of one of the men in question. And the thing that was upsetting them both was the lack of progress…

Damn Vernon Dursley to Hell for planting the issue so forcefully in Harry's head!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks to all who comment and subscribe! Please do review and let me know your thoughts!


	51. Looks Like Trouble's Returning

**51\. Looks Like Trouble's Returning**

Dinner at the Corner house had been amazing. It had become something of a family tradition for Penelope Corner's brother to come over every Thursday night he was free and join them for dinner; they fed him, while he provided the wine. It suited Penelope, who loved to cook; and it gave her brother, who was practically married to his job, an excuse to leave work at a reasonable hour at least one night a week.

This evening's meal had been outstanding: a beautiful cut of rare roast beef had been accompanied by a delicious vintage bottle of Crozes-Hermitage, apparently one of the proceeds of a dawn raid on a warehouse that the Aurors had believed was the hide-out of a small group of would-be Death Eaters. There were, he told them, some traces that indicated that there had been dark artifacts there; but, to the annoyance of the Aurors, the contraband had evidently been moved in time. Jack Corner couldn't really bring himself to care very much about dark artifacts; he was just glad that they hadn't moved the wine. There were, he thought, definitely some good sides to being married to the sister of the Head Auror.

Right now, said Head Auror was telling them about the visit he had had today from a very irate Paavan Patil, father of the two Patil twins, who had just discovered that morning that his twin daughters had absconded from Beauxbatons. Apparently he had demanded explanations from both Headmistresses by Floo call; Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons had told him point-blank not to be rude, and shut the call off; while Hogwarts' Minerva MacGonagall had been a (very) little more forthcoming: she refused point blank to even confirm that they were there, and had pointed out that his daughters were now of adult age, so even if they were at Hogwarts, she could only suspend or expel them; she could not force them to go anyway, much less return home, if they did not wish to; and neither could he.

Fuming, his face purpling with rage, Patil had then turned up at the Ministry in high dudgeon and had demanded that the Aurors storm Hogwarts and return the girls immediately. It was laboriously pointed out to him that there was no evidence that they were at Hogwarts in the first place, and even if they were, the Aurors had no jurisdiction to remove them; but he refused to accept this and argued for hours, eventually leaving. threatening to sue everybody from Filch all the way up to the Minister.

"And good luck to him," the Auror continued. "I can't imagine the Wizengamot taking the slightest bit of notice."

As he spoke, Corner had rather tuned out and just enjoyed the wine; which is how it came about that he did not hear the faint tapping on the window.

"Isn't that Michael's owl?" Gawain Robarts asked, bringing Jack Corner back to the present.

"What? Oh, yes," he said, opening the window and letting the small barn owl in. The bird gave a soft hoot, deposited a letter, and left straight away, pausing only to steal a piece of roast beef from Corner's plate.

"Damn your eyes!" the man said rather half-heartedly to the departing owl as he opened the letter with his bread knife.

"What's Michael got to say?" Penelope asked.

"Oh, the usual rubbish, I suspect; send more money … " and then he let out a low whistle.

"No, hang on, this is interesting. You were right about the foreign students, Gawain. They've built a new Tower and housed all the Eighth Year students in it. Look, Michael's included a sketch plan. Everybody's in two-bed rooms; Michael's bunking with the chaperone from Durmstrang."

"What?" Penelope asked, worried that her boy might be infected by what she saw as the reactionary and chauvinistic ideals of the Durmstrang Institute. "We didn't send him to Hogwarts to be exposed to that foreign bigotry!"

"Hmm… From what he says, it's more the other way around: the Durmstrang contingent seems to be quite interested in their opinions. Oh, and he's got quite a bit to say about Potter and Malfoy."

Penelope pursed her lips. As the two men at the table knew well, she did not approve of That Sort Of Thing.

"Oh, come on, Pen," Robarts said to her. "Potter saved us from that bastard; you can hardly begrudge him a private relationship."

"With a man?" she demanded. "And a Death Eater. And a Malfoy!"

Gawain decided there was no point in continuing. "Yes, well, we know what you have to say on that subject; what has Michael got to say?"

"I'm afraid he rather agrees with his mother," Jack replied, earning a filthy look from his wife for the way he'd put it. "Well, dear," he continued, anxious to placate her, "we need to accept that there are other points of view. Otherwise we'll just see someone else rise up and play on people's fears and prejudices. What if next time it's about sexuality, instead of blood purity, hmm?"

"Fine," Penelope said. The two men looked at each other; they both knew that this was the word she used to close down an argument when she felt she was right but couldn't stand to hear them argue any longer.  
Jack knew it meant he should shut up; so he moved hastily on.

"Anyway, it seems there's quite some feeling rising up about it. Might be worth having another Auror or two on the ground, just in case?"

Robarts groaned. "We're stretched pretty thin as it is," he replied, thinking out loud. "We've got Robin Banks there teaching DADA, so of course we can keep Toby Proudfoot there as his partner; but too many will look suspicious. I guess I could move a couple of the younger ones currently on duty at Azkaban – but I'd have to replace them. All I've got unrostered at the moment are Godwin and Crockford."

"Well, I'm sure you'll sort something out," his host replied, and then turned to his wife.

"What's for pudding?"

* * *

By the time he reached the Ministry the following morning, the plan had fully formed in his head. He spent an hour or so reviewing the roster and making sure it would all work, and then called both Tom Godwin and Dandelus Crockford in to his office.

"Gentlemen," he said once they had sat down with a cup of tea each. "We have a small problem."

He proceeded to outline just what he had heard about the situation at Hogwarts, and the simmering tensions Michael had alluded to.

"So you see we'll need to shuffle personnel about a bit. Now, I could use you both at Hogwarts, and your experience would be invaluable; but you wouldn't really fit in. I think we need some younger people. Who do you suggest?"

 _It was so easy_ , he thought to himself half an hour later – a cup of tea and a little flattery, and the two would now be on Azkaban guard duties for the next week, starting on Sunday, freeing up some of the younger Aurors to keep a watchful eye on Hogwarts. With any luck, they could be passed off as part of the new teaching programme, or possibly as mentors. He'd have to firm that all up with Kingsley, he supposed; or perhaps Arthur Weasley. Yes, definitely Arthur. He was less busy, Robarts decided. _And more malleable_ , a little voice in his head said. But he ignored it. No, that wasn't the reason at all, he told himself.

He sat down and wrote out the orders there and then; and, remembering Crockford's history with Barnes, made sure to add a special rider to the instructions:

_Please note that Auror Crockford is not  
to guard the Death Eaters._

An hour later, all his paperwork finished, he left his office for an early lunch.

* * *

Robarts was rather pleased that his office had windows open to the Atrium; it meant that he could fill it with plants, as they got plenty of natural light. Of course, the plants had to be watered, and moved around; and like any office, this duty was given to contractors. And, as is usually the case in business, these contractors were effectively invisible; even though they had access to the offices some of the most senior people in the Wizarding world, they weren't really vetted that carefully, nor were new staff checked up on effectively. And these contractors are not paid particularly well; thus establishing ideal conditions for less-than-scrupulous people to indulge in a little bribery and corruption.

Particularly, Rita Skeeter thought grimly as she hung on beneath the ribbon plant that had been placed in the Head Auror's office the day before, people with a grudge. And with patrons who harboured grudges of their own. Not that she really knew who was financing her; all she knew, all she needed to know, was that she had been paid well in advance for creating disruption, and would be paid more, and allowed to print whatever she wanted, when it was done.

And so the beetle transformed back into the witch, and she leafed idly through the paperwork, spotting the order to move Auror details around. A rather evil grin came on her face as she spotted an opportunity for some serious mischief; a quick vanishing spell achieved her aim, and she retreated back to the plant.

Later that afternoon, the plants were moved around the office; and after a whispered conversation in a very secluded corridor, a ribbon plant found its way into the main office shared by the Aurors. Quite near to the desk used by Dandelus Crockford …

* * *

The weekend had been grueling. Everyone had wanted to talk to Harry; the Beauxbatons students all wanted his autograph, and locks of his hair, and probably anything else he was prepared to give them, Draco thought wryly; and his friends weren't much better. Of course, they hadn't seen him for a week, and now he was freely accessible; but Draco could see by mid-morning on Sunday that something needed to be done.

Taking his courage in both hands, he had a quick word with Flitwick; he was delighted, though not entirely surprised, to find that the Charms Professor had indeed noticed what was going on; and, even better, was quite happy to fall in with Draco's plan. So it was with light heart that Draco returned to the Dumbledore Tower Common Room, where there was a set of games of Exploding Snap being played. He waited for a convenient moment, and then leant over his fiancé.

"Harry," he whispered. "Got a moment?"

Harry looked up. "I've been wondering where you were," he said as he got up.

"Getting us a leave pass," Draco said with a smirk, leading Harry over to the nearest fireplace. Quickly, before anyone else noticed, he threw in the powder that Flitwick had given him – for, in a bid to stop students over-using the facility, the fireplace was charmed so that it required special powder that would only be given out on particular request to Flitwick or McGonagall – and murmured his destination, then pulled Harry through.

"Draco! Harry!" an excited voice rang out, and a minute later, to his very great surprise, Harry found himself being hugged by Narcissa Malfoy. And, to her surprise, and his own, he burst into tears.

* * *

"This is madness," the junior clerk said again.

"Probably," the senior replied. "But it's what it says. You have to do what the boss says, my lad, especially if he goes to the trouble of writing it out so pretty. Go on, read it out again."

"Why? You know as well as I do what it says: ' _Please note that Auror Crockford is to guard the Death Eaters_ '. But it makes no sense," the junior grizzled. Getting a stern look from his superior, he raised his hands palms forward in the universal gesture of surrender.

"All right," he said.

And so it was that, contrary to Gawain Robarts' actual order, Dandelus Crockford went down to the section of Azkaban specifically dedicated to the remaining Death Eaters. Not that he was told; the staff at Azkaban never made free with information. It was something of a rite of passage for their new boys to sort things out for themselves. And if it added to their terror, well, that was one of the few perks of the job for the admin staff. So it was that Crockford tentatively made his way through the prison, accompanied by a junior Auror; and, unknowingly, by a small beetle who had stowed away in his robes …

* * *

It took Harry nearly an hour to calm down; and at the end he sat, now in Draco's arms, blushing bright red. His fiancé was making low soothing noises, and rubbing circles on his back; it was helping his emotions a lot, but not his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he said, over and over again.

"What for?" Draco replied once Harry quietened down to a whimper. "Love, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're still recovering, remember? And everyone at Hogwarts is expecting you to be on top form, but it's obviously too soon. You're allowed to be weak and needy, OK? We're here for you, and we'll always help. How about we spend the rest of the day here, and maybe stay overnight; no-one is going to care if you cry or not, OK?"

"Thanks," Harry whispered.

In the event, they dined at the manor, which was a peaceful affair. Lucius and Narcissa struck just the right balance of showing interest in them and giving them room to recover. Harry was very grateful to have people in his life who supported him so whole-heartedly; he finally decided that, even if the Debt was driving it, this was how things were. And so Lucius was very taken aback when they got up from the dinner table and he was enveloped in a hug from Harry; but the most surprising thing, to all of them, was that he hugged back, and even kissed Harry on the top of his head. And if Harry squeezed him just a little tighter when he softly murmured, 'thank you', no-one said anything about it.

* * *

"Crockford," the voice whispered. "Well, well, well."

The Auror halted in his tracks. He hadn't expected ever to hear that voice again; the voice that still haunted his nightmares. And now …

"Et imperium!" he mouthed softly, and Dandelus stiffened perceptibly. _Excellent,_ Barnes thought. Those fools at the Ministry had defused the curse; but had completely missed Muggle auto-suggestion hiding a second one. _This is going to be fun …_

"Are you alright?" the other Auror asked, only to find a wand aimed at him.

"Stupefy!" Crockford said, seconds before the other man realised he was in danger.

"Very good," Barnes said. "Now, let me out."

A minute later, Barnes was out; it took them a few minutes more to free both his boss and the other convict they trusted. A little while later, the two Aurors, relieved of their wands and robes, had taken their places. Barnes took care to stupefy Crockford and place a memory charm on both of the Aurors, removing any evidence of the compulsion charm he'd used. He would have liked to leave Crockford to face the music; but an agent in the Aurors was a useful asset, after all. Even with the memory altered, they might never be able to use him again; but if the Ministry found out what had been done, 'might never' would be a certainty.

"Where to now?" the female prisoner hissed.

Barnes turned to Crockford. "Where is safe?" he demanded.

The Auror looked at him, glassy-eyed; but he replied readily enough, "Goyle is now completely bedridden; the Auror watch was cancelled a week ago. They're stretched pretty thin; you've probably got a day or two to get there and then find somewhere else."

The three escapees conferred. "It'll do," Barnes said, "at least until we can get to Devil's Crag."

"Shush!" the leader hissed. "The walls have ears!"

"What about me?" a voice demanded from a nearby cell.

"Oh yes," Barnes said, his voice dripping with an icy contempt. "What about you? How shall I repay you for all you've done? I know – _Avada Kedavra!_ "

And Yaxley's lifeless body slumped to the ground, his unseeing eyes still showing the shock of his betrayal.

* * *

They returned to Hogwarts just as breakfast was starting on Monday morning. Hermione was in the Hall; she hadn't slept much, worried for her best friend, and spotted them as soon as they appeared, making a beeline for them. Draco was sure that she just wanted to express concern for Harry's well-being; but Harry wasn't really up to it, so he settled Harry down and pulled Hermione aside.

"He had a bit of a meltdown yesterday," he explained rather apologetically. "He's done what he always does, bolted straight back into everything the moment our holiday was over, as though nothing was wrong; but he's still healing, he really needs more space than he was getting."

Hermione looked at him askance. She had thought she trusted Malfoy, but somehow being here in Hogwarts had brought all the fights and name-calling of the past to her mind, and she wasn't quite sure she could.

"Hmm," she said, tight-lipped. "I think I'll see for myself."

Draco arched an eyebrow, but made no comment or move to stop her as she walked back to the table. Draco slid in beside Harry, looking too possessive for Hermione's liking, as she sat down opposite them.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, her voice oozing concern.

"'M fine, 'Mione," Harry replied, his voice soft. "Just needed a bit of peace and quiet."

No doubt he would have said more, but a certain red-head came into view, shouting, "Hermione! Where are you?"

"Over here, Ron," she hissed back. "And do pipe down!"

"Why?" he asked; and then he spotted the two love-birds across from his own, and his eyes went wide. "Harry! What happened?" he said, moderating his voice in response to a glare from Hermione as he sat down next to her. He looked at Draco. "What did you do to him?" he asked, a little too loud and not entirely kindly.

"I took him home so he could have a bit of peace and quiet," Draco replied, his voice the full arrogant Malfoy drawl that they had known for years. "And I think we'd all prefer it if you would give us a bit more."

Ron sat there fuming, but Harry spoke before things could get out of hand.

"He's got a point, Ron. It just got all too much for me and we escaped for the night, all right? He didn't – do – anything to me, unless you count taking me away from a gaggle of screaming Beauxbatons fan girls and letting me do whatever I wanted for the evening with no-one arguing or asking inane questions. Which actually was a very pleasant dinner with Lucius and Narcissa."

Ron's mouth opened and closed silently in a very passable imitation of a goldfish, which made Harry laugh. It was a pleasant, well-meaning laugh, though, and suddenly all of the tension in the room evaporated as Harry leant forward and spoke in a whisper.

"So guys, I'm gonna need your help, alright? Please don't let me get ganged up on; this all-over unity is great but I'm not sure we can trust everyone just yet, OK?"

Ron was amazed. In two sentences, Harry had changed from a rather broken-looking man to the Harry he knew of old: bold, determined, and above all, in charge. He could see that, whatever he had thought before, Draco was helping.

"OK," he said. "Whatever you need, we're still your friends." He turned to Draco. "And I guess, ferret, that goes for you too."

For a second, Harry worried that Draco would take umbrage at the insult; but the blond knew them too well for that. He could here the genuine concern for Harry in Weasley's voice, and that was enough. He grinned.

"OK, weasel," he replied.

* * *

The figure in the shadows slunk away, back to the Tower to check on his charges. As Ivan Smetana walked, a sly grin came over his face. The boy was still healing. Well, he had heard that he'd been hidden away for a fortnight; he had naturally assumed it was because the boy was weak, and he despised weakness. But now he _knew_. That was so much better than assuming.

Yes, now he knew what was going to push Potter's buttons. Malfoy had been obvious; too obvious. But clearly, he still cared about Granger and Weasley just as much as he ever had.

 _Good._ If the plan with Malfoy didn't work, he could use his boys to drive the wedge there, to get Potter to slip away from Malfoy just a little.

Because just a little would be just enough. Then Draco Malfoy would be at his mercy.

And he would at last have his revenge on Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

They were so quick and stealthy that they very nearly escaped scot-free. The problem was, of course, that they only had two sets of robes between three; so they wasted precious time stupefying another Auror just to steal robes and wand. Precious time that meant that when they reached the little room by the front gates where brooms from incoming Aurors were stored, the alarm sounded, and spells started to fly about randomly.

They panicked, and ran. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," their leader berated them, hissing displeasure. The hissing stopped almost immediately when it became clear that the Aurors could hear it; their accuracy suddenly increased greatly. As they reached the room, a curse hit home, and the largest convict doubled over in pain.

"Get on!" the leader hissed, and the other two were quick to obey as brooms were thrown at them. Seconds later they were aloft, and after sending an Incendio at the remaining brooms to make pursuit difficult, they were away.

The leader cackled as they made landfall. A little down the coast, just where it was supposed to be, the clump of rock stood out. They made their way to it, and found a ledge which went into the rock and around, creating a space hidden from view. Casting _Revelio_ made a small door appear in the apparently smooth granite, and the three of them entered a room hidden inside the rock.

Inside, everything was as expected. The room was small, but obviously enlarged as it was much bigger than would have fitted inside the rock. There were wardrobes of clothes, cupboards of food charmed not to spoil, and most wonderful of all, a fully functional bathroom.

An hour later, scrubbed clean and dressed in fine robes, they sat down to a pleasant, if not particularly luxurious, meal. They burned their 'borrowed' Auror robes and wands in the fireplace; no point in leaving anything that could incriminate them, especially as there was a small rack of spare wands to choose from.

Finally, they made a quick search and found a store of galleons.

"I'm impressed," the leader said. "Your department did very well, Rookwood."

The tall ex-Unspeakable smiled at the praise; though on his stiff features, it was more of a grimace.

"We aim to please, ma'am," he said, with a mock bow. But she excused his levity. After all, Azkaban was supposed to be impossible to escape from; she had just proven that false.

* * *

If the weekend had been bad, Monday was a day from Hell.

First up, there was Charms; Flitwick was in charge, of course, and his usual irrepressible twittery self; but his off-sider, that was the first problem of the day. For it turned out that the Beauxbatons chaperone, Madame Dubois, was an expert in Charms; and so they had her tutelage. It didn't take long for Harry to realise what this meant; not only were all the Beauxbatons girls trying to get him to notice them, but they were being blatantly egged on by the new teacher.

To begin with, Harry's friends found this rather funny; but that got old rather quickly when they were broken into groups of four for small-group work, and, surprise, surprise, the other three members of Harry's group were Gabrielle Delacour, Marie Thibault and Eva Thillin. And to top it off, the first charm they learnt was rather well-known to the members of the former Dumbledore's Army: the Protean charm, which links several objects together through a common purpose. Hermione groaned; she was already rather proficient at this charm, having used it on the fake galleons that the DA had used to communicate with one another.

Today's lesson was along the same lines: the groups each charmed pieces of parchment so that lines written on any of them would be replicated to all of them. They each had to send at least ten messages to one another during the next week. _Great,_ Harry groaned. _Now three Beauxbatons girls have a 'hotline to Harry' …_

Harry's second period was free, while Draco studied Arithmancy. He took himself off to the library, and read through the Potions textbook to get ready for the afternoon's class, double Potions. It should have been delightful; but unfortunately, the three other members of his Charms group had other ideas. Every few minutes, one of them would write something on the parchment; it would glow a little when they did, to announce that there was a message. And of course each time, he picked it up and read it. He had to; Eva had 'helpfully' charmed it with the little glow, but when he tried to ignore the first message he found that it would speak the message out loud if he didn't actually read it straight away. And the messages the three girls write on the parchment were masterpieces of innuendo, and Harry got steadily redder and redder, much to the delight of the other students in the library. But when he was asked whether he loved Quidditch because he enjoyed the feeling of a hard broomstick between his legs, he decided that enough was enough, and simply Incendioed the page. He'd rather fail Charms than put up with this, he decided.

While sitting with his friends at lunch did help his mood a bit, the cow's-eyes that the Beauxbatons girls and their group (for they seemed to have swept up the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaw girls into one big Harry Potter fan club) kept making at him definitely did not. And the other students spent most of the meal looking daggers at him.

About half-way through the meal, it happened. Eva Thillin leant over towards him, and said, with a little girlish titter, "Zo, 'arry, you have not replied to our messages for a leetle while? Why is that?"

Harry fixed her with a glare, to which she returned what she probably thought was a coquettish look. Hell, it probably was, he thought; he just wasn't interested.

"I'm sorry," he said, making no attempt to keep the iciness out of his voice, "but I'm afraid I find your particular brand of conversation does not suit me, so I shan't be continuing."

Madame Dubois gave him an appraising look. "Just what are you trying to say, Mr Potter?" she asked imperiously.

He turned his gaze to her, and there was now no mistaking the coldness in his eyes. "I am saying that your girls have been writing things that I regard as wholly inappropriate, and I have Incendioed the parchment."

With that, he dropped his head and continued eating his lunch as though nothing had happened.

Ivan Smetana found his appetite was suddenly gone. Could this be the same boy he had seen this morning? Perhaps there was more steel in him than he had thought. But then, Mr Potter had always been full of surprises, he thought, remembering the events of the Triwizard Tournament and the stories that he had heard about it…

* * *

Harry had hoped that Potions would at least be tolerable. After all, his fiancé was a Potions genius, and he had Snape's notes to help him. What could possibly go wrong?

He had failed to reckon with two things: Potions master Horace Slughorn and Bulgarian student Stefan Ivanov.

The moment he spotted Harry, Slughorn fawned and simpered all over him; it was sickening. Admittedly he did fawn over the guest students as well, but that didn't really help Harry's temper much. Naturally, he wanted to move them all about and put them in different pairs "to promote unity", a catch-phrase Harry was growing heartily sick of; but Harry decided, after the disaster of his Charms group, that he was sitting with Draco come Hell or high water, and so smiled sweetly at his Professor and said that he really did want to sit with his fiancé, and no-one else.

While Harry's voice was sweet, his eyes were not, and Slughorn seemed to get the hint. He even backed off a bit in smarminess, which Harry felt was all to the good.

"Very well, very well. Now, are you all settled?" he asked. "Very good. Today we shall brew a potion that one of you has shown some promise in—" his smile to Harry was sickeningly sweet, and the student groaned at the teacher's exuberance, fearing what would come next. With a swish of his wand, the potion was revealed on the blackboard: they were to brew the Elixir to Induce Euphoria

There was a snort to Draco's right, and they looked over to see one of the two Durmstrang students shaking his head.

"Why do we have to brew such a trivial potion?" he asked, his voice belligerent.

Slughorn pulled himself to his full height – which was more comical than impressive, Harry thought privately, and, judging by the stifled snigger from behind him, it seemed that Ron agreed – and glowered at the boy.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

"Stefan Ivanov," the boy replied in a bored tone of voice.

"Yes," Slughorn replied. "Well, Mr Ivanov, I am, of course, aware of your accomplishments; but I'm sure you understand that I wish to start this class with something not too difficult to assess the students. After all, they have not achieved your level of mastery. I'm sure for one of your abilities, this potion will be a snap; so we all look forward to seeing the perfect potion that you brew. To begin with, perhaps you could talk us through the steps and explain each ingredient and its properties?"

"I rather thought," the boy drawled, "that you were the teacher, not me."

"Very well," Slughorn replied. "I trust that you will remember that. Now …"

And with that, he went on to discuss the ingredients himself, and the method. Harry, who had indeed brewed this potion before, while the older students were being tested for their Apparition license, sat back and tuned out a bit. He knew how to brew it, after all; and he wasn't going to follow Slughorn's instructions, not when the ones in the book were so much better. On the whole, while the tension in the room was riding high after the exchange between Slughorn and Ivanov, he had to admit that Slughorn had come out on top, making the student looking a prize ass. This was nice, in a way; but probably spelt trouble later.

Slughorn came to the end of his exposition. "Now," he finished up, "I'm sure you will all be very careful to avoid accidents, and I know no-one would dream of interfering with any other student's work." With that, and a stern glare, he sat down. Then, as no-one moved, he looked up at them again. "Well," he said, "get moving; the potion isn't going to brew itself!"

Once they started brewing, Harry couldn't help noticing the poisonous glances that were sent towards him and Draco from the two Durmstrang students. He noticed, in particular, that their eyes narrowed when he added the sprig of peppermint that Snape's instructions recommended; he made sure to watch his cauldron carefully, lest they try to interfere. Though it was going to be difficult given that Draco's was between him and them.

"Something up, Potter?" Ivanov hissed at him.

"No," he replied. "Just making sure all is well. We don't want any … accidents, understood?"

Ivanov looked daggers at him, and it was quite clear to Harry that he had got the message. "Anyway," he said, "just what are you doing? You don't seem to be following the instructions. Do you want your potion to explode?"

"No thanks," Harry said. "And I'm not that good at Potions, so I have some notes of my own that help me out a bit."

This admission seemed to mollify the other a tiny bit, and they settled back into a wary watchfulness.

It was when they added the Wormwood that things got interesting. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Ivanov stirring; then there was the tiniest flick, and a pinch of some gold powder sailed towards Draco's cauldron. The motion was done so expertly, and the amount was so small, that you would not have seen it if you hadn't been watching. There was no time to get out his wand, and Harry didn't want people to know how good he was at wandless magic; so he grabbed Draco's wrist, and, as he had hoped, the Shield flared briefly around the powder and, to Ivanov's horror, it flew back into his cauldron.

They sat there in silence for a couple of seconds, Draco looking at Harry, wondering just why his wrist had been grabbed; and then it happened. Ivanov's cauldron simply disintegrated, emitting a cloud of blue smoke. Harry had taken advantage of the delay to whip out his wand; so he was able to cast a containment spell to keep the smoke on Ivanov's desk, where it sat, a pulsating mass, looking quite evil in colour.

"It seems, Mr Ivanov," Slughorn said through gritted teeth, as he cast a diagnostic spell, "that you have managed to put some ground Prussian splendid webcap in your potion. We must all thank Mr Potter for his swift action in securing the smoke; it would not have particularly harmed anyone, but the itchiness it would have produced is most unpleasant."

"Why would I thank him? He must have known it was there. He sabotaged my potion!" the Durmstrang student bit out, his voice rising in accusation.

"That's quite a charge, Mr Ivanov," Slughorn replied sternly, "I happen to know for a fact that we don't have any in stock, as I checked the stores yesterday; so I wonder how you would explain that an ingredient found in your native land but not readily available here might have found its way into a cauldron?"

"He is obviously trying to – how do you say – set me up!" the youth yelled in reply. With that, he got out of his seat and stormed out of the room. Or at least, he would have, if the door had not been spelled shut when he got to it.

"SIT DOWN!" Slughorn roared.

The youth, shocked, went back to his seat.

"That's better," the Professor continued. "Now, Mr Ivanov, I will not have people throwing wild accusations without proof. You will apologise to Mr Potter, and we will continue. Perhaps you had used the toadstool on a previous occasion and some spores had stuck to your robe?"

"Well, perhaps," said Ivanov, who clearly knew he was beaten and was being offered a face-saving out. Then, with a complete lack of grace, and without looking at Harry, he continued, "I apologise to Mr Potter."

"Apology accepted," said Harry. His potion was now complete, a beautiful sunshine-yellow colour, and he had an idea for a rather delicious pay-back. As he bottled it, he said. "Perhaps Stefan would try my potion for me?"

Slughorn beamed. This was exactly the unity he was trying to foster. He checked Harry's potion; it was, he was quite sure, perfect. "An excellent idea. Here you are, Mr Ivanov."

Stefan Ivanov looked at the vial he was offered as though it contained poison; but even he could see that there was no way out short of an outright declaration of hatred. He sipped the potion cautiously, and a delicious feeling of happiness spread through his body.

"Mmm.." he said. "It's wonderful!"

Half an hour later, everyone except the Bulgarian had managed to brew something more-or-less acceptable, and they left the room. Stefan was still beaming euphorically and Slughorn could not help but comment about it to Harry.

"Just brilliant, my boy! He only took a small amount, most people's potion would work for perhaps twenty minutes at the most, but yours shows every sign of lasting a while yet. I shouldn't be surprised if he bursts into song during dinner."

Harry nodded, thanking the Potions Professor for his kind words; but in truth fervently hoped that Ivanov would do no such thing. He was quite sure that he was in enough trouble already after the events of the day; the Bulgarian was going to be murder to deal with once the euphoria had worn off.

It looked like it was going to be a hell of a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged; by which I mean, expected) to 'like' it.
> 
> Thanks to all who comment and subscribe! Please do review and let me know your thoughts!


	52. Returning to Spinner's End

**52.** **Returning to Spinner's End**

It was Tuesday morning before Rita Skeeter managed to make her way back to civilisation. She was very tired; she had spent a lot of time in her animagus form, and that was never good. She had been rather concerned when the three escapees had so gleefully removed their robes; at least the woman had the modesty to turn from the men while she found some alternative clothing, but of course she didn't know that Skeeter was there so didn't bother to cover up. While, as a gossip columnist, Rita was insatiably curious, there were things that she desperately did not want to know, so she screwed her eyes tight shut, which nearly got her burnt with the Auror's robes when the three made a bonfire out of them, Fortunately, a beetle scuttling up the chimney had not attracted any notice from the three rather tired escaped magicals. Exiting the top of the floo was quite strange – it was protected by charms that made her feel quite giddy, and she had to spend a few minutes perched in a nearby tree. A few rather tense minutes; there were birds about, and it would be very ignominious to survive three rather nasty felons to end up being dinner for a common sparrow.

But now she had made it home, had a long shower, and sat down with a tumbler of firewhiskey. It was time to think about how best to use the information she had.

She weighed her options carefully. She hadn't really expected the prisoners to escape; that was very unfortunate. Especially as it might well earn her her own stay in Azkaban. Clearly there was more going on here than she had bargained for.

There were three things she could do: she could go back to the people who had engaged her, she could go to the Ministry, or she could find some other patron to look after her.

Going to her employers really wasn't much of an option. The pay was good, but she had no reason to trust them to keep her out of Azkaban; after all, it would be cheaper than paying her.

The Ministry wasn't really a better option; there was no reason for them to protect her, and she would make such a convenient scapegoat. She wasn't about to trust Shacklebolt any more than the previous Ministers; she'd seen so much of politicians that her cynicism about them was ingrained.

No, she needed someone else. Someone influential, and wealthy, and devious. And when you laid it out like that, there really was only one person who fitted the bill …

* * *

The escapees spent Monday and most of Tuesday at Goyle Manor. As they had been told, there was no longer an Auror watch; but even so, Graham Goyle warned them that he still got visited by the Aurors sporadically, just to check that his one remaining house elf was looking after him properly. But they didn't have much choice; their leader insisted that they contact their inside contact at the Ministry, so an owl was dispatched on Monday afternoon; happily, the reply arrived on Tuesday afternoon, containing further details of the ritual that they were going to perform, together with the location of one dark artefact that they had not already located, a silver circlet that legend said belonged to the goddess Circe. Of course, they scoffed at the idea; nonetheless, the circlet was known to have important uses in magic of the mind, particularly in localising and focusing memory spells; so was perfect for their needs.

"Excellent!" their leader announced. "Circe's circlet has been located; it remains hidden under the flagstones at the Carrow's house. And the best thing is, it is covered by a dark concealment charm that has completely evaded the Aurors. The place has been thoroughly searched, and they didn't find it. So if we remove it, no-one will know. We can make it look like the place is our hideout, and no-one will know why we were there."

"So," Barnes asked, "when can we perform the ritual?"

"It will have to be on a new moon," came the answer, as Rookwood consulted both the instructions and then an almanac. "It's full moon on Thursday, so we must have just over a fortnight – yes, new moon is the twenty-third."

"Then we have to wait till the full moon to complete the ritual; so that will be on the eighth of August."

"So are we going to fetch the circlet then?" Barnes asked.

"Not so fast. We want to do it under cover of darkness; the moon is nearly full, so we will have to wait for it to set."

"When is that?"

Rookwood consulted the almanac again. "Not till just after four in the morning. And the sun rises at four fifty-three. So we won't have much time. I suggest we get some sleep until then."

* * *

The moon had just set when the three magicals Apparated to the Carrow's modest house hidden in a dell outside a small village in Yorkshire. It took them a few minutes to confirm that there were no wards or nasty traps laid for them before they entered the cottage. Rookwood and Barnes together cast the counterspell that revealed the hidden space under the flagstone; and twenty minutes later they had the small casket that contained their prize. As planned, they were careful to make the place look lived in; that way, if there was any ward set that they hadn't found, it would look like they had come for refuge. They were back at Goyle Manor well before sunrise.

When they opened the casket, they found the circlet nestled in straw; Rookwood reached out to touch it, but was swatted before he could.

"We'd better check for curses, don't you think?" their leader asked him, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

Rookwood gulped, and did so. His face went white; if he had managed to touch the circlet, he would probably not have lived long enough to do anything else.

"Does anyone know how to remove the disintegration curse when bound to an object?"

None of the four of them did; and any of Goyle's books that might have helped had been confiscated.

They mulled over the situation for half an hour, until Rookwood suggested one place they could look, one place which the Aurors had never visited.

Their leader smiled at this news. "This one will have to wait till the weekend. But we might take up residence there, as well. Mr Goyle is probably sick of our company by now."

Goyle protested that this was not the case; but in his heart of hearts, he knew perfectly well that she was quite right. The sooner they were out of his house, the sooner he could breathe easy. He had no illusions about the Ministry: if they were caught there, he would be 'harbouring known fugitives'; and the stay in Azkaban he would earn for it would kill him.

* * *

Rita Skeeter Flooed to Malfoy Manor to discuss the events of the weekend. Lucius met her with a cautious courtesy, and took her into his study. Two hours later, he sat in his chair, flummoxed.

"There is something going on here," he said. "You say that you don't even know who your Ministry sponsor is?"

"No, he – or she – contacts me through the cleaning staff."

Lucius sat back, closing his eyes for a moment, running through people in his head. Suddenly, he snapped back to attention. That had to be it. He knew who had escaped, of course; the Ministry had alerted him straight away. For that, at least, he was grateful; forewarned is forearmed, after all. Though he rather suspected that the Ministry was doing it for more prosaic motives: they would be coming to him to help with damage limitation sometime in the future. It was a bit galling to him that that was what they valued him for; on the other hand, it was good to be valued at all. And, he had to admit, he was pretty good at it; and he could hardly complain, having been given free rein with that bastard Dursley.

He came back to the present. He could pretty much piece together what was being plotted, and who was plotting it. It boiled down to a boring old grab for power. But then, he mused, in their place, he would probably be doing much the same thing. A nasty grin found its way onto his face: he wasn't in their place, and that made all the difference.

"Miss Skeeter," he said, "I'm pretty sure I know who your employer is. And I think I can see what he's up to. Here's how I think you should play it …"

* * *

The week was flashing by for the eighth year students. They were being worked hard right from the very beginning in all their classes, and by Thursday they were already establishing a rhythm of classes, tests, homework, studying, eating, socialising and sleeping. There had been no further incidents of note; but the students did notice that there were more Aurors around; 'just to introduce ourselves and let you know that the Ministry is very concerned about your safety', they were told. None of them really believed it; but there wasn't any other obvious reason for the Auror presence. Not that that stopped the rumour mill from working overtime. The most popular rumour was that, well, they were all young adults, and virile, and all cooped up together; so perhaps their chaperones needed backup …

Some students approached Ron and Harry, thinking that with their connections to the Ministry, they would have some idea, what with Ron's father being Deputy Minister and Harry being a personal friend of the Minister himself. But neither of them had any clue what was going on; and they staunchly refused to speculate, so the gossip mongers had to go elsewhere. Blaise, who loved to know everything and was being driven mad by the lack of information, even sent an owl off to Rita Skeeter, wondering if she knew anything; she replied that she didn't, but promised to let her readers know as soon as she did.

"She knows something," he said to himself as he read the letter, "I'm sure of it."

"What's that, Blaise?" Pansy demanded. But he wouldn't tell her. This was his contact, he didn't want to share.

The Muggle Studies class on Thursday was given over to researching their projects; most of the students were ecstatic about this, as it meant a class for which there was no immediate assessment and no homework, already a rarity. But Draco and Harry learnt that in fact Arthur's generosity had an ulterior motive: he asked the two of them to meet with him in the office he had been given. When they got there, his face was grave.

He invited them in to what had been Charity Burbage's office. The decoration was largely untouched; there were old Muggle books and equipment around the room, and the desk was still littered with papers in her writing even after all this time. Harry shuddered at the thought that they were probably the first people in the office since Charity had disappeared during the War. Muggle Studies had not been offered under Professor Snape's headmastership, after all.

Arthur transfigured the chairs from the girly chintz that Burbage had chosen into stuffed leather armchairs, and waved them to take one each.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," he said, as he took a seat himself. "There's no nice way to say this: there was a break-out from Azkaban sometime early Monday morning. Three prisoners have escaped. As you can imagine, it's caused a terrible flap at the Ministry."

"Who escaped?" Harry asked warily.

"Yaxley?" Draco asked, his face pale.

"No, oddly enough," Arthur informed them, "Yaxley is dead, killed by the escapees."

Draco Malfoy let out a low whistle. Harry looked at him aghast; who knew that the consummate pureblood knew how to whistle?

"Indications are that they killed him in cold blood. There was no struggle; he was cut down by the Avada Kedavra curse. There was nothing to indicate that his cell door had been opened; they simply killed him without going into the cell at all. In some sense, it's a pity Yaxley didn't escape; we have a fair idea what he would have got up to. The three escapees who did escape must have some sort of plan, but we have no idea what it might be, and very little idea who, if anyone, is helping them. The escapees were two Death Eaters: Barnes and Rookwood; and one other prisoner so beloved by all of us: Dolores Umbridge."

Both boys' faces went white. This probably went some way to explaining the extra Aurors, then.

"Umbridge?" Harry squeaked, as his gaze went involuntarily to his hand, where the words _I must not tell lies_ could still be seen faintly, his own personal permanent reminder of the witch's cruelty. "Why her?"

"Good question. First indications are that Umbridge was coerced; her cell looks like there was a struggle. It may be that they wanted to use some connections of hers; believe it or not, there are still quite a few witches and wizards who think she was hard done by at her trial."

Harry snorted. As far as he was concerned, the old witch deserved everything she got and more.

"Quite," Arthur said, easily guessing exactly what Harry meant. "In the old days, she'd have been kissed and that would have been that. But we have the Potter Code; and on the whole we all agree we need it desperately, even if people like her can play the system. There's no doubt in the Ministry's mind that she's rotten to the core, of course; I actually received a petition when she was sentenced asking for her to receive the Dementor's Kiss, signed by practically everyone who worked for her. Personally I have some sympathy with the idea, but of course we can't break the law! And we have to keep an open mind officially. As to what happened, from what we can gather, Crockford was put on Auror duty at Azkaban, and somehow he and a junior Auror were overpowered."

Harry's face went from frightened white to enraged red in seconds.

"Who thought that was a good idea?" he demanded.

"Well, it seems that Gawain Robarts gave orders that were tampered with. We found the parchment with his order on it; he originally wrote that Crockford was not to guard the Death Eaters, and someone has removed the 'not'. Which makes it seem like an inside job."

"Do you think it was Crockford, then?" Draco asked.

"We don't know. He and Perkins – the junior Auror – were stunned pretty thoroughly, they are still being treated in St Mungo's and the staff won't let us anywhere near them until Sunday at the earliest. But I thought you two in particular needed to know as soon as possible."

"Thanks," said Harry; but it sounded perfunctory. His mind was clearly struggling to think things through. "Does the Ministry have any clue where they are?"

"Not much. We are thin on the ground; we put Aurors here just in case there was trouble within the student body but now they're staying because Hogwarts is such an obvious target. But we've got everyone we can spare hunting for them, of course. And don't you get any ideas, Harry. You stay put here, got it?"

Harry looked mutinous. But Draco glared at him, and reluctantly he nodded.

* * *

Thursday afternoon saw the second Potions lesson, which was taken by Liberius Borage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have heard about what happened on Monday and I promise you I will not stand for it. There will be no attempts at sabotage," he said, staring at Ivanov, then passing his gaze along all the students, "nor intimidation, nor blame-passing. These are not worthy of students in my class and you will be out permanently in seconds if I see any such behaviour.

"Today we will begin to brew a potion that I can guarantee you will all find a challenge."

He waved his wand, and instructions appeared on the board.

Draco and Stefan, each of whom could probably brew anything known, both gasped. For this potion was not one anyone living had brewed before; it was the potion Snape had developed to prevent lying. Over the next two months, they were to brew Expositor Falsitas.

Harry's face fell. This was going to be tough. For the first time, Snape's notes would give him no advantage; he would have to brew this all by himself. He stood in a stupor, and went and mechanically got the requisite ingredients for both Draco and himself.

During the lesson it became clear that the rivalry between Draco and Stefan was getting dangerous. The second time that Bulgarian 'accidentally' bumped the blond, Harry managed to catch hold of Draco's hand; there was no visible manifestation of the shield this time, but it must have been there, because Draco didn't move, while the other boy was visibly hurt, and sat there for a good ten minutes rubbing his arm.

"Are you wounded, Mr Ivanov?" Borage asked him archly.

"N-no sir," he replied, but there was clearly pain in his voice.

"I don't believe you," the Potions Master responded crisply. "You will not lie to me again, Mr Ivanov, is that clear? Now, put a stasis charm on your cauldron and report to the infirmary."

Ivanov looked like he was going to argue; but Borage fixed him with a steely gaze, and said, simply, "now."

The rest of the afternoon passed with considerably less tension. After the class, Borage approached Harry.

"Mr Potter," he said, passing him a folded piece of parchment. "Professor Snape left this for you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, as he opened and read the message.

"What is it?" Draco asked as Harry broke into a smile.

"Fancy a trip to Spinner's End this weekend?" Harry asked.

* * *

Ivan Smetana, who had been sitting at the back of the Potions room, was quietly fuming. This was the second Potions class in which his hot-shot potions genius had been effortlessly eclipsed by Potter; and the second one where Ivanov had nothing to show for his efforts. He was beginning to revise his earlier assessment: Harry Potter was still a force to be reckoned with, it seemed. He knew exactly what had happened; he had, after all, put Stefan up to it. But each time Potter had easily avoided the problem. Too easily; he suspected, from his body language, that the boy had had wandless shield charms ready if that damn Haussmann shield hadn't kicked in. The weakness he had seen was passing, revealing a colossal strength.

Smetana had taken the post of chaperone to try to get to the Malfoy boy; but perhaps he needed to put revenge aside for the moment. He had heard disturbing noises from his contacts back at Durmstrang; it seemed that Gregory Goyle's father had some unexpected visitors. The facts that this must mean a break-out from Azkaban, and that nothing had been published in the disreputable Daily Prophet, rather increased his anxieties. He had no wish for a return to any form of leadership by practitioners of Dark magic; in which case Potter as an ally would definitely be the greater prize.

* * *

_Friday 10 July_

Their lessons on Friday seemed almost anticlimactic after the events of Potions the previous day. Ioenscu had them practising the Prosecho charm; but not before Hermione had tackled him about it, pointing out that it didn't seem to be a Latin word like most of the other magical incantations.

"Very well spotted, Miss – er –"

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger," she replied.

"Oh of course. Yes, well, 'prosecho' or 'pay attention' comes from the Greek language. It turns out that an awful lot of the best healing spells come from Greek magic; the tradition of healing from Ancient Greece is much stronger than from Rome. Even the Muggles are aware of this; though I suspect from your Muggle Studies class, you may know this better than I do."

Blaise put his hand up, and when called on, explained that he was studying Medicine as his Muggle Studies project, and had already encountered Hippocrates and Galen.

"Very good!" said their Professor. "But we must not let our passions run away with us. To practice!"

During the class, he made sure to spend time with each of them in turn, performing a basic assessment on each student. At the end of the class, he explained that he would be teaching them the basics of Legilimency and Occlumency in the weeks to come. Harry shuddered.

"Is there a problem, Mr Potter?" Armand said softly.

"Er, I was taught Occlumency before; but I don't have good memories of it."

"I see," the healer replied. "But that was not by me. I believe you will find my methods significantly less unpleasant."

Harry had the strangest feeling that the man knew exactly what his lessons with Snape had been like. Just how much had he seen while in Harry's head?

* * *

Harry requested another pass to Floo out of Hogwarts from Flitwick. He was told that in fact there would be no problem, students could come and go as they pleased on the weekend; the staff really only needed to know where they were.

It wasn't till he and Draco Flooed to Snape's house in Spinner's End that he showed the blond the note he had given. It read, in true Snape style, ' _Potter:_ _no doubt your life has been too busy to pay attention to such trivial matters as the properties you have been bequeathed; so I suggest you visit my study and retrieve the green journal from the bottom drawer of my desk, as it will give you further insights of the type you made such good use of to impress certain other Potions Professors.'_ There was something magnificent about Snape, Harry thought; the note had made him blush – for he had not visited Spinner's End before now, and he felt guilty about that – but he also enjoyed the implied put-down of Professor Slughorn as being easy to impress.

Draco, on reading the note, grinned at him. "This is your first time here, isn't it?"

Harry's blush deepened, and he nodded, not trusting his voice.

Draco chuckled. "He knew us both so well," he said, turning around to inspect the house. "I visited here just once. Normally I managed to play my parents off against each other, and keep at least one of them happy with me; but this one time when I was in a spot of trouble with both of them at the same time, and Severus wanted to take me away to give them a day or two to cool down, he brought me here. If I remember rightly, his study is through there. I remember it being full of books; not as many as the Manor library, but probably more useful to Severus as they were all on subjects that interested him."

They found that the house was neat and tidy, everything perfectly in order; Harry was amazed, he didn't think Snape had had a house-elf, and he couldn't imagine that nothing had happened to the house since Snape had left it months previously. Draco came up with the answer: Snape had magnificent protective wards on the place, and they were set up so he could leave the place alone for years at a time if need be.

After perhaps half an hour in the study, Harry found the journal that Snape's note had directed him to; it was, in fact, exactly where he had said it was, at the bottom of the bottom drawer; but rather than go straight to it they had spent time leafing through the books and photographs that Snape had left lying on top of it. It was clear that this was his intention; there were photographs of Harry's parents, including two beautiful moving photographs of Lily smiling for the camera that Harry had never seen before. To Draco's amazement, there were also wedding photographs of his parents; he wondered, not for the first time, just exactly how much Snape had known, or guessed, about his life. Did the man know he would end up with Harry?

As Harry opened the book, Draco's eyes lit up. This was gold-dust: the work journal Snape had been using just before he had left for the last time. And here were the instructions for Expositor Falsitas; the real ones, the ones Snape had actually followed, not the ones that he had left for Borage. Harry wondered out loud exactly why he had done that.

"We discussed that once," Draco replied. "He said that Borage, and most potioneers, think of potion ingredients being merely items to be added by an expert, namely themselves; while Severus always thought of a potion as a living thing in its own right. He said that the ingredients need to be introduced properly, so there are different stirrings, and uses of back-stirring; and you'll see he reverses the order of ingredients every now and then, just because the new order makes for a more harmonious result."

"Wow," Harry said, "he really cared about this stuff, didn't he? So, why not tell Borage this method?"

"Two reasons, I suspect," Draco replied. "Firstly, Borage wouldn't have understood all the little fine points that were second nature to Severus; and secondly, while I loved him dearly, he was a snarky secretive bastard, and didn't give up anything easy. It was pretty amazing that he gave you his book; he really must have thought a lot of you."

Harry couldn't think of a way to answer that without becoming far too maudlin for a Saturday morning, so continued, "OK, so what's going on with Expositor Falsitas then?"

The two of them pored over the revised recipe, and after an hour or so, reading the book and cross-referencing with other journals and certain books on Dark Magic that Draco said his father would give a testicle to own, Harry had grasped exactly what changes Snape had made, and why; and his admiration for the genius that had been Severus Snape had gone through the roof.

They had nearly finished when Harry suddenly froze. As it was now his house, he had been keyed into the wards; and they alerted him that someone was trying to Floo in to the study. A moment later, the fire went green, and a familiar figure in Auror's robes stepped out.

"Robin!" Harry said delightedly. "What are you doing here?"

The Auror looked at him rather severely, and answered in a rather stern tone, "I might ask you the same thing, Mr Potter. I know you obtained permission from the school, but the Ministry would like you to consult with them too. Didn't the Deputy Minister tell you to stay put in Hogwarts? You are aware that there are escaped Death Eaters about?"

Harry nodded, but said nothing. To be truthful, he was, for the first time, just a little frightened of the other man. Robin obviously sensed this, because his hard face softened just a little.

"Well then I'm sure you appreciate that we would rather you didn't just go charging around the countryside as though you didn't have a worry in the world! You are still a big target, Harry, and we really do care about you."

Harry blushed. "You're not going to get in trouble, are you?" he asked.

Robin grinned. "You're impossible!" he replied. "You are at risk of attack from escaped convicts who have demonstrated that they won't hesitate to kill and you're worried about me getting in trouble? No, of course not, I'm here now, and all will be well. But do tell me, or one of the other Aurors at Hogwarts, before you disappear again, all right? And that goes for you too, Mr Malfoy. You are also a likely target for Death Eater activity. Now, what have you been up to?"

Harry briefly considered not telling Robin anything; he was, after all, an Auror, and some of the tomes they had found were not entirely legal … But it was impossible to hide anything from Robin, and he didn't bat an eyelid when they showed him the books.

"You're not going to confiscate them, are you?" Draco asked warily.

Robin laughed. "I've seen plenty of this stuff – there are books like these openly on the shelves at Durmstrang. But if anyone asks, you never showed them to me, all right?"

Draco relaxed a little, then stiffened again when he realised Harry was on high alert once more.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Someone is trying to break through the wards. And doing a pretty good job of it," he said, unconsciously reaching out for Draco's hand in support. As soon as they touched, the Haussmann shield made itself known with a bright swirl of colours, and then the whole room was tinged with a red light, which seemed to stream into the walls of the room and fade out altogether.

Robin cast a diagnostic charm, and his face went white as his eyebrows marched up his face.

"Wow," he said. "You've just cast what's usually called an Unbreakable ward!"

Draco looked stunned, and it was Harry who asked, "is it?"

Some colour came back into Robin's face as he replied, "no, not really. But it's very hard to break. Assaults with strength won't do it because it just absorbs magic that attacks it. You have to be patient and cunning. Even if you know what you're doing, an Unbreakable ward can take days to break."

"So how come I've never heard of them?" Harry asked.

"Because," Robin responded, "it takes an incredible amount of power and skill to make one. I can count on one hand the number of wizards who have managed to cast them successfully. Grindelwald could do it, but he is only known to have done it three times. I don't believe Dumbledore could do it. Voldemort did it during the First Wizarding war, but didn't manage it, as far as anyone knows, during the Second. There is only one other wizard you will have heard of who could cast it."

"Who?" Draco asked.

"Severus Snape," Robin replied, thoughtfully.

Harry suddenly shushed them as he cocked his head. "They're through," he replied.

And indeed, moments later they could hear low voices in the adjacent room.

"Very cosy," the hated voice of Dolores Umbridge sang out. "Yes, I think we could camp here for a week."

"We may have to," Rookwood's voice said, startling them as it was much louder. It took a few seconds before they realised why: he was much closer, standing at the study door. "This room is Snape's study, and the ward on it …." There was a pause, and then the man hissed out, "he's put an Unbreakable ward on! It's going to take time to get through it."

"How long?" Umbridge asked, her voice harsh and demanding.

"Four or five days, at a guess. Maybe longer. We'll have to work on it in shifts."

"Why not just blast it?" another voice asked. Barnes's, Harry realised.

"Because you can't beat an Unbreakable ward with force. That's why it's called Unbreakable. There are strands of magic that just get stronger if you blast them. You have to tease them apart. Very, very slowly."

"So, do we really need to bother?" Barnes asked.

"Know anyone else who has a book on Dark Memory charms?" Umbridge rejoined. Barnes must have shaken his head or indicated the negative in some other way, because Umbridge simple continued, "Thought not. Carry on, Rookwood. I'll see about some food."

"Might be a good time to leave," Banks said, keeping his voice low.

"And it also might be a good idea to take this," Draco replied, holding up a dark blue book entitled _Deep Memory Magic: Theory and Practise._

Banks looked impressed. "Good find," he said, as he picked up some Floo powder.

* * *

The two lads had assumed that they would go to the Ministry, so they were rather surprised when Robin announced their destination. But Lucius Malfoy didn't seem particularly surprised to see them.

"Ah, good, you made it," he said, and noticing their amazed faces, continued, "I asked Robin to bring you here for lunch when he told me where you were. Hungry?"

Lunch was on the lawn; Teddy was visiting, and Narcissa and Andromeda wanted him to play as much as possible, so they sat outside keeping a watchful eye on him. Not that he was likely to come to much harm; Mappy and Dippy were both there fussing over him, which seemed to delight the tot no end.

"So aren't you going to tell the Ministry about the Death Eaters?" Harry asked Robin.

"Oh yes," the Auror replied. "But in good time, Harry. Your safety is more important right now. They're not going anywhere; Rookwood isn't going to let that ward stop him, I could hear it in his voice, he was excited by the challenge. And also, the Ministry would just crash in and arrest them, which wouldn't really get us anywhere."

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked, offended that justice didn't seem to be being served. "Why shouldn't the Aurors pick them up?"

"They're plotting something," Lucius replied. "At the moment, we don't know what. If they were arrested right now, no-one would be the wiser; they don't even need a trial, they'd just go straight back to Azkaban. But someone in the Ministry knows what they're up to; and thanks to what you overheard, we have a pretty good idea ourselves."

"Whereas if we catch them in the act, and prove who their accomplice is, we get rid of the whole problem. And if we don't openly use the Aurors to do it, there's scope for some other action to be taken against them."

Draco looked at his father. "You have a plan, don't you?"

"Oh yes," the older Malfoy replied. "But don't worry, Harry, you'll love it, I assure you."

"So we have to sit tight then?" Draco asked, smirking in evident delight at the underhanded scheming.

"Yes," Robin replied, matching his smirk. "I will be making a report to the Deputy Minister, so you're welcome to discuss it with him, but please not with anyone else."

The boys agreed, and the conversation moved on. Lucius gave them some books and names of useful contacts he had to help them with their Muggle Studies projects; and they returned to Hogwarts in time for dinner.

Once they had gone, Robin and Lucius retired to the latter's study to plan their next moves. It took some considerable time; and when they had finished, Robin quietly returned to Spinner's End and placed a copy of _Memory Magic: Theory and Practise_ on Snape's bookshelves.

At least, that's what the book _said_ it was …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily. 
> 
> **Facebook** : In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged) to 'like' it.
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> Please please comment; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	53. Favour Returned

**53\. Favour Returned**

_Monday 13 July 1998_

Hermione Granger was royally cheesed off. Firstly, Harry had disappeared on Saturday, and hadn't told her anything about it before he'd gone; and however much her head told her that he and Draco were an item and of course they would want to spend time together exclusively, just like she did with Ron, her heart still felt miffed. On Sunday she had learnt that they'd been at the Manor; Harry passed on lots of useful contacts from Lucius, and she had been grateful; but her heart told her that this was wrong; it should be her helping him, not the other way around. That was how it always had been before.

And now, to cap it all off, they were sitting in the Potions class and he wasn't following the instructions. Not that she was watching him like a hawk. Oh no. She wouldn't do that. She didn't care what Harry did. If he botched the potion, that was his problem.

 _Oh bollocks_ , she told herself. The simple fact of the matter was that she was jealous of Draco. Draco who was sitting next to Harry. Draco who had the easy camaraderie with him. Draco who spent time with him, and knew his little secrets. Because Harry always had little secrets, little things he did that he didn't want known – he was pathologically publicity-shy, and with good reason, she mused – but it had always been Ron and her who shared them. Who knew what he was thinking. Who were there to be the voice of reason for him.

And now they weren't there, and Draco was.

And right now, Harry was doing the wrong thing with his potion.

"Harry!" she hissed at him. "What are you doing?"

He turned around to face her, his hair flowing gently around his face as he did, and it suddenly struck her how gorgeous he was. He had always been 'just Harry' to her and she had never given a second thought about him being attractive; but somehow right now it forced itself on her: those beautiful lips with a ready smile, the eyes with a bright green sparkle. His whole face radiated happiness.

"Brewing Expositor Falsitas," he replied, too smoothly, and she knew the words were a challenge to her to call him on it and explain that he was doing it wrong, because he wasn't doing it 'by the book'. But she could already see in his eyes the dancing laughter: he knew a better method. Because of course this potion wasn't in 'the book'; they were brewing from the notes Snape had left for Borage. All of a sudden the different pieces came together in her mind: he and Draco had been away, Auror Banks had been away, and now they were brewing a potion Snape had devised, but not using the official instructions. And it made a coherent picture: Snape must have left different, better, instructions, and Harry and Draco had been at Spinner's End and got them, with Robin as Auror escort keeping them out of trouble.

And suddenly her heart got what her head was telling her: he and Draco were good for each other. He had never looked happy like this before. Hell, he'd never looked anything but angry or nervous in a Potions class, and here he was full of beans, busy chopping mandrake root like a pro.

No-one had ever managed to get under his skin like Draco had, and now that ability was the foundation of mutual love, rather than antipathy, she could see that he was learning from the blond; even his movements as he chopped the root echoed the same ones Draco was making.

And all her reservations suddenly evaporated. Draco couldn't hurt him, because of the Debt; but there was obviously more to their relationship. She could see it in Draco's eyes; the same look of devotion that was so often there in Ron's.

She smiled. "Good-oh," she said in reply. But the real message – of love and acceptance – passed between them, without words, and they both felt much better.

* * *

Hermione was not the only one keeping an eye on Harry and Draco. Stefan Ivanov was keeping his head down, but every now and then he would furtively glance over at their table. And he was mystified. What were they doing? The potion called for wormwood, yes, but not yet; and surely the fool wasn't going to add the laburnum leaves straight after? But hang on, he was infusing them in something – it must be the juice from the Sopophorous beans; but he hadn't seen him chop them?

What was going on? The Bulgarian was transfixed by what to him was an incredible display of arrogance: going against both the instructions on the board and the general rules of potion making, Draco and Harry both simultaneously added wormwood and the beans to Draco's potion; and then, immediately after, to Harry's.

Ivanov held his breath. This was either going to be the biggest explosion he'd ever seen, or the brewing of some completely different potion; his money was definitely on the first, and he tiptoed away gingerly. After a few seconds, it was clear that nothing was going to happen; there was a slight hissing noise, and then both cauldrons seemed to start bubbling away happily with the slow 'plop-plop' noise that Stefan recognised as the sign of a properly blended potion happily coming together and just about to change colour to the next stage.

He came back to his desk, and peered over. He nearly fainted when he saw the colours – the potion was exactly the sky-blue colour it was supposed to be. After the next three steps. Somehow, Malfoy and Potter were a week ahead of the rest of the class. And, after last week's debacle, nearly two weeks ahead of him. Swearing softly under his breath, Ivanov returned to his cauldron with a vengeance. He wasn't going to take this lying down; he would brew it perfectly, by the instructions, and show that he was just as good as these English.

* * *

Other eyes were watching the drama as well. Corner had been hoping for some excitement; when Ivanov had moved away from his desk, he had turned to Neville and, knowing the other's reputation for potion skill (or, rather, lack of it), said, "looks like he's expecting an explosion, Longbottom; have you been giving Potter tips?"

But to Corner's disappointment, nothing happened. Indeed, when Ivanov went back to his desk and checked Draco's potion, his face told Corner that things were grim. The bloody Death Eater was getting ahead of them, this was clear. He watched Ivanov crack on; and as a Ravenclaw, he wasn't going to let Malfoy show him up either.

Horace Slughorn was rather bemused. By the end of the class, there was a strange dichotomy. Half of the class was working with feverish determination; the other half seemed to be getting on with things, to be sure, but with a happy, friendly demeanor. He watched carefully; there was no problem being happy, but one did have to take life in the potions classroom with a good deal of care; accidents could be very serious.

He decided it was time to wander around and give encouragement where it was needed. He was pleased to see that Ivanov's skill was starting to show; he had been nearly a week behind, but now he seemed to be at a level with the rest of the class, and he congratulated him for it. He wandered on; happily giving a helpful hint here or there as needed: some powdered doxy eggs added to Mr Longbottom's cauldron helped to rescue it to the pea-green stage required, for example. He was glad to see that the man was keeping up, and he seemed to have accepted the advice quite happily. Indeed, Longbottom made a note to investigate doxy eggs and their properties later. Slughorn couldn't understand why the note Snape had left had been so awful about Longbottom; true, he would never be a master potioneer, but he seemed competent enough, and interested.

But all these thoughts left him when he came to Malfoy and Potter. He stared gob-smacked at their potions. The two cauldrons in front of him were practically identical; in each, there was a pin-wheel effect of sky-blue and a deep, musky pink. His eyes ranged down the board; _Merlin!_ he thought, this was the stage they were supposed to reach in about three weeks' time. There was something more than skill here, he was sure of it.

He took up position between the two students, making sure no-one would overhear. "This is astonishing," he murmured, "you two are two full weeks ahead. Just exactly how have you managed that?"

Harry decided that a little bit of the truth was required. "Well sir," he said, "Professor Snape had left me a few pointers in the note that Professor Borage gave me. We've just been putting them to good use."

"Yes, I can see that," the wily old master replied quietly. "Well done, both of you." He wandered back to his desk at the front of the room, lost in thought. Snape had given Potter pointers? But Snape hated Potter; the remarks he had left Slughorn had removed any doubt about that. Just what was going on?

The bell to signal the end of classes went while Slughorn was still musing, largely oblivious to the tensions simmering amongst the Eighth Years.

* * *

_Tuesday 14 July 1998_

The tension boiled over in their practical Defence Against the Dark Arts class the following afternoon. It was a sunny day, "too sunny to be cooped up inside," Robin Banks had insisted, and he them out onto the Quidditch pitch where they were set to practice their Shield skills. Professor Merrythought went out with them, but took up a position in the stands, observing. She wanted to see what her offsider would do by himself.

To begin with, the lesson worked brilliantly: they were grouped in threes, one to fire a simple, low-level offensive spell – Robin suggested they use the jelly legs jinx or the tickling charm; one to stop it with a shield; and one to observe and comment. Since Harry had taught shield work to Dumbledore's Army, most of the students proved competent at a basic Protego; after perhaps an hour of the students casting spells and shields, with Robin and Harry wandering around and observing, the young professor was happy that all of his students were ready for something a bit more exciting.

He got them in groups of four, two sending the Stinging Hex or the Bat Bogey hex, two using shields; this time, of course, they had to work at blocking spells from different directions and it took a surprising amount of time for the defensive casters to work out that they could focus on one attacker, trusting their partner to focus on the other. In the meantime, a couple succumbed and had to have salve applied and counter-hexes; Robin made sure that they were all well versed in these, too, so the failures became teaching opportunities themselves.

After about twenty minutes, Robin called a break.

"Right!" he said cheerfully. "You're all competent in basic spell work, but you need to learn to work together and trust one another more in defense."

"How do we know we can trust one another?" a student asked. Robin looked at him – it was Terry Boot; the Auror made a mental note of 'trouble maker' as he went on seamlessly.

"Well, you've lived together long enough; make sure you're partnered with someone you trust. Your room-mate, if no-one else. Or do you mean outside school? If you sign up as Aurors, you'll always have a partner, and he or she will always have your back; in a domestic situation, you need to train with other household members, and learn to trust them."

"Do we really need this?" one of the Beauxbatons girls asked.

"I know the war is over, but we still have to be on our guard," Banks replied. "Voldemort may be gone-" he noticed the general shudder at the name, but continued, "but there are still people out there who agree with what he was trying to do. We need to be ready to defend against them. So now I want to see groups of five – three attackers and two defenders. Let's see whether you can stand against a stronger assault."

This would have worked brilliantly, except that somehow Blaise and Neville wound up partners against the three Ravenclaw boys; to begin with, they cast the stinging hex, but then came the Severing Charm; and as the two defenders were getting and keeping their shields up, there came a barrage of Diffindo and Lacero, the Cutting Curse; and then Corner and Boot each cast a strong Confringo, at which point the shields started to buckle quite dangerously.

Harry had been watching the five out of the corner of his eye, and knew immediately that this was serious. The three were not participating in a lesson any more; they were actively seeking to do serious damage. He hurled himself into the fray, 'Protego Totalum!' springing from his lips. The shield went ahead of him, protecting the two defending students admirably; but unfortunately, Gryffindors having a tendency to heroic action, Harry had rather forgotten to shield himself properly. A stray Cutting Curse hit him in the leg and he started bleeding. The world started to slip away from him; he heard a huge hue and cry, and Robin Banks was there, he could hear him, and then all went black …

* * *

Ivan Smetana had been sitting in the stands, watching the Defence class with interest. This young Auror knew his stuff, and was very personable; and it seemed that everyone was learning the shields quite quickly. Even the Beauxbatons girls seemed to be quite proficient at it; though he would never say it out loud, being something of a male chauvinist, he was impressed by how well they were doing and how quickly they had picked things up; and they certainly seemed to be working together better than the other students. Better, he had to admit, than the Durmstrang students in his care. He looked over to the two; they were in the same group of five, but Smetana was pleased to see that, rather than sticking together in what could have been a Durmstrang versus Hogwarts situation, his own two boys were on opposite sides: Ivanov was being an attacker while Anderssen was partnered with one of the Hogwarts students – Ron Weasley, in fact, he could see now – and the two were definitely holding their own against the other three.

And once again, Potter was being outstanding. It was hard to tell who taught more: the professor or the student. Potter had an easy grace to him, and the other students took to him immediately. He could see that the boy had their respect; and not just because of his fame. He was really good at this. He went from group to group, teaching and encouraging with an easy swagger. Even when he reached the group that the two Durmstrang students were in, he was no different; and Smetana was pleased to see his boys interacting with him, asking questions and – yes! Anderssen had finally got the hang of a Protego Maxima! The blue-white light shone out of his wand and he could see Potter casting quite a strong Stupefy at it, which exploded harmlessly.

And then things got out of hand. Those Ravenclaw boys, they were trouble, he knew it; and suddenly they weren't casting the low-level spells any more. Ivan had enough experience with dark magic to feel where this was headed. He jumped to his feet, beside himself with rage. He looked around at Anderssen and Ivanov; the two had clearly spotted what was going on, and he was glad to see that Anderssen had surrounded the whole group with a Protego Maxima. This was what he had taught them, and absolutely the right thing to do – running into the fight would only make things worse, while protecting those around him would make sure they were safe and ready to help once the teachers had calmed things down.

And then Potter was down. Smetana was surprised how that made him feel. On the one hand, the lad had failed to keep himself safe; he should have been shielded, he should have expected that the curses could come his way just as much as any other. And perhaps he wasn't as strong as Smetana had thought, if the spells these boys knew were enough to bring him down. But on the other hand, hesitation could well have meant serious trouble for the two boys under attack. Those other boys weren't casting Tickling Charms any more. Moreover, Potter shouldn't have to shield himself against unprovoked attack. This was a school, not a battlefield.

By the time he reached the boy, Auror Banks had him on a stretcher and was clearly In Charge, in the way that good teachers can be at a moment's notice. Good. Smetana thought. Just one other thing to do. The Incarcerous and Expelliarmus came out of his wand almost without thinking, and three students lay bound in front of him.

* * *

Draco was sitting in one of the small self-study rooms in the library working on his Transfiguration homework – Harry had found it a snap, but somehow the spells were eluding him. His Evanesco was working fine; but Vanishing and Returning objects he didn't seem to be too good at. Professor McGonagall had given each student a dozen matchboxes to practice on; they were told not to open them until they had Vanished and Returned them; that way, they would not know what was inside them, so they would know if their spell had actually brought back the same matchbox or merely created a similar one. One of the Ravenclaw girls had asked how they would know this; if they didn't know what was in the matchbox to begin with, how would they know when they opened it after the event that it was the same?

"Oh, you'll know," had been the crisp, enigmatic reply.

Draco came back to the present. Day-dreaming again; that seemed to be the issue. Eventually it occurred to him that the problem was concentration. And they had been taught a handy spell for that …

"Prosecho!" he cast. Suddenly, there was the now familiar feeling of being squeezed through a keyhole; and the only thing in the world, the only thing important, was the matchbox in front of him.

"Evanesco!" he cast, and the matchbox vanished. No surprise there; but could he bring it back?

"Resurgo!" he cast.

And there, on the desk, was a matchbox.

And now the moment of truth. Was it the same one?

He opened the box, his hand trembling. A little flag popped up, a square of tartan; a little tinny horn played a tiny triumphant tune of "dah-dah-dah-DAH-dah-DAH!" and the word 'Congratulations' appeared on the flag.

Draco grinned. McGonagall had been right; he certainly knew that he had succeeded!

At this point, a pain in his stomach reminded him that it must soon be time for dinner. He opened the door and walked into the library, to find it practically deserted. _Funny_ , he thought, _it's not that late is it?_ A quick tempus showed that there were still ten minutes or so till the evening meal; surely someone else would have been studying in the library?

He looked out of the window, and saw a procession coming up from the Quidditch pitch. That was strange; there wasn't a match today? And then he saw the stretcher in the front of the procession, being sped along by charms, and the raven-haired figure immobilised on it, obviously placed in a protective body-bind curse.

He would have known that figure anywhere. His heart fell to his boots as he rushed out of the library.

* * *

Draco met the procession as it got to the front doors of the castle.

"What happened?" he demanded breathlessly as he met the procession.

"There was a fight," Marie Thibault began. It might, in retrospect, not have been the best place to begin; certainly, Draco seemed to just lose it. A fight! This was what he had been afraid of all along; this was why he wasn't in the Defence class. A thousand thoughts raced through his head all at once – who had attacked his Harry? Or was it Harry who started it? Who was hurt?

But what came out of his mouth was, "What? Harry, you were in a fight? What the hell were you thinking? Are you alright?"

The green-eyed Gryffindor, hardly able to move a muscle, looked up at his fiancé, and winced inwardly. The shock on Draco's face unnerved him far more than any of the curses had been able to do. What if Draco was really hurt by this? He looked like he was about to fall over himself, and for the first time, Harry realised with his full rational mind what had been obvious to Draco for months: Defense Against the Dark Arts was a class where people could throw curses at you, and pass it off as part of the classwork. It was, quite simply, dangerous. A part of Harry had always known that; but he had thrived on the danger. But now, with a fiancé, he realised he just couldn't be that reckless. Before, if he died, he died. No-one would really have cared. They would have found some other poor sap to defeat Voldemort. But now; now it mattered. Now, he mattered, to someone else. And the reality of that fact hit him with an emotional force he had never truly considered before.

In the middle of his turmoil, the old insecurities came to the fore again: what if this was all too much for Draco? What if he decided Harry just wasn't worth the effort? He strained with all his might; but the body-bind held him rigid.

"Mr Malfoy, I'll explain later. In the meantime we have to get Mr Potter to the infirmary immediately," Auror Banks said crisply. There was none of the cosy conspiratorial tone he had used at Spinner's End; this was the teacher admonishing a student who was in the way, and Draco recognised it and stepped back to let them pass. In doing so, he lost his footing and his face, viewed from Harry's stretcher, took on quite an angry aspect. Harry grimaced; and finally, his magic overcame the body-bind curse enough for him to speak.

"Draco!" he cried hoarsely, "I'm so sorry, don't leave me, I'm sorry…" and then he trailed off into blissful unconsciousness …

* * *

Pomfrey would not allow anyone into the infirmary.

"Not even next of kin?" Draco demanded.

She looked at him sternly, and then relaxed just a little. "Technically, you're not that, not till you are married. But I suppose you do have some claim on him. All right, but make sure you stay out of the way."

An hour later, Harry was still unconscious, and Draco could tell that all was not as it should be. Poppy was not pleased; she was bustling about, clicking her tongue, casting diagnostic after diagnostic. Eventually, she stood still and stared at her patient with a sigh.

"Will he be all right?" Draco asked timidly.

"What?" Poppy said, stunned out of the reverie she had fallen into. She had obviously forgotten that he was there at all. "Mr Malfoy, are you still here? Yes, he'll be alright; but he should have come round by now. He's been overdoing it again, hasn't he?"

"Maybe…" said Draco, and then, as the matron stared at him sternly, he confessed about the visit to Spinner's End. He swore her to secrecy then told her about the excitement of the convicts in Snape's house, followed by the trip to the Manor. Poppy tutted and clucked.

"Right, add that to the stress of teaching this afternoon – I was watching from here, he was teaching as much as Auror Banks was; and then he gets hit by a Cutting Curse and two Stunners at the same time – look you can see it here, quite plain, in the diagnostic readout," she said when he looked disbelieving, passing a piece of parchment that she had charmed to show the extent of his injuries.

"What the hell was he doing?" Draco demanded.

"I don't rightly know," the healer replied. "But if you're going to stay here, Mr Malfoy, you will have to stay calm. Tell me, did you say anything to him after the event? Any more stress?"

Draco's face fell, and he told Poppy the events at the front door. She looked at him with a strange mixture of parental concern and professional detachment.

"I think, given this little story," she said, "that I'm going to put my foot down with Mr Potter." She waved her wand over him. "Right. That's a little spell to keep him out for twenty four hours at least. I suggest, Mr Malfoy, that you pop down to the Great Hall and find something to eat and see what you can find out about what happened. And hopefully when he comes round I won't have to tie both of you to a bed to make you rest!"

The words were stern, but the tone was light, and Draco realised that he was incredibly hungry, so thanked the medi-witch and made his way to the Great Hall.

* * *

The Great Hall was full of noise. As Draco entered, the Beauxbatons girls spotted him immediately, and called him over.

"Draco!" one of the Thibault twins started. "'Ow is 'Arry?"

"Oh!" Gabrielle Delacour said, seeing him come up. "'Ave you seen 'im? Is 'e recovered?"

"I have seen him," Draco said gravely. "He is in no immediate danger; but he will be in the Hospital Wing for a while now."

They started to ask him a million more questions, but he waved them down.

"Please excuse me," he said, his voice striving for its usual politeness but rather betraying his tiredness. "I must have something to eat."

"Of course, of course, please, sit 'ere, we shall get you some food," Madame Dubois expounded, but Draco smiled at her and excused himself, saying he should probably reassure Harry's friends.

In fact, Draco had decided that he wanted to know exactly what had happened, preferably from someone who had been there, and someone who was a little less flighty than the French girls were likely to be. Madam Pomfrey was right; he had to stay calm. He had flown off the handle before, and he had not missed the look in Harry's eyes. A look of hurt, and betrayal, and fear. One the Debt was reminding him that he should not have put there. He sighed. He loved Harry; he wasn't going anywhere. He'd accepted the ring from Harry, and as far as he was concerned, that was a permanent commitment. He just wanted to know how to get Harry to believe that too, to get him away from this fear of losing Draco.

He looked around the table and decided that some fence-mending was probably in order. He had not missed the odd glance from Granger – Hermione, he reminded himself – and he had very little doubt that she was feeling somewhat jealous of him. Gryffindors wore their hearts on their sleeves; he might have sniggered at them for it in the past, but he had to admit that knowing where you stood definitely made it simpler to deal with them.

So he very deliberately sat with Ron and Hermione, and asked them about what had happened. And by the smile that came onto Hermione's face at being asked, he knew he had made a good decision.

"Today was supposed to be all about Shield charms," Hermione said. "They are not as well-known as you might expect."

"You may not know, but the twins made a good living for a while selling items with basic shield charms on them," Ron added. "The Ministry bought up all their stock when they started out."

"Yes, well," harrumphed Hermione, clearly a bit peeved that Ron had interrupted.

"Sor-ry!" he replied, clearly not meaning it at all. "Just trying to give Draco a bit of background."

"Yes, well, about today," Draco replied, trying to keep them on track; he didn't really want to be part of one of their little relationship squabbles, no matter how endearing they might be.

"Today. Shield charms. Well, everyone in Dumbledore's Army knew how to cast a basic Protego; it was one of the things Harry made very sure of. That helped a lot; and so while we started off with simple hexes being thrown at simple shields, we got a bit more ambitious."

"Maybe too ambitious," Ron suggested. "We were three against two at the end, with Harry and Robin walking around keeping an eye on everyone. It probably would have been fine, except that the three Ravenclaw boys were partnered against Blaise and Neville. I think they've got a bit of a thing about gay people, so Neville was an obvious target."

Draco privately agreed; he had been watching the Ravenclaws closely, ever since they had all suspiciously been absent together on the first day. They were definitely up to something, that had been clear.

"OK, so they attacked Neville and Blaise? But how did Harry get involved?"

"He was being a sort of teacher's assistant, I guess," Hermione replied. "So he felt he had to charge in and do something. It's what he's like, you know that."

"Yeah, I guess I do," Draco agreed. He would much rather Harry had stayed safe; but he could understand that that just wasn't Harry. And anyway, Blaise had protected him on the very same Quidditch pitch; how like Harry to return the favour. "So he got caught up in the middle, then?"

"Pretty much," Ron said. "I saw him cast an awesome Protego Totalum, which completely shielded Neville and Blaise, but he wasn't thinking about himself, and some curses got through. I'm not sure which ones …"

"A cutting curse and two stunners," Draco answered promptly. "Pomfrey told me. And what about the Durmstrang students?"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other blankly. "As far as I know, they weren't involved," Hermione replied, and Ron nodded.

Draco sat back. From what had been said, he had been worried that somehow it was Harry's fight; but now he knew that it wasn't, he could relax a little. But then, of course, the shock set in, and he struggled to hold himself together. Harry was hurt, and he had done nothing to stop it, and he couldn't be there to make things better, and he was going to have to spend the night without him. It was all too much all of a sudden.

Strong arms snaked around him from both sides, and he suddenly found himself surrounded by Pansy and Blaise.

"It's OK, Dray," Pansy cooed. "We understand."

And there, in the middle of the Great Hall, the Ice Prince of Slytherin almost lost his cool enough to burst into tears.

Almost.

No, it wasn't a tear running down his cheek. Just condensation. That must be it. Mind you, it was quite strange, the look it put on Grang- er, on Hermione's face. Like she actually cared.

"Here," she said, and pushed a bowl of apple crumble in front of him. "I know you like it."

And all of a sudden there was a fight going on inside his head. The Slytherin part was saying, no, he didn't like crumble; and how did Granger know, anyway; and what was she trying to get out of him by giving it to him? DON'T TOUCH IT!

But there was another part, the part that he always thought that came from Harry, the part he called his inner Hufflepuff. And that part simply thought: Apple Crumble. Yum. From Granger. Because she does actually care. And it's not that she wants anything; it just means I'm accepted.

He picked up his spoon. His inner Hufflepuff had won.

* * *

The Headmistress's door opened in front of him even before the Durmstrang chaperone had knocked.

"Please come in, Mr Smetana," McGonagall's no-nonsense tones entreated. "You have come at a very good time."

He entered the room to find the two Defence professors and the three Ravenclaw boys ranged in front of the large desk. McGonagall was standing behind it, and her face was as stern as he had ever seen it.

"It seems that we have a large issue here arising from the Defence class this afternoon. I wonder if you can tell us what you saw, Mr Smetana?"

"Ah," said the European, and launched into a very careful, circumspect account of the afternoon, being fastidious about sharing only what he had seen with his own eyes; to no-one's surprise, his account exonerated the Durmstrang students.

"He would say that," Terry Boot said, under his breath.

"He would say that, Mr Boot, because from what I saw, it is entirely true," Auror Banks replied. "It is difficult to see any way that anyone but you three was involved in the attack."

Smetana relaxed, but then looked both wary and a little confused. "Excuse me, why is this so important?"

"Because," the Headmistress replied, "I have just received this report from Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary." She passed him a piece of parchment, which he read while she continued, "it seems that not only was Mr Potter hit with curses, but the Cutting curse was somehow wrapped around a small object of some kind – we're not sure what, it had fallen to pieces inside Mr Potter's robes, but from the holes in the robes it can't have been much bigger than a galleon – which had been cursed with the Flagrante Transfero curse."

Smetana drew in his breath sharply.

"This is … incredible," he said, speaking more to himself than to the others listening. "I had thought it strange: Mr Potter is a strong wizard, why would he succumb to the curses that were sent against him so easily … but the Flagrante curse, that should have burned, and gone on burning. Why did it stop?"

He looked back at the parchment. "And with Transfero, it should have set up a reaction in anything it touched, his robes, yes, even his flesh. By rights, he should have burned to ash."

"You seem remarkably well-informed," Auror Banks said drily. "Have you seen this used before? Are you able to shed any light on who might have used it?"

"I read somewhere it was one of the curses that that mad-man you had here used," Smetana said, rather vaguely. "Other than that … Frankly, it is incredible to me that any of these three would have had such an object, or known how to create one."

"I am of the same opinion," Professor Merrythought replied. "And so, my suggestion stands, Minerva."

"Very well," the Headmistress replied, her voice sounding very tired. "We will continue the vigilance. And as for you three," she said, turning to the three Ravenclaws, "you should consider yourselves lucky. At any other time, I would definitely have had to consider expulsion. You may go."

Boot, Corner and Goldstein blanched visibly, but thanked the Headmistress and Professor, and left the office looking thoroughly chastened.

"Excuse me, what is happening?" Smetana asked as the door closed behind them.

"They have overstepped the bounds of the class by several yards," Merrythought replied. "There is some evidence that they deliberately attacked the two students with curses well beyond the level they were supposed to use, which your statement definitely corroborates."

"So," McGonagall continued, taking up the story, "it has been decided that they are not quite acting in the spirit of co-operation and unity demanded of our eighth year students, and will not be continuing in the programme. However, they are eligible to apply for Hogwarts in the school term starting in September."

"I see," Smetana answered. He could see at once that this was a clever punishment. The stigma would be considerable, he could see that; but, as they had been kicked out but not expelled, they really had no alternative but to come back with the normal September intake. Otherwise they would be seen as forfeiting their education themselves, which Smetana guessed that no-one from the bookish Ravenclaw house would dream of doing.

"It is a most fitting solution," he said. "But you still have to find your curse-caster, yes?"

Robin Banks looked tight-lipped. "Indeed we do," he replied.

"Well, perhaps we should all get to it, then," the Headmistress said, with such an air of finality that the other three were up and half-way to the door before they really knew what was happening.

"I wonder if I could have a word with Mr Smetana?" a voice asked from behind the Headmistress.

Minerva turned to regard the portrait of the former Headmaster.

"Yes, of course, Albus," she replied. "Would you like me to leave you in private?"

"Thank you, that would be very kind," the painting replied.

And so it was that a minute later, the Headmistress's study was empty but for Ivan Smetana and the painting of Albus Dumbledore. Even the other portraits had vacated their frames, the European noticed. Just what was going on?

Dumbledore regarded him with that grandfatherly air that had so often been commented on; but his words were surprisingly direct.

"We need your help, here," he said bluntly.

"I see," the chaperone replied. This was no time to play dumb, he decided.

"Do you have any ideas?" Dumbledore asked.

"It has to be one of the Beauxbatons girls," came the reply. "Everyone else checks out. The only Hogwarts students who could have done it were the three attackers, and it was clear to me from where I sat that they didn't; they were totally engrossed with throwing curses at the other two boys. There's no way it was Potter himself; he would have had to activate it in the air, and the report shows that's impossible. It wasn't my boys; I'd know if they had anything like that, and I promise you, they didn't."

"Hmm. All right. Any idea which girl?"

"Yes," came the reply, and Smetana shared his suspicions.

"Interesting," Albus said. "You may well be right. Thank you, Igor."

"I **van** ," the other protested.

"Yes, of course, my apologies," said Albus, with a smile. "Thank you for your help. We may have had differences of opinions on how to lead a school; but perhaps there is no one right way, after all. I am intrigued by your glamour; it's very strong. How do you keep it up?"

The other man sighed. "All right, I suppose there's no getting away from you, is there," he said, and the glamour he had been wearing for weeks dissolved around him. "In some ways it isn't a glamour – the man it represents died while we were poly-juiced as one another, and this one seems to have become easy for me to adopt as a consequence."

"Interesting," Dumbledore mused. "And deserving of further discussion, and investigation. But perhaps another time? Good night, and thank you for your help. Oh, and I know we didn't get on when I was in life; I do hope we can be friends going forward."

With that, Dumbledore walked out of his painting.

"Remarkable," Igor Karkaroff said to himself, as he took up the persona of Ivan Smetana once again and left for Dumbledore Tower.

 


	54. Waiting for Harry to Return

**54\. Waiting for Harry to Return**

_Tuesday 14 July_

It was a very subdued evening meal that night. They all now knew that the Ravenclaw boys had gone, and would not be returning before September; all of the Hogwarts students felt that this was a monumental failure, especially with the other schools there to see it.

And of course the attack on Harry still weighed heavily on everyone. It had not been made widely known that they were still looking for an assailant; but Draco knew, for his own protection, and it did not take Blaise very long to sniff out that something was wrong with his old friend. Draco decided that he didn't have the energy to put up a happy façade, and simply told Blaise everything. He knew it would be common knowledge by the following morning; but he could not bring himself to care.

Being Bastille Day, the Beauxbatons girls wanted to celebrate, and brought butterbeers and spirits into the Common Room, together with some French elf-wine. It was good wine; under other circumstances, Draco would have loved to drink some and pay pretty compliments to the girls. But Harry wasn't there, and Draco didn't feel like celebrating: he had been angry with him, thinking he'd got into a fight, and he'd let Harry see that anger. And now that he knew he had no reason to be angry, guilt was setting in.

Deciding that, since Bastille Day was about liberty, he would do some liberation of his own, he retired to his room with a bottle of firewhiskey.

* * *

_Wednesday 15 July_

But the alcohol did not help; sleep did not come easily to Draco that night. He tossed and turned for a while, feeling bereft without Harry. It actually came as quite a shock to him when he totaled things up and realised that he hadn't spent a night apart from his lover in weeks; of course he missed him badly! He'd got used to the little snuffles and odd breaths; the light touches, some accidental, some accidental-on-purpose; the comforting warmth next to him.

It was about three o'clock in the morning that he sat bolt upright in bed as it hit him what the real problem. He was suddenly so lucid that the drink in his system seemed to vanish; he was, all of a sudden, stone-cold sober. And that wasn't the only coldness he felt. For the problem wasn't the lack of comfort; he didn't feel comforted, true, and he wanted his Harry for that, true again; but the real issue ran deeper.

He didn't feel **safe**.

He knew, with Harry there, they had each other, and they had the shield. The events of yesterday had proved that they didn't have the shield when apart; he had wondered whether it would protect them when they weren't together, and now he knew it wouldn't; and to be honest, he rather wished he didn't. Not all knowledge is a blessing; and when ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise.

He cast a Protego around the room, hoping its presence would comfort him, and lay back on the bed, closing his eyes, seeking sleep. Instantly, his vision changed; somehow, he could still see the charm, in fact clearer than before; it was made, strangely, of in intricate pattern of silver and red light, covering the walls of the room. As he watched, eyes still closed, the red seemed to snake off and branch away. Nothing happened for a little while; then he saw it slowly return. And as it returned, it was trailing a thread of green light. The returning thread did not stop when it entered the room, though; it came straight for him, and the green light surrounded him. All at once he felt drowsy.

"Sleep well," a voice said; a strange voice, and yet not strange. The voice that he associated with the red light. He would have wondered who it was, had he been more awake.

"… my love," another voice said. But there was nothing strange about this one. It was a deep, rich, warm voice. A voice he knew so well. Harry's voice.

Suddenly, he felt sleepy. And comforted. And safe. Even though there was no-one to see, he smiled.

* * *

He woke four hours later. The charm was gone; there was nothing to give any clue what had happened. Nothing, that is, except for the warm feeling he still felt all around him. Somehow, he knew, the red light had tied them together again, even over distance, even with Harry still unconscious.

 _How do I know he's not awake?_ he was no answer; but he did know. He was quite certain that Harry was still out of things, lying on a cot in the Infirmary. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of bed and went to get ready for the day.

* * *

"Mr Weasley, a moment, please."

Ron turned around. He had just exited the Tower, heading for breakfast; as always, he was ready for a huge meal, but that voice demanded his respect in death as much as it had in life. He turned to see the headmaster standing in Fawkes' portrait, idly stroking the phoenix.

"Sorry to trouble you, my boy, but I wondered if you might spare a thought for Mr Malfoy."

Ron did a double-take, his mouth gaping open.

"Draco?" he asked. "What about him?"

"Well, it must be a trying time for him, do you not think? His fiancé in a sick bed, and being all alone."

 _What is the old man playing at?_ Ron wondered. It seemed that, even in death, Albus Dumbledore liked to be inscrutable. And then the meaning hit him. Harry was in the Infirmary because he'd been attacked; Draco was the next logical target. And without Harry, he would be very vulnerable.

He knew what he had to do; after all, Harry would be devastated if anything happened to Draco.

"You can count on me, sir," he answered. "On us."

* * *

When Draco got to the bottom of the stairs of the North tower, he found a group waiting for him. The other boys from the tower, excepting Harry, were there, ranged in a semicircle: Ron, Blaise, Seamus, Dean, Neville. For a brief second his heart stopped. Had they come to attack him?

Ron came up to him slowly. The fear in his eyes had clearly registered in the redhead's brain, because Ron took care to show his hands openly, making it clear that he was not holding his wand.

"We thought that with Harry in the medical wing, and a killer on the loose, we should all stick together," he said bluntly. "Are you OK with that?"

It took Draco a second or two to register what was being said. When the sickle dropped, he nearly fell over in surprise. Without actually saying so, they were offering him protection. And doing it in a way that included him; that cast him, not as the poor lamb being protected, but as one of them. He smiled as he thought how incredibly unlikely such a thing would have appeared even two months ago.

"Yes," he replied, "I think that's a very good idea."

"Great," Ron said, grinning. "Let's go and get breakfast, and then we can check on Harry."

* * *

The target had been surrounded the whole morning.

The assailant had expected it to be difficult; everyone was on the alert after the first attack. But it seemed that some Hogwarts boys were going out of their way to guard the Death Eater. This was unexpected. They had said to expect a little sympathy for him; and it was clear that, with Potter in the Infirmary, there would be some. But surely it should have been from those Hufflepuff students? They would have been easy to take out; the advanced confundus charm would have done the trick.

But it wasn't them. No, Draco Malfoy seemed to be surrounded by a different class of people altogether. These Gryffindor boys showed every sign of serious training. They were alert. Vigilant. They checked for booby traps. They checked out possible hiding places, and rendered them useless with revealing charms. They watched everyone moving. And in class, and at the table, they surrounded the Death Eater in a living box of protection.

It was maddening. Just one shot. That was all that would be needed. Then it would be over, the job would be done, the masters would be satisfied, and normal life could be resumed.

Just one …

* * *

Robin Banks was feeling stretched rather thin. He now had two separate investigations under way: the attack on Harry at Hogwarts, and the escapees now holed up at Spinner's End. Of course, he could give one away; but the escapees led to the belief that there was a mole in the Auror Department, so the Minister wanted that investigation kept quiet; and as he had been teaching the class when Harry was attacked, he was Johnny-on-the-spot here, and it would look very strange if he did not investigate.

Both the Headmistress and Professor Merrythought had been very careful to let him know that, in their view, the events of Tuesday afternoon were not in any way due to a failure on his part. And the four other Aurors who had been near enough to witness anything had turned in reports that made the same point very clear. While the reassurance was very welcome, and it was gratifying to have the good opinion of his colleagues, both in the Auror corps and in the teaching staff, the fact remained that they had a man down. Robin Banks was a very practical thinker; he saw things in straightforward terms. There were definitely sides in his world. Someone definitely wanted to get to Harry, or Draco, or both; and whoever it was would not be deterred by one failure, nor by the expulsion – however it was couched politically – of three students.

But also, Robin was too intelligent not to see that people weren't black or white. It wasn't just a simple 'goodies' versus 'baddies' equation. So that meant that even the people they'd all happily said were beyond suspicion were worth a second look. His Auror training told him to suspect **everyone**. Even, unfortunately, his fellow Aurors; there could so easily be a connection between the two cases. So he made a list, writing down everyone who might be involved. It was a long list.

He started by seeing if he could eliminate any long-shots. For example, Draco was on the list. Not, to be sure, because he thought that there was any chance he would attack Harry; on the contrary, he was quite certain the Debt would prohibit any such thing. But, for his own piece of mind, and because the former Death Eater would make a very convenient scapegoat, he felt he needed to prove, beyond doubt, that Draco was innocent. Clearly, Draco had not been there when the coin – in his mind, the object thrown at Harry was a fake galleon; they didn't know that for a fact, but it was the usual object used for this particular spell – had been thrown. Could Draco have obtained it? Very doubtful. Whence and when would he have got it? Lucius Malfoy was watched, and the Manor was screened; Robin knew very well how carefully, he had been responsible for a large part of the ward casting himself. No, there was no way to smuggle a cursed object into the Manor; and there was no way to utter the curse there, either. He was sure the wards would alert him to any use of Dark Magic, no matter how small; and this curse required a significant amount. And any other way Draco Malfoy could have got hold of a fake galleon would have been with Harry's full knowledge. And Harry was probably the only person who really was above suspicion; no-one in his right mind would willingly allow an object cursed with Flagrante Transfero anywhere near them. And anyway, Banks had seen as clearly as Smetana had that Harry didn't throw the coin himself.

In addition, the evidence of wards, and the enquiries that had been conducted that showed that Draco and Harry had spent the whole of their holiday cloistered away with no contact from anyone else, showed clearly enough that neither of them could have acquired the galleon at any point. So. Draco had no part of it. Good.

He continued to whittle down the possibilities in this painstaking way, identifying impossibles, very highly improbables, and finally the possibles. Realistically, there were only three or four of these, he decided. It wasn't just who threw it; most probably Corner did throw it himself, either because he had it and knew what it was, or because someone else could have given it to him as a focal object, quite a common trick to amplify cutting curses. In the latter case, he may or may not have known that it was itself cursed; it would probably be impossible to tell.

No, the point to attack was supply. Someone had to get hold of it first. Robin had assessed the students rather carefully, and he was quite sure that none of the Ravenclaw students could have set up the curse; they didn't know any Dark magic, for a start, and the Transfero curse needed a very strong magical core to set up properly; the only student in the class who could have done it was Harry himself.

So it was almost certainly brought in from elsewhere. And that meant it had been supplied through the black market of forbidden objects. And that pointed rather strongly to the international students; the native Britons would all have had a lot of trouble getting hold of such a thing, given the very strong steps that had been taken to contain them after the War.

At this point, an idea struck Robin with the force of a thunderclap. The wards on Hogwarts proved, absolutely proved, that the coin was either cursed on site – incredibly far-fetched – or came in from overseas in a diplomatically warded bag. And that meant collusion with the Ministry. And one particular Department of the Ministry – the Department of International Co-operation. And that Department just happened to include Lucius's main, probably only, suspect for the Ministry contact for Rita Skeeter.

The conclusion seemed inescapable: the two cases were linked, somehow. Whether they were both part of the same plan, or whether one was simply an opportunistic plot, was another, probably unimportant, question; but it was too much of a co-incidence that two attacks would be mounted through separate moles in the same Department.

At least, he hoped so.

* * *

Draco took advantage of the free period he had after Transfiguration to Floo-call his parents from the Headmistress's office to tell them about the attack on Harry.

"Dragon!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Do you want to come home? Are you safe there?"

"Leave Harry?" Draco asked, stunned that his mother could suggest such a thing.

"Of course not," Narcissa replied, berating herself. "Stupid of me. Do you want us to come?"

"Mother, I'm not six any more!" he replied, a little exasperated. Lucius's chuckle didn't help.

"Chin up, son," Lucius said, the words light but his tone deadly serious. "I'll get onto this. We'll find out who did it, and make them wish they'd never been born."

"I didn't hear that," McGonagall chipped in, at which all three Malfoys laughed, and the conversation drifted onto other matters. He left the Headmistress's office with a lighter step than he had entered it with.

* * *

Draco noticed that he was being shadowed the whole time. It wasn't obtrusive; it didn't make him feel stalked; it's just that everywhere he went, people made sure he was never alone. It was a very strange feeling, this being quietly but determinedly looked after. He had never encountered such a thing at Hogwarts before, that was for sure; at least, not directed at him. Maybe the Gryffindors were always like this, he mused. But he didn't think so; at least, not all the time. There had been some spectacular bust-ups from that House. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter in Fourth Year, for example.

The Slytherins looked after their own, yes; but it was never quite so directed. Slytherins had always made sure they travelled in groups, because a lone snake was so often a target. But this was motivated chiefly by fear and self-interest. You were expected to look after yourself; you looked after other people if they were getting picked on, or they had to ask. It cost something in pride to get that protection; it didn't just happen. But what the Gryffindors offered was very different.

Neville just happened to meet up with him after he left the Headmistress's office, and seemed to need to use the bathroom at the same time that Draco did. It was too much of a coincidence, Draco decided; so, when they had both finished and were just about to go to the Great Hall for lunch, he decided it was time to ask about it.

"So," he began, with that awkwardness that men always have when talking to one another in a toilet block, "does George know you're stalking me?"

Neville laughed. It was a rich, real laugh, and it struck Draco that Neville had changed a very great deal. He was no longer that stuttering, awkward boy; now, nothing seemed to fluster or embarrass him.

"Just looking after you, mate," he replied.

"Why?" Draco asked, genuinely wondering what motive these Gryffindors had.

Neville looked puzzled. "You're Harry's. That makes you one of us. Slytherins know how to look after their own; it's the same really, surely?"

Draco shook his head. "Never like this. You had to toe the line in Slytherin. To be protected, you had to do what you were told."

Neville stared at him, and his heart melted as he saw the disbelief on Draco's face and he knew then that none of the Slytherins had shown Draco the sort of open concern he was being given now. Well, perhaps Blaise and Pansy, he decided; those two, he was sure, would stick with Draco. But even they would maintain an aloofness in public that made it difficult for the blond to accept good old Gryffindor straightforwardness. And Draco needed to learn that, he decided, if he and Harry were going to go the distance.

With that the big Gryffindor made up his mind that Draco needed something different. Something direct, physical, and unequivocal. He grabbed hold of the blond, pulling him into a tender embrace. "You really have a hard time believing it, don't you? You're part of us, now, Draco," he said. "We'll take care of you."

For a moment, Draco stiffened in shock; and then as he felt how sincere Neville was, he found his body moved into the embrace quite naturally. For the second time in two days, he found a tear running down his cheek. Inside him, things seemed to fall into place. All his life, he'd tried so hard to belong. To be a proper Malfoy. A true Slytherin. A worthy Death Eater. He'd never really felt like he'd achieved it. He realised all at once that he'd never really felt like he belonged, until he found that he belonged to Harry. And that should have been a scary thing, should have felt like slavery, but in fact he knew it had made him freer than he had ever been before. And this acceptance, this being part of 'us', that was the same.

He belonged. Not because he was clever enough, or devious enough, or strong enough. No, just being him was enough. He was accepted for himself.

"OK?" Neville asked, a smile on his face. A warm, accepting smile.

"Yeah," Draco answered. He couldn't see it, but the smile on his face matched Neville's as they left for lunch.

* * *

"Draco looks happy," Hermione observed.

Ron looked up from his lunch, and over at the blond, seated between Blaise and Pansy. He was a little concerned for a second, but spotted that Dean and Neville were sitting opposite him, and clearly being vigilant, so he could relax.

"Yep," he replied, taking another forkful of shepherd's pie.

"I noticed you guys sort of sat around him in Transfiguration."

"Yep," he replied. He would let Hermione take this her own way, he decided; he never gained anything by forcing her pace on the rare occasions when he was ahead of her.

"Something going on?"

Ron put down his fork.

"I don't know if you've noticed," he began, his tone light but hiding biting sarcasm underneath, "but Harry is in the Infirmary."

"Er, yes, had got that," the witch answered. Then, it seemed, she got the point. "Oh! And you think Draco might be a target as well."

"Sh!" Ron said. "Walls have ears, and all that. Yes, whoever attacked Harry didn't finish the job, so we figure there's a fair chance they'll attack Draco, either because he's Harry's intended, or because he's a Death Eater, or simply out of spite; he might even have been the real target."

"And you don't think it was Corner?" she asked, thinking that as the three Ravenclaws had gone, they were no longer a threat.

Ron gave her a wry look, the one that says 'surely you can work it out'; it was actually one she had given him often enough, but that didn't endear it to her any the more.

"Do you really think Corner would use Flagrante Transfero? Do you really think he **could**?"

Hermione thought about this for a second or two, and her lips twitched.

"Point," she said. "So, you really do care about him, don't you?"

"Draco? Harry does; that's good enough for me," Ron answered. "Feeling jealous?"

Hermione was a little shocked. Ron used to be so oblivious; here he was hitting the nail on the head first blow.

"Um, a little," she admitted, feeling very sheepish as she did so.

Ron grinned. "No need to be. Harry still loves us too, you know. We haven't been replaced; it's just that Draco's been added." He pointed to Hermione's untouched lunch. "Are you going to eat any of that?"

Hermione took the hint, and dug in, still thinking things through. All right, Harry loved Draco, and she could see that it was mutual. Hang it, anyone could see it was mutual. What perhaps was a surprise was that it would probably have been mutual even without the Debt. Not, of course, that they would ever have got together to find out without the Debt; but there was no point thinking about that. They were here now, and she had to work out she felt about that.

She wondered if the Debt still counted for anything; if she knew Harry, he'd forgotten all about it by now, and would only think about it if he felt Draco was being forced into something he didn't want. Harry would want a relationship of equals; he'd always been forced to be someone special, and the thing he wanted most was to be normal. Whatever that meant. To be treated like a real person and scolded when he deserved it, not put on a pedestal and worshipped.

But it was nothing more than pretty dream, really. The Debt wasn't going to go away, so anything it forced them to do was their new normal. Harry would just have to go with the flow. He was good at that when he had to be; but perhaps, she thought, a little encouragement would not go amiss when he got back to them.

She hauled her thoughts back from the Debt to the issue of Draco and Harry's relationship, and her feelings about it. If Ron could accept it, she decided, she could too. He thought Harry still loved them; in her heart of hearts, Hermione knew he was right. Harry had never given up on anyone he cared about. Having Draco in the mix just made things more difficult; but then, when had things ever been easy? It was going to work, she decided, if sheer determination had anything to do with it. They'd just all have to work together to keep the friendships alive.

But this jealousy thing had to go.

She decided it was time to make overtures to Draco's friends. She turned to Pansy, smiled openly, and asked how her Transfiguration was going.

Both girls were quite surprised twenty minutes later when Blaise and Ron told them it was time to go to Charms.

* * *

Malfoy's assailant had hoped for an opening in the Ancient Runes class last thing; of the boys, only Longbottom took the class, so Draco would be protected on one side, there should be a clear run at the other. That was all that was needed; a diversion in Ancient Runes, second only to History of Magic for boredom, was not hard to engineer.

But to the enemy's dismay, the fuzzy-haired Gryffindor witch took the seat next to the blond; and her eyes roamed the class just as watchfully as the boys' had earlier. There wasn't even a chance after class, when people got a bit lax as they walked and chatted in the corridors; Longbottom and the girl – Granger, that was her name – strode off with Malfoy between them, keeping up quite a good pace.

This was deplorable. The Gryffindors were supposed to be enemies of the Slytherins. At least, that's what her contact had said. If they were protecting the Death Eater, things were going to get very difficult indeed. Without the Ravenclaw boys, there were precious few people to take the blame already. A new scapegoat had to be found, and fast. The first attack had been under the Auror's nose; very gratifying, but it wasn't going to work twice.

* * *

Harry slept all through Wednesday and showed no sign of stirring when Draco visited him after dinner. He quietly sat next to his lover, holding his hand to his lips. Madam Pomfrey came in, and Draco fully expected to be shooed away again; but as she surveyed the scene, to Draco's very great surprise she took out her wand and enlarged Harry's bed.

"There's nothing wrong with him that will hurt you," she said to Draco's surprised face. "Agnes Touauld sent me some notes – as a professional courtesy, and bound up in confidentiality; I'm sure you know I won't be telling anyone anything."

Draco nodded; he expected no less of the mediwitch. Poppy Pomfrey was one of the few people he'd never known anyone to have a bad word for; when it came to patient confidentiality, her reputation for being tight-lipped was legendary.

"She says that you two being together was …" She consulted the notes, and recited from them, "'evidently and markedly beneficial to Mr Potter's progress'. Who am I to argue with such a distinguished healer?"

Draco wasn't about to argue, either. He got changed into some hospital pajamas, and snuggled down next to his lover.

* * *

All was quiet and still in the infirmary. It should have been a good time to get to Potter. A whispered 'Alohomora' and the door opened, and a dark-robed figure crept in, slowly, quietly walking across the ward.

The first problem, though, was that it was dark. So dark, it was impossible to make out which beds were occupied. The waning moon should have given some light; but there was none.

Until …

All of a sudden, there was a bright swirl of colour. The uninvited visitor took a step back, momentarily blinded by the intense light. When vision returned, the colours became evident; the light was made out of pulsating patches of red, silver and green, swirling together, making a wall. There was no doubt in the visitor's mind; this was the Haussmann shield. And by the looks of it, it was every bit as strong as they had said. It looked menacing, almost angry.

The Malfoy brat must be here too, the visitor surmised. There would be no getting through this, that was clear. Even if the shield fell to an attack, there would then be two wizards beyond it, woken and warned by the noise that breaking the shield would necessitate; not at all the stealth attack that had been planned. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valour, the interloper tip-toed quietly away.

The door, as it closed behind the swishing, dark robes, glowed briefly. The shield, it seemed, was active, and strong, and determined to protect the two lovers from any harm.

The assailant, cursing the evil chance, scurried away to bed, and a night's fitful sleep dreaming of what might have been.

Draco, his Harry wrapped closely to him, slept markedly better than he had the night before.

* * *

_Thursday 16 July_

Flitwick came to the Infirmary first thing. He stood at the door, his eyes wide. Here in front of him, pulsating strongly, was a shield of no mean proportion. He touched it with his wand; it must have recognised his good intent, because it abruptly disappeared.

He opened the door, entered the room, and scurried over to the enlarged bed on which the two wizards lay fast asleep in each other's arms. He stood on a chair a little way from the bed, looked down at the two men and smiled.

After a few seconds, his presence must have registered with Draco, for a single silver eye opened and looked at him.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," he said, very quietly, his voice holding nothing but amusement. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes thank you sir," the blond replied.

"Very good, very good. I noticed, when I came here, that there was a strong shield cast; was that your doing?"

"No," Draco replied; "though there was a strange moment last night …"

He went quiet, obviously calling a memory to mind; Flitwick did not pester him, though. Eventually, he seemed to come to himself.

"I thought it was a dream. It was like someone came in. Someone … evil. It was like there was a lump of blackness in the room. And then there was this ball of light … it must have been the Haussmann shield again. The black went away and I fell into slumber again."

Flitwick looked pensive. "This touches on why I'm here," he said. "There is a lot of concern for both Mr Potter and you amongst the staff; I think it would be good for you to avoid classes. Madam Pomfrey seems to think that you should stay with Mr Potter, for his sake; but if the Haussmann shield keeps you safe even with him recovering, then I think you should do so for yours as well. Are you agreeable to that?"

Draco was stunned. Was Flitwick really asking if Draco wanted to stay with Harry? What sort of a question was that?

"I think that would be … acceptable," he said with a smirk.

* * *

Robin Banks was very happy to learn that Draco was in the hospital wing with Harry; a moving target might be harder to hit, but a stationary target was easier to protect. Particularly if the shield was going to do that for him. Not that he relied on it exclusively; he set up his own wards and warning spells.

While he had been teaching at Hogwarts, the Ministry had felt he didn't need a partner; but now that there was a serious investigation under way, he had asked for, and got, the assistance of Toby Proudfoot. It felt good to sit down and discuss things with his partner again.

"So," Proudfoot was saying, "you've pretty much ruled out everyone except for two from Beauxbatons?"

"The Durmstrang contingent could still have been the supplier; I know you think it's unlikely, it would be too obvious; but we can't discount the fact that they are more likely to have access to dark artefacts."

"Don't forget the Veela connection, either," Proudfoot reminded him.

"True," Banks replied. "Yes, the two Delacour girls. That's a good point…"

* * *

Oddly enough, Blaise was the first student to find out that Draco was excused lessons. The tall, dark Italian visited the Infirmary before breakfast; in fact, he met Flitwick coming out. The Professor informed him that Harry was still out cold, and Draco was with him, and would stay the day.

"Ah! Blaise!" Draco said as he entered. "Good! I shall be here all day, so there are some things you can fetch for me."

Blaise smirked inwardly to himself. Here was the good old Draco, the one who ordered everyone around. He might be a little Slytherin snot at times; but he was **their** little Slytherin snot. He told Draco he didn't promise anything; he would see what he could do. They both knew what that meant; in the event Blaise and Pansy returned later, straight after breakfast, with everything Draco had demanded: books, parchment, quills, silk pajamas, and the little green box that Pansy knew perfectly well was filled with Draco's secret vice: sugar quills from Honeydukes.

At this point, Madam Pomfrey bustled up.

"Mr Zabini, kindly go and have breakfast; Mr Malfoy needs his, and I'm sure he'd rather have it undisturbed."

Leaving the Infirmary, Blaise encountered Ron and Hermione coming to visit Harry. He told them that Pomfrey had shooed him out, so they probably shouldn't visit yet; as they walked back to the Great Hall, he explained the situation to them, and was very gratified to note how concerned they were for Draco, not only for Harry. The odd friendships between Slytherin and Gryffindor were really growing; no-one could say that War was a good thing, but some of the consequences – removing the insane jealousies between houses, for example – they could be good.

At breakfast, Blaise had explained to the general company that Harry had not recovered yet, and Draco was going to spend the day with him. This announcement was met with the twin emotions of concern and relief: his friends were worried for Harry, and glad that Draco was with him, and out of danger.

Although, unless Blaise imagined it, there were some around the table who felt the other way: relieved Potter was not recovered, and concerned that Draco was out of danger. They would all have to keep a watchful eye out, he knew.

* * *

The day proved to be difficult for all of them. There was a tension brewing; suspicions were rising, and though they didn't follow the ancient Slytherin-Gryffindor line, the general human tendency to blame outsiders made the situation between the students from different schools an uncomfortable one. The two chaperones seemed to deal with this radically differently; Madame Dubois seemed to ignore it altogether, while Ivan Smetana wandered around with a dour look on his face, and made sure his two charges were together at all times.

It was Neville who finally decided that something had to be done about the atmosphere, and invited everyone, including the chaperones and Professor Flitwick, to hang out and play cards after dinner. The chaperones, recognising a peace offering when they saw one, encouraged their charges, and with the help of some butterbeer they managed to have a comfortable, if not entirely pleasant evening, until they broke up about nine o'clock, Professor Flitwick urging them all to get any homework finished and then turn in.

At this point Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Pansy took the opportunity to visit Draco, who was glad to be remembered and doubly glad when he found out that Blaise had smuggled butterbeer in with him. They sat together drinking and talking for nearly an hour. And if Madam Pomfrey noticed anything, perhaps it was the sound of laughter and seeing how much good it was doing everyone that meant she did not interfere,

* * *

"Draco?"

It was such a strange feeling. Draco knew he was asleep; but the light was so intense, so bright, so beautiful …

He opened his eyes; but it was not the Infirmary he saw.

He was standing in an orchard; apple trees around him rustled in the wind and gave off a delicious smell.

"Harry?" he asked, and suddenly he was there, in his lover's arms; but now they were inside, cuddling on a bed. The apple smell lingered; and then changed subtly into that unique, that wonderful smell that meant only one thing to Draco.

The smell of Harry.

There were no more words. Just the crash of Harry's lips on his, and then it all went quiet as a warm glow suffused through him and the gentle light dimmed.

"Sleep well," the voice he couldn't place told him.

Draco fell asleep with the soft words ringing in his ears and Harry's kiss tingling on his lips.

* * *

_Friday 17 July_

Consciousness came back slowly.

He knew this place.

"… dratted Gryffindor!"

He knew that voice, too. He loved that voice. A smile stole slowly across his face.

"That dratted Gryffindor, Draco, saved my bacon," another voice said. "So you hush."

Ah. Now that voice. That was … Blaise, that's right. That was his name.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at a very familiar ceiling. The infirmary. He'd made it, what – twelve days, thirteen days, this year, before his first visit? Yes, something like that was about right. He wondered if it was a record.

"He's waking up," the voice said. Blaise again.

Harry lifted his head and looked at them.

"Hello," he said.

"Ah! Mr Potter! You've decided to join us again," a very familiar voice said, as Madam Pomfrey came from her office. "I must say, I had hoped that you and I might not meet up here at all this year, but it was obviously a pipe dream. Now, Mr Zabini, remember what I said."

Blaise looked meek at this, turned to Harry and said, "I promised I'd leave you alone; but I have to say thank you; but for your shield, I think Longbottom and I would have been in serious trouble. I'm sorry it seems to be you that got the trouble."

"Neville," Harry replied.

"Scuzi?" Blaise asked.

"Call him 'Neville'."

"OK – Harry," the Italian replied, remembering his promise from weeks earlier. "Neville and I would have been in serious trouble. Thank you."

Harry grinned. "You're welcome," he said, and the tall dark Slytherin smiled back, turned, said farewell to Draco and left the infirmary.

At the same time, Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, casting diagnostic spells and looking every inch the consummate professional that she was. And Draco came and sat in the chair next to him, and grasped his hand very tightly indeed.

Harry turned to look at him.

"Draco, I'm sorry –" he began; but he got no further.

Because it's hard to say very much when your lips are otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily.
> 
> Facebook: In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged) to 'like' it.
> 
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> 
> Please please comment; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	55. Returning Things to Where You Found Them

**55\. Returning Things to Where You Found Them**

_Friday 17 July_

After Blaise had left, the next people to visit Harry that morning were two Aurors. At first he was a little surprised that Robin Banks hadn't come; and then it hit him: this was not a social call; Robin was part of what had happened on Tuesday, so he would be under investigation. The Auror department probably wanted to clear his name as quickly as possible; it wouldn't look good to have one of their own under suspicion. Since Harry liked Robin a great deal, he wanted the same thing; so he sat up and paid careful attention.

The two Aurors reminded themselves to him as Toby Proudfoot and Tom Godwin; Harry recalled that they had both seemed quite trustworthy, so he wasn't too put out when they asked Draco and Madame Pomfrey if they 'might interview Mr Potter in private'.

Madam Pomfrey, taking the hint immediately, invited Draco to her office for some tea. Draco looked like he was going to refuse, then rather reticently agreed. He had had to do without Harry for nearly three days and he didn't want to leave at all; but it was obvious that this was an official visit, so he decided to make a virtue of necessity and withdraw voluntarily rather than be kicked out.

"Now, Mr Potter," Godwin began, "we understand that you were acting in the role of teacher's assistant on Tuesday, perhaps you could tell us how that came about?"

Harry nodded.

"I guess we should go back to the whole business of Dumbledore's Army," he said, and gave a potted history of the disaster that had been Defense lessons with Dolores Umbridge, and how he had been practically coerced into teaching the subject himself.

The Aurors were grateful for the background he gave them, and very impressed by his ability to provide a coherent narrative of events. Over the next ten minutes, they questioned Harry rather closely about the whole of Tuesday's events. His testimony, brief, succinct and to the point, corroborated everything that they had heard; it would, Toby Proudfoot thought as he recorded it, make an excellent basis for their report. Rumour had it that Mr Potter wanted to be an Auror; based on this interview, Proudfoot was certain he would make an excellent one, and told him so.

Harry, blushing, decided he had to ask the question that was worrying him: "Will Robin get into trouble?"

Toby Proudfoot chuckled. "Well, obviously Mr Potter, I can't pre-empt any decision made by the Minister; but so far the evidence all says that Auror Banks had acted entirely properly at all times, and with commendable promptness in getting you here."

"Thanks," Harry said with a grin.

"No, thank you, Mr Potter. We'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the day," Tom Godwin replied, and the two Aurors left straight away to file their report.

* * *

It seemed to be a day for early morning visitors; no sooner had the Aurors left than the Headmistress arrived, accompanied by Armand Ionescu and Agnes Touauld. Harry wondered idly if Madam Pomfrey felt overshadowed by the very distinguished visitors; but there was no sign of it. Quite the contrary; the two Healers asked her about the case very respectfully, and complimented her on the excellent care she had given.

Naturally, Harry was examined, and poked, and prodded by the medical professionals, while the Headmistress and Draco explained to him everything they knew about what had happened on Tuesday and subsequently. To his relief, after the examination, all three healers pronounced him perfectly healthy.

"Right!" Harry said. "In that case, we do need to get down to breakfast."

He could see at once that Madam Pomfrey was not happy about this idea at all; he was sure she would say that he needed a day of rest to recover, so he decided to jump in quickly.

"Please, Poppy, I promise I'll take it easy today and rest up tomorrow; but I want to see everyone, and get back to classes, and let them all know I'm all right."

The mediwitch hesitated for a moment; but the encouraging faces of the three esteemed visitors seemed to sway her, and she sighed and gave her begrudging consent, telling him to come back at the first sign of weakness, while knowing perfectly well he would collapse in a heap on the floor before he would come back to the medical wing willingly. She consoled herself with the thought that at least Draco Malfoy had a sensible head on his shoulders and would probably drag Harry back if he needed to be here.

"Thanks!" Harry grinned at her, and he and Draco left together with the Headmistress and the two visitors.

* * *

"HARRY!" Hermione yelled as they entered the Great Hall, and two seconds later he found his mouth full of bouncy brown hair as she wrapped herself around him, giving him a huge hug.

"Blimey, mate!" Ron said. "I don't get treated like that!"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "You've never spent three nights out cold in the Infirmary or made me so worried about you!"

"And that's a bad thing?" Ron asked; but his face held a grin and it was clear to Harry that he was making mischief.

"No!" she shouted back, and then saw that his eyes were glinting. "Oh... men!" she said, exasperated, distractedly hugging Harry even tighter.

"Er, Hermione?" Harry asked, tentatively. "Do you think you could let go a bit so I could breathe?"

"Oh. Sorry," she said, as she let go, and they took their places at the breakfast table.

Harry and Draco naturally sat together; Draco was so close to Harry you couldn't have squeezed a piece of parchment between them; and Harry was delighted when Neville immediately took a seat on the other side of Draco and started discussing their classes for the day with him as he happily passed dishes to and fro. The table seemed to be full of quite normal students enjoying school life together. He looked around the assembled students and chaperones. It was strange to think that, if what he had been told was true, at least one of these people was actively working against the happy cameraderie he saw here. And that thought galvanised something in him. The words he had first thought in this very room, weeks ago, rang through his head clearly again: "Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …" That was the kind of society he wanted, one that valued these things. Really valued them, not just espoused them as expedient catch-cries.

It was, perhaps, a pipe dream; but it was **his** pipe dream, and he was prepared to fight for it.

* * *

Harry's fighting spirit was very clearly manifested in their Defense class. Armand decided that it was time to start teaching them some basic Occlumency skills. He began by teaching a basic skill known as the Fortress technique: they were to imagine their mind as being inside a heavily fortified castle, the larger and stronger the better, and make sure that all of their thoughts were covered within its strong walls. He cautioned them that of course, this technique had no subtlety; it was obvious to any attacker that it was being used, and a strong-minded attacker could enter their castle by brute force. The best defenses, he explained, involved tricking the adversary into thinking they had penetrated your mind and learnt your deepest secrets while in fact denying them anything of interest. But such techniques involved a great deal of skill and experience.

"Do you think we'll be able to learn them this year?" Ron asked.

Ionescu looked pensive, and gave him a crooked smile. "Let's see what you can do with the Fortress method first, shall we, and take it from there."

After perhaps a quarter of an hour spent teaching and then having them build a castle in their imagination, he tested the whole class one by one. The test consisted of having each student think of one particular secret image, meaningful to them and just a little bit embarrassing – so they would have an incentive not to let him know, over and above the simple pride of keeping a secret - and then try to fend off a Legilimency attack from him.

"Will you be using force?" Seamus asked him, a touch belligerently.

Ionescu smiled knowingly. "There are other ways to breach the fortress defence," he said mildly; but his eyes were laughing, and it sent a cold chill up the Irishman's spine.

Half an hour later, three quarters of the class had tried to shield their minds and failed spectacularly at this endeavour. There were quite a few red faces, and a lot of giggles; Neville's memory of parading in pink polka-dot panties had been a particular hit. Most of them had in fact constructed quite strong fortresses; but Ionescu was an old hand and knew from experience that beginners always seemed to give their fortresses a side door of some kind. And it was very useful to be able to show them that the technique really wasn't much good against a skilled Legilimens; a large part of successful Defense Against the Dark Arts consisted in understanding the different strengths and weaknesses of various attacks and defenses.

And then Armand came to Harry. He cast Legilimens; and there in front of him a wall loomed. It was not the usual castle wall that he had seen so far, one made out of individual blocks, usually with gate and portcullis and moat; but a whole cliff-face of granite, solid and strong, with no seam or crack anywhere. He mentally walked over to the side, to see if there was a way round; but he found as he did so that the wall seemed to curve around him, and suddenly he found himself being encircled by stone. He realised with a small shock that they seemed to have switched roles: Harry was now the one likely to break into his mind.

"Quite astonishing, Mr Potter," he murmured to the walls surrounding him, knowing that only Harry could hear him. "I congratulate you. This is the strongest Occlumency display I have ever seen."

Instantly, he felt the Legilimens spell snap, and he blinked a few times. He was back in the classroom. The students gaped at him, obviously hoping for some salacious detail of the Chosen One's personal life, while Harry sat there, a tiny smile on his face.

"What did you see?" a student asked. Marie Thibault, he suspected. She was particularly interested in gossip, he had noticed.

"I saw that Mr Potter has grasped Occlumency to a very high standard," he replied. "Now, Mr Zabini?"

And, to the great disappointment of the gossips, that was it.

* * *

Draco was very proud to show off his skills again in Transfiguration. The lesson was remarkable in that the Headmistress was accompanied by Monsieur le Professeur Dreyfuss, and also Madame Dubois; so, having a healthy staff to student ratio, Minerva decided to spend the class doing practical spellwork, with the teachers watching the students and making notes on their level of progress. They were about half an hour from the end of the lesson when Hermione put up her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" the Headmistress asked.

"Excuse me, Profess- Headmistress, sorry-"

"Either will do fine," McGonagall said, with a rare smile.

"Yes, right, sorry," Hermione said, flustered by the interruption. "Um – I was just wondering – a lot of this spellwork doesn't seem any harder than sixth year level; are we going to see an increase of difficulty?"

The other students groaned at this question; clearly they were all finding sixth-year level quite hard enough!

"Quite right, Miss Granger. Any other year, you would have ten points for Gryffindor for your alertness. We have indeed now revised the sixth year spells needed for your NEWTs. But the remaining syllabus is particularly difficult, as it involves Transfiguration of large objects – which requires a lot of magical strength – and Transfiguration of complex objects – which requires skill and finesse. Over the next few weeks we will be learning these elements separately, and then putting them together into Human Transfigurations. And then comes magic that not many wizards and witches actually manage, the pinnacle of human transfigurative magic: the creation of an animagus form."

"Is zat really so different to general transfiguration?" Danielle, the more studious of the Thibault twins, asked.

"Oh yes," Dreyfuss replied. "Ze animagus, it still 'as a – how do you say, still thinking?" he continued, looking to McGonagall for help.

"A consciousness," the Headmistress answered promptly. "If I transfigure you into an animal, you will be that animal, and not be aware at all. But an animagus knows exactly what is happening, and still has their right mind."

Draco blushed rather red during this comment, remembering a certain incident involving a fake Alistor Moody and an all-too-real ferret. A thought struck him and he put up his hand.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" the Headmistress said in acknowledgement.

"If the difference is consciousness, and the wolfsbane potion means that a werewolf keeps their mind during the transformation, does that mean that some potion could make the difference between transfigured form and animagus?"

A small frisson of interest went through the class. Harry noticed that Stefan Ivanov was particularly interested; but then Potions was his subject, after all.

"Zat is a most interesting question," Madame Dubois said. "I don't zink anyone 'as researched it. Do you know, Madame la Directrice?"

"No I don't, and you are right, it is a most interesting question. Perhaps you and Mr Ivanov could discuss it with Professor Slughorn?"

Draco nodded in reply; though he had no intention of involving either of the other two in discussion. No, this was his idea. He would discuss it with Borage.

The discussion continued until the bell rang for lunch.

* * *

As part of the visitation programme set up at Hogwarts, the Department of International Magical Co-operation had naturally put in a standing request to be informed of any developments that could have an impact on the relationship with Beauxbatons or the Durmstrang Institute. Given the presence of students from the two very important international educational establishments in all classes at Hogwarts, that basically meant that the DIMC was being given a copy of all paperwork regarding the school. Accordingly, the Auror's report into the attack on Harry Potter landed on the Deputy Head's desk just on lunchtime. The Deputy Head, one Anton Rosier, was well-versed in the machinery of politics, and knew perfectly well the old trick of delivering a report you'd rather got ignored just as people were leaving for lunch, or for the day; so he forced himself to sit back down at his desk and peruse the papers.

Ten minutes later his knuckles were white as his hands clenched around the document in question very, very tightly indeed.

"Appleby!" he called.

His own deputy walked in rather cautiously; his boss's tone had not been encouraging. One look told Arnold Appleby that Rosier was hopping mad; he could only hope it was nothing he'd done. "Yes, sir?" the man asked, taking care to keep his own voice colourless and obsequious.

"Would you be good enough to find out for me why it is that there was an incident at Hogwarts on Tuesday, and we are only finding out about it today?" Rosier asked, his voice quiet and full of menace.

"Yes, sir," Appleby replied, very grateful for the opportunity to get out of the cursing line, as wizards say. With his boss in this mood, heads were likely to roll. And Appleby was rather fond of his head. He had visions of a bright future in the Ministry; 'Arnold Appleby, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation' had a nice ring to it, he thought, as a stepping-stone to the main prize, 'Arnold Appleby, Minister for Magic'. Of course, that meant getting rid of his boss and the current Head of Department; but his boss's temper was going to be the death of him sometime, and the big boss was a supreme incompetent. And Appleby had time on his side; he was thirty years younger than both men. He could bide his time.

Meanwhile, he had better make sure that it was an Auror that the boss wanted to eviscerate. He knew just the man, too. That young Auror who was stationed at Hogwarts was too clever by half…

* * *

Muggle Studies involved a guest lecture from Dempster Wiggleswade, who discussed the Statute of Secrecy and its implications for them as they interacted with the Muggle world. It could have been a very boring class indeed; but somehow, even though Wiggleswade was a dry old stick, he seemed to make what he said relevant to what they were doing, and the class was actually quite lively.

Was it just fancy, Harry wondered, or was there a residual fear from the events of Tuesday preying on people's minds, and encouraging them to discuss dangers and how to avoid them? He and the other Muggle-raised magicals were able to provide a point of view that challenged a lot of the preconceptions of their peers: what with cars, and aeroplanes, and guns, and the Internet, the Muggle world was developing technology that was closing the gap that they saw between the two worlds.

This occasioned a good deal of debate; initially most of the pure-bloods could not believe that Muggles would ever pose a threat, but after Ron explained his adventures flying to Australia, with scanning devices, and the aeroplanes themselves, their complacency started to crack. _Typical_ , Harry thought; it took a fellow pure-blood to convince them that the threat was real. But, he supposed, at least they were giving some credence to the idea.

The class continued to be very lively, and everyone went away quite stirred up, and determined to research the Muggle world quite carefully now that they understood there could be a threat here – which Dempster was delighted to watch. This was precisely the result that Chief Warlock Doge and Deputy Minister Weasley had been hoping for: that the students would see Muggle Studies not as a waste of time, but on the contrary as an important part of keeping aware of the dangers around them.

* * *

As the Professors had requested that Draco attend the Defense class on Friday mornings, they had been together all day so far. Harry decided, in view of the attack from Tuesday, that he wasn't taking any chances with leaving Draco alone, so he accompanied him to his Ancient Runes class. Professor Babbling seemed surprised to see him, but was quite happy for him to attend, as long as he didn't disturb her class.

Harry was grateful for the opportunity, and sat next to Draco, not expecting to understand a thing; but, to his surprise, he found the runes being written quite intelligible, and even corrected some of the work Draco was doing.

"When did you get so good at runes, Potter?" Draco asked him with a mock-sarcastic voice.

"I don't know," Harry replied simply enough. "It all just suddenly seemed to click."

* * *

At Spinner's End, Rookwood could finally feel the wards shifting. He had begun to wonder if they should cut their losses and try to find what they needed elsewhere; but who else would have a copy of _Deep Memory Magic: Theory and Practise_ _?_ No-one that he knew of, that was for sure. The Ministry had clamped down hard on the estates of all the known Death Eaters, and confiscated everything vaguely dark; there's no way that there was going to be an easily accessible copy anyway but here or, at a stretch, Malfoy Manor. But, even though Lucius was a skilled Legilimens, Memory Magic had never really been a strong interest of the Malfoy family.

But now at last, he was beginning to see some progress. He called out, and Umbridge looked up.

"Are you through?" she demanded.

Rookwood snorted. "Hardly. But I've managed to get under the first layer. Maybe a day or two more …"

The other two groaned. But really, what else was there to do? At least Spinner's End made an excellent hide-out; Potter was in school, and had probably never been here anyway, and the Ministry wasn't going to show any interest in Snape's old house now that the will had been executed and everyone knew it was Potter's personal property. They were probably safer here than anywhere else; it might be slow going, but at least they weren't going to be interrupted

Rookwood applied himself to the wards again.

* * *

At dinnertime there was a surprise awaiting the students: as Robin was staying at the castle over the weekend, Ginny had been given special permission to join them. This was a very welcome development; Gin was like a breath of fresh air as she showed off George and Fred's latest prank items and laughed and joked with everyone. The Beauxbatons girls seemed to warm to her; Harry guessed that perhaps they didn't see her as a threat, given that she and Robin were practically engaged; and the young red-head certainly seemed to offer them lots of encouragement and advice about courting shy Englishmen.

The evening turned out to be very pleasant, as after dinner everyone obviously felt they needed to let their hair down, so homework was done in double-quick time, and they all relaxed in the common room. Ron challenged Draco to a game of chess, which turned into a best-of-five when Draco won the first game, while the rest sat around chatting or playing cards. But Harry couldn't help but be watchful; it was most probably one of these students who had tried to attack him, after all.

The chess players were very evenly matched; it was two-all after four games, and the fifth game concluded in stalemate, as Draco, though down on material, had Ron in perpetual check. Draco shook hands with the redhead and went over to Harry. He could feel the tension in his fiancé, so he suggested quietly that they should call it a night. Harry looked around. He knew that everyone wanted to chat with him, but he had had enough; he had made a point of spending some time with each of his friends, and even sat with Blaise and Pansy for a few minutes, and he decided that spending the rest of the night exclusively with Draco sounded like a wonderful idea …

* * *

Saturday morning saw Harry and Draco in Muggle London; Lucius had arranged for them to meet with some people who could help them with their Muggle Studies assignments, and this was the first opportunity they had to use the contacts. Harry spent a very pleasant couple of hours in a coffee-shop with two barristers, who happily told him stories of their adventures in the Old Bailey. He found them very interesting, and very helpful; for their part, they were delighted to have someone so keen to listen to them – for it is in a barrister's blood to enjoy an appreciative audience – and offered to meet with him whenever he liked, subject to their work schedules. One of them, a very experienced barrister called Ken Barnett, had a case in progress, and invited Harry to turn up any afternoon – there would be room for him in the public gallery, he assured him, and Ken would happily explain things to him after the day was finished if he liked.

Draco, for his part, spent a wonderful morning in the Specialist Pharmacy; Lucius had managed to get him a contact at this very restricted facility, and the Muggle pharmacist exceptionally came into work on a Saturday morning especially to show him what went on in a compounding pharmacy. He watched enthralled as the woman used generally familiar techniques to produce the various medicines required; he was intrigued to learn the care that she took, and she explained that a compounding pharmacy produced medicines tailored to a particular patient, while the very large pharmaceutical laboratories would mass-produce generic medicines. A number of things became particularly clear to Draco as he watched: she loved her work, but had very little love for the large companies; she was extremely skilled at what she did; she used some techniques he didn't know (he took careful note of these, to see if he could learn anything that might be useful in potions work); and the Muggles understood the properties of chemical compounds in very different ways to how wizards understood them.

The two lads returned to the Castle for lunch deep in thought. They had each learnt a very great deal, and both been surprised at the richness and breadth of knowledge that the Muggle world had to offer.

Arthur Weasley's notion was already bearing fruit.

* * *

After lunch, Robin invited them to walk with him, Ginny and Ron to Hogsmeade; Ginny and Ron wanted to case Zonko's Joke Shop, which the twins had already been sniffing out; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was doing so well that they were they were thinking about making a bid to buy their competition out. The five of them had a quick look round, and then Robin took Harry and Draco to The Three Broomsticks where they found a quiet corner.

"It's lovely having Ginny around," Harry said by way of conversation. "She seems to be particularly friendly with the Beauxbatons girls."

"Yes," Robin said, a touch sheepishly. "Actually, that's not entirely random. I asked her to suss them out for me; I reckon Tuesday's coin must have come from one of them, and Gin's much more likely to find out which in casual conversation than I am."

Harry looked confused by this pronouncement, but Draco's face shone with understanding.

"I knew it!" he said. "I knew she wasn't just here by chance. And you say it was a coin?"

"Almost certainly," Robin replied. "The usual thing is to curse a galleon with the Flagrante Transfero curse, and then wrap it in a preservation hex. Done properly, it's nearly undetectable unless you know what you're looking for. And being so small and so common, they're so easy to transport, and so hard to suspect."

Harry's face had changed completely during Robin's explanation; his face now looked stern and forbidding.

"But you do know what you're looking for, right?"

"Yes," Robin said slowly, a little puzzled by the question, but happy for Harry to take this wherever he wanted.

"And this whole thing has been set up carefully, yes?"

"Obviously," Draco replied. "So?"

"So whoever used it would have to have more, right? You wouldn't take just one chance, it might fail. If you're going to go to a lot of trouble, you're going to do it thoroughly."

"And that means there must be more of them," Robin said, sighing that he hadn't realised this before.

"So we should search Dumbledore Tower?" Draco asked.

"No, they're not there," Harry replied, with absolute conviction.

"How can you be sure?" Robin asked.

"I would have felt them. I'm sure of it," Harry replied, and no-one disagreed.

"So, where then?" Robin asked.

Harry sat back, deep in thought. After about five minutes he suddenly sat bolt upright.

"The Charms classroom," he muttered. "Has to be."

"What?" Robin asked. "How do you work that out?"

"Pardon?" Harry said. "Oh, did I say that out loud? But think about it: it has to be somewhere accessible; it can't be anywhere directly connected with any student; it has to be somewhere where anyone goes fairly frequently. People go and see Professor Flitwick all the time, and he's happy for people to use the Charms classroom whenever they want. And there are personal items there, stored under compulsion charms to keep everyone away."

"I see," Robin said thoughtfully. "Yes, it does seem that the Charms classroom is an excellent hiding place."

"Hello!" Ginny said brightly as she and Ron entered their conversation. "Anyone for more butterbeer?"

* * *

He was through. At last. He muttered the final incantation, wiped around the doorframe with his wand just to be sure – it would not look good to successfully break through a so-called Unbreakable ward only to be hit by a simple Cutting Curse straight after. Before going in, he looked around to find that he was all alone; the others had gone out to get food, he remembered. Good. They wouldn't get in the way.

He turned the handle. The door opened easily, and soundlessly. He stepped into the room. It was very neat; everything was carefully piled up. He noticed that there was no dust; but a quick check showed that the room, like the rest of the house, was under strong preservation charms, so there was no reason why there should be.

He hunted through the room quickly and quietly. He was delighted to find that the books were carefully grouped by subject; Severus Snape had had a brilliant mind, and the layout and organisation of the room bore witness to it. He found the sections on cursebreaking mind magic easily enough; they would need _Dark Cursebreaking_ to remove the curse from the circlet, and _Memory Magic: Theory and Practise_ _to perform the ritual. He took the books and went out back into the sitting room. He didn't want to read them at Severus's desk; that would have felt wrong, somehow._

* * *

_Sunday 19 July_

It wasn't until late Sunday morning that the little group got a chance to meet up in the Charms classroom without causing suspicion. Robin decided that there was no point in even trying to keep the two Weasleys out of it, and Ron had told Hermione, so the group was a little large for easy clandestine activity; but as there were lots of small groups moving around the castle, they didn't attract any unwanted attention.

As soon as Harry walked into the room, he was drawn to a bookshelf at the back of the room; he stood in front of it, muttering very quietly to himself, for so long, that Draco asked, "lost the plot, Potter?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," he replied, but there was not heat in the words. It actually gave him a little thrill that Draco's sarcastic side was coming back into play; it told him that his blond lover's personality was not being strangled by the Debt and he wasn't being forced to be someone he wasn't.

He waved a hand, and the book he had been concentrating on intently for perhaps ten minutes glowed a golden yellow. Satisfied that he had disabled all the wards and tracking spells, and that it was now safe to do so, he picked up the book, laid it closed, front cover up on a nearby desk, and opened it. Instead of text, there was a large picture of a miser, sitting in a garret, counting huge piles of coins. Harry waved his hand over the picture, and one of the coins was levitated out of the frame altogether, and then followed the curve of his hand as he moved it over off the book and onto the benchtop.

"Try that," he said to Robin, with a lop-sided grin. As he looked, he saw that the others were looking at him open-mouthed.

"Catching flies?" he asked, laconically.

"Wandless, wordless magic!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I just couldn't be bothered getting my wand out."

"That's what you said at Shell Cottage, mate, and the answer is still the same," Ron replied, "there are wizards who never manage to do that, but you do it just to save yourself getting your wand out!"

While they were talking, Robin had been casting spells over the coin on the bench.

"Definitely cursed," he said. "I think we should put a tracking charm on it," and he did so as he spoke, "and put it back into the book."

Suiting the action to the words, he levitated the coin – using his wand, and a spoken _Wingardium Leviosa,_ being nowhere as adept at levitation charms as Harry obviously was – and put it back into the book. Harry closed it and put it back on the shelf; then carefully reset all the charms and wards on it, so that the person who put it there should be none the wiser.

"Lunch?" he suggested.

"Thought you'd never ask," Ron replied with a grin.

* * *

Professor Sprout had planted a new row of oak trees near the lake to honour the fallen of the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course, if Nature had her way, they would never have survived; but the Herbology Professor knew what she was doing, and the trees thrived, and, to the Potions Professors' delight, proved to be an excellent source of mistletoe.

The students loved them too. As well as mistletoe, they provided acorns that made wonderful objects to practise transfiguration on; and shade that was delightful to sit under; and privacy. The trees had grown in little clumps, and groups of students soon had their favourite group of trees to sit under.

That Sunday morning, one student was sitting in a little group of friends under one of the oak trees within sight of the Whomping Willow when a soft vibration in the little acorn secreted in a pocket of the school robes made itself felt. The little, unobtrusive charm that had been carefully set days before had tripped. Noting that it was nearly lunchtime, the student signaled to the group and they all rose together, ostensibly to head in to eat. But one of their number had another agenda: the charm had been tripped; someone had been into the Charms classroom and found the book. But by the way the acorn had vibrated, none of the dark objects had been removed. So, then, it must be the little group which had been wandering apparently aimlessly, but actually making for the classroom. As if that group would ever do anything aimless: with an Auror, Banks or something like that, and Potter, and Malfoy, and Weasley and his sister, and the bushy-haired know-all, they were always going to be up to something together.

He wasn't surprised. It couldn't stay secret forever; that Auror was pretty clever. And, despite the propaganda that had been drummed into him, he knew perfectly well that Potter was no slouch either. Add Granger, and they probably had enough brains and certainly enough magical power to face almost anything. He wanted to know exactly what they had found out; but he knew he would have to tread carefully now. This could so easily turn ugly …

* * *

"The Durmstrang boy is looking at you," Marie said to the girl on her left. "Do you think he fancies you?"

Her companion looked up from her lunch, but was careful not to stare in the direction indicated. "Which one?" she asked.

"The quiet one. Anderson, or whatever his name is."

"Anderssen," she corrected automatically. He was cute, and she had always made a point of remembering the cute, quiet ones. Apart from anything else, whether intentionally or otherwise, they tended to be the root cause of the most trouble. She selected an apple, and peeled it carefully, looking up and down the table quite naturally as she did so, nodding at a few other diners and exchanging occasional pleasant words. It seemed entirely normal when she addressed Smetana and asked how the Durmstrang lads had spent the weekend.

"You should ask them," he replied. He turned to the blond Durmstrang student. "Anders? What have you been up to?"

The older and taller boy turned to look at his questioner and she surveyed him shrewdly as he explained about the homework he had been doing. It all sounded very boring, and she said so. To her surprise, he seemed relieved as he replied that Stefan had a more interesting life, and turned to the young dark-haired Bulgarian.

But she had seen something in his eyes in the few seconds he had spoken. He was afraid, she was sure of it. But of what, exactly? What was he up to? What did he know?

* * *

After lunch, to no-one's surprise, Hermione decided that she needed to investigate the magic they had seen a little further, and headed straight for the library. Ron groaned, but nonetheless tagged along behind her like a dutiful puppy. Robin invited the other three to come and sit in the little sitting room that he had been given as part of his Professorial quarters.

"I'm sure that Hermione will have more to say about the events here later on," he said once they were all comfortable. "But I thought I should update you about other matters."

Harry cottoned on immediately to what he must mean, but was a little concerned. "Er, does Ginny know about that?" he asked cagily.

"About your adventures from last weekend?" Ginny replied. "Certainly do. I made him tell me. Or did you think I wouldn't notice when he gets stolen from me during the weekend as well as the week?"

Robin looked rather sheepish; but Harry roared with laughter.

"It's all right, Robin," he said once he had calmed down. "You had no chance."

"Quite," Robin replied. "Well, Rookwood managed to breach the wards yesterday afternoon."

Draco looked stunned. "It took him a whole week?"

Robin grinned. "Yep. Very impressive, Harry."

"I bet the whole department is in uproar," Draco suggested.

"Ah, yeah, about that," Robin said. "The Department doesn't know. We believe there's a mole in the Ministry somewhere; so it was decided to keep this operation very secret. So I'd appreciate it if nothing went further than this room. You, um, haven't mentioned it to anyone else, have you?"

Draco shook his head, while Harry replied, with a wry smile, "haven't had much of an opportunity, have I?"

Robin chuckled. "I suppose not. Right, well, they're through; not only that, but they've found the books they're after. Knowing that they're planning some activation ritual at Devil's Crag, I put tracking charms on a few likely candidates; two books have been removed from the study."

"What's this about Devil's Crag? You didn't tell me about that!" Ginny exclaimed.

"You know about that?" Robin asked. Ginny nodded in reply.

"And what is it?" Harry interjected.

"A better question would be, 'Where is it?'," Robin replied. "It's an old place of magical power. It's particularly favoured for Dark rituals that involve mind power: astral travel, mass hypnotism, creating false memories. Not much used in recent times because you need a strong focus of magical energy; we think they've probably got hold of some dark artefact to do that for them. We learnt that they intend to use it because they were stupid enough to talk about it openly, and we have a witness. And no, I'm not going to tell you who."

"All right, so, which two books were removed?" Draco asked.

" _Dark Cursebreaking_ – which confirms they've found some dark object to use as a focus; and _Memory Magic: Theory and Practise_ _,_ which contains the instructions for the ritual."

"Hang on," Harry objected. " _Memory Magic: Theory and Practise_? Isn't that the book Draco found?"

Robin nodded, and Harry continued, "but … We took it away with us. So how could they find it?"

"Ah," Robin said with a knowing smirk, "I put it back. But," he continued quickly as the two young men began to object, "I didn't leave it unchanged …"

As Harry watched, the smirk seemed to spread from Robin to Draco; and then suddenly Harry got the point too. The instructions had been altered; when they performed the ritual, it wouldn't work as they intended.

Harry wondered exactly what it would do, and asked Robin; but he just smiled and told them it would be a fun surprise; and they couldn't get anything more out of him.

* * *

When the shoppers returned, Rookwood was seated at the kitchen table, with six sheets of parchment in front of him.

"Did you get through?" Umbridge asked as soon as she saw him.

"Yes," he replied softly, his attention still focused on the pages he had copied that were laid out in front of him.

"Well, why are you sitting here then?" she asked. "Surely the study is more comfortable?"

Rookwood looked at her as though she had lost her sanity.

"Because we still have to lay low for another week at least," he replied. "If there are tracking charms, or monitoring spells, tramping about inside Snape's personal study is guaranteed to set them off. I have carefully abstracted the two books of interest, copied the sections we need," – here he indicated the pages in front of him with a sweep of his hand – "and restored the books. As for the wards, I took care to open them up carefully so that I could layer them back how they were originally. No-one will be able to tell we have been here."

Umbridge looked very put out. "Damn," she said. "I so wanted to burn the lot."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Rookwood hissed, as he gathered his precious parchments and went off in a huff.

Barnes smirked at her. "Don't forget he's a thinker," he reminded her. "Burning books is a major sin."

Umbridge simpered at him. She would play along, of course; after all, she still needed these two.

For the moment, at least.


	56. Soft Answers Turn Away Wrath

**56 Soft Answers Turn Away Wrath**

_Monday 20 July_

Narcissa Malfoy sat at her breakfast table, drinking her second cup of tea for the morning. Lucius looked up, to be met with a stare that he recognised. A stare that he quailed from. A stare that, from long experience, he knew meant he should get out of Narcissa's reach as soon as practical. Actually, scratch that, it meant it was probably already too late …

"Ah, what's up, dear?" he asked as gently as he could manage. He knew she had received an owl from Draco this morning; had it brought bad news?

She turned to him.

"Someone attacked our boy," she said, her voice as cold as ice.

Lucius racked his brains. Someone had attacked Draco? He hadn't heard of it. Harry, yes; the boy had been out of it for three nights in the Infirmary. And yes, he did feel irate about it. And he also felt awful; he had not protected Harry, and the Debt was screaming at him to do something about it. If someone had attacked Draco as well…

"I know he's been up for the weekend and is out of danger now," his wife continued, "but the fact remains that they have now both been attacked at Hogwarts.

Oh, he thought, as the sickle dropped. No-one had attacked Draco. It was Harry who had been attacked; Harry whom Narcissa was calling 'our boy'.

"Yes they did," he replied, answering her first statement and finding, only as he did so, that it was true – Harry was their boy. The simple thought that his son's fiancé was somehow already part of the family made his heart do some strange flips. "But Robin Banks is on the case."

"Tell me," Narcissa replied, her voice holding the imperious tone of a daughter of the Ancient and Noble House of Black who had married into the Malfoy family. A tone, in other words, of a woman who got her way.

And Lucius did tell her. He outlined Robin's actions, and both Robin's and his own suspicions, and what had been learnt over the weekend; and about the strength that Harry seemed to be showing.

And when he had finished, to his very great relief, she smiled at him.

"Good," she said, "find the bastard. Meanwhile, Molly and I have a party to plan."

And she got up and left the room, heading for her study.

Lucius sat in his chair, stunned. He had known something was brewing; Narcissa had been edgy for days. But now it was out, and, it seemed, all was sweetness and light again. Thank Merlin for that!

Hang on a minute; what party?

* * *

Philip Anofeles sat in his expensive dragon-hide chair in the office of the Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation. An office that was his, damn it; one which he had kept by generally staying out of harm's way. The British Wizarding public tended to be quite as insular about the rest of the Magical world as their Muggle counterparts were about the Muggle world, so his job rather lent itself to hiding away and staying out of the spotlight as much as possible.

And hiding away was rather a speciality of Anofeles. He was the sort of man who everybody wanted in a crisis – wanted, that is, to know exactly where he was, and how far away from them. A distance preferably measured in miles. He had come to the position rather by default; when Barty Crouch Senior was killed, old Tom Tattleby had become head, and picked him as his deputy rather as an insurance policy: Tattleby, who had the measure of the current Head, knew that no-one in their right mind would want Anofeles as Head of anything, so he felt quite safe. It was just rather unfortunate for Old Tom, as everyone called him, that Piers Thicknesse wasn't in his right mind while he was Minister for Magic …

He looked again, with thinly-veiled disgust, at the report on his desk. Attacks at Hogwarts would normally have held no interest for him – he was a bachelor, and had no nieces or nephews of school age; let the brats kill each other, by all means. But, please God, not while there were foreign visitors!

He looked around his office. They were all here: Rosier, Appleby, and that pedantic idiot Pontefract. He turned to his deputy, who was standing quietly in front of his desk.

"What do you think, Rosier? Do we need to do anything?"

"Well, sir," the man replied deferentially, "the matter is in the hands of the Aurors. It would not look good if we waded in and the whole thing turned out to be a unicorn's nest."

"Unicorns don't have nests," Pontefract said softly. Appleby looked daggers at him.

"Just saying," Pontefract said in a hurt tone.

The other men ignored him. It was generally for the best, Rosier had decided long ago.

"But surely if it does blow up, we need to be seen to be involved?" Appleby said.

"Oh well, quite," Rosier said, expertly masking his annoyance at his underling's undermining him. "But I should think a letter to the Chief Auror reminding him of the delicacy of the situation and offering to help however we can should do the trick."

Anofeles beamed. This was exactly the sort of response he liked – especially since he didn't have to do anything. The Aurors would ignore the letter; they always did. Then, if it all blew over, DIMC were being good chaps, and Robards was a rude git; while if it blew up in their faces, they would be seen as having raised the matter and been pooh-poohed. Robards couldn't win this one.

"Very good, Rosier," Anofeles said, pleased. He would even have used his subordinate's first name, if he had remembered what it was. "Write the letter for me and we'll send it out at lunchtime."

Anton Rosier permitted himself a small smile. Intra-departmental politics were rolling along nicely: Appleby had stomped on Pontefract, he had stomped on Appleby, and the Head had given him his approval.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and the three subordinates left the Head's office. Of course, Rosier thought as they left, he now had to write a sodding letter.

His smile broadened as he realised that he didn't, really.

"Appleby?" he said, as they walked into the outer office. "I have a small job for you …"

* * *

Monday's lessons went by at a very brisk pace. Hermione was delighted when it was announced that the lesson would cover tracking charms; she had, of course, done a huge amount of reading and had memorised all the spellwork and characteristics of the three main tracking charms in common use.

So when Flitwick asked if anyone could name a charm, of course her hand went up; though somewhat to her chagrin, Harry and Draco both beat her to it.

"Mr Potter?" Flitwick asked, as the raven-haired lad had his hand up first.

"Oh, ladies before gentlemen," Harry said, pointing to Hermione.

Hermione gave a slight smile of appreciation, and launched into a monologue of the characteristics of the 'Point me' charm. She was about to move onto the 'Sequere me' charm when Flitwick gently interrupted her and suggested they might like to hear from someone else.

Eva Thillin had her hand up next, and so she began a brief explanation of this charm, which was used to track known criminals, by placing it on them while they were in custody.

"Bet the Muggles wish they had something like that," Dean said.

"Actually, they do," Ron replied. He had been researching police methods and had only just come across ankle monitors in his reading, so the subject was quite fresh in his mind. "They have special bracelets they make the criminals wear that report on their location by radio signals."

"Ingenious," Flitwick said. "But I fear we have interrupted Miss Thillin?"

Eva giggled nervously and said that she had probably finished anyway. Hermione itched to say more, but again she was passed over, as Flitwick asked Anders Anderssen if he wanted to add anything.

Anderssen, who was the Durmstrang Institute's charms whiz-kid, proceeded to explain how the charm was cast, and what the limitations on it were; chiefly that it needed to be cast quite powerfully as there was a counter-charm that removed it completely.

"Thank you, Mr Anderssen," Flitwick said when he had finished his explanation, and made no attempt to start discussing anything else. The tiny professor was not surprised by that; Mr Anderssen struck him as a very competent, but rather shy, student. The sort of shy you had to watch as a teacher because the student could sail through a class without learning a thing, or pick everything up and turn out to be brilliant, and it was hard to know which was which. But he didn't have many issues with Mr Anderssen's knowledge, just with getting him to talk. It drove Filius wild; in his Ravenclaw mind, people who knew had a duty to share with people who did not.

"Any more?" he asked mechanically as these thoughts were going through his head.

Draco put up his hand and explained the last of the three usual charms: the Invenies charm, used to find someone who was missing. He gave a concise, cogent but quite full account of the charm, its casting, the need for some knowledge or personal item of the person being sought, and the fact that the charm was best at short range; it might find someone you knew well if they were in the same room, or someone you knew intimately inside the castle, but was unlikely to locate them if they were in Hogsmeade.

"Thank you," said Flitwick. He was amazed at the knowledge displayed; as he looked round, he had seen that about half the class already knew much of what had been said, and the rest had taken copious notes. Good. It looked like the material he took four weeks to cover with the seventh years might be over in one for the eighth years. "Does anyone know any other charms?"

Only Harry put up his hand this time.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" the Professor asked.

"There are four other charms that might loosely be called tracking charms," Harry began, and gave a run-down of the four other charms. Hermione listened for a minute in complete shock, then came to herself and started scribbling notes madly. Harry seemed to have done research that no-one else had found; some of what he said was news even to Flitwick, judging by the look on his face.

Flitwick then summarised the seven charms on the blackboard and then invited the student who had discussed each charm to demonstrate its casting; then the whole class were encouraged to have a go with the three simplest charms. They found the Invenies charm the most fun; people would take turns to go out of the classroom while a friend of theirs would hide – either physically or under a Disillusionment Charm – and they would have to find him or her.

By the time class finished, there was quite a buzz of happy students; and even the Professor was happy. They had finished Tracking Charms three weeks early; at this rate his private hope that he would run out of material by the end of September looked like it would come to pass. If the other teachers could get similar results, and so far this looked a distinct possibility, they might even get the exams in before Christmas, a possibility he had discussed with the Deputy Minister. Arthur had pushed for the idea; this would give Hogwarts a graduating class a mere six months late, rather than the currently anticipated eight; and it made for clear six-month gap between the eighth years and seventh years, which would help the Ministry's planning and take-up of graduates no end.

Meanwhile, his students had all filed out, except for Draco and Harry, who stood quietly by the door.

"Did you feel it?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco replied. "Should we tell Robin?"

"Definitely," Harry replied. "Should I come with you to Arithmancy?"

"I don't think so," Draco said. "We've discussed it, remember? You go and talk to Robin, I'll go to Arithmancy, and if anything happens, we've got them."

Harry wasn't too sure. The wards had moved during the class, they had both felt it, and that probably meant their unknown adversary was about to strike again; Harry didn't want to use Draco as bait, no matter how much the blond said he was happy with it. But the matter was out of his hands; Draco had already gone to class. Well then, there was nothing for it but to find Robin and make sure they were ready if anything did happen.

"Mr Potter?" a voice said, haltingly.

He turned to the speaker; it was Anders Anderssen.

"Ah, may I have a word?"

* * *

The Arithmancy class was as silent as the Charms class had been chatty: Professor Vector had them performing advanced calculations from the moment they entered the room. She was an old hand at this; she wanted some time to think for herself so had set them a problem that would normally take a seventh year class weeks to complete.

Miss Granger was the first to put down her pen. Sinistra Vector performed a quick Tempus and was astonished to find that less than an hour had elapsed. The girl couldn't have done it in the time!

She walked over to Hermione's desk and glanced over her work. Professor Vector had an amazing gift, excellent for an Arithmancer and even better for an Arithmancy teacher: errors in calculation practically leapt off the page at her, they were so obvious. But the page in front of her stayed stubbornly still; and when she checked the last few lines, it looked perfect.

By this time, Draco Malfoy and a couple of the Beauxbatons girls had also finished. She checked Mr Malfoy's work – it was also perfect. One of the Beauxbatons girls had made a trifling error, which she pointed out immediately, but the girl – Vector hadn't got her name down yet, the different uniform rather threw her – enlisted the help of their chaperone, who, to the great annoyance of all the Professors, was insisting on attending all their classes at the moment. Madame Dubois was able to find and fix the problem within a few seconds.

"Well, class," she said ten minutes later, when it appeared that everyone had finished, "I must say that when Filius Flitwick told me he hoped to finish teaching in January, I thought he was mad. But it seems that you are determined to prove me spectacularly wrong. That calculation should have taken you at least two weeks, but you have finished it inside one lesson. Can anyone tell me what the results mean?"

And the class, rather shocked for the invitation to speak – for Arithmancy generally involved calculations and methods and consulting tables much more than any qualitative work – began to stutter out their thoughts.

It took a little while; but soon there was a fluid banter going and Sinistra was rather pleased that they had grasped the point of the calculation almost immediately. Perhaps this year was going to be more interesting than usual; after the Carrows, students who could actually think about something other than staying out of sight, and actually participated in lessons, would be a welcome change.

And then, just as these pleasant thoughts were forming in the Professor's head, it happened. It was very quick – a small flash of blue light, followed by "Protego Maxima" yelled in a boy's voice as the room filled with smoke.

Professor Vector started to cast a dispersing spell to get rid of the smoke, but it seemed that Miss Granger had beaten her to it. The room cleared of smoke; but there were still two patches of bright light in the room that had most students shielding their eyes.

In front of her was a most unexpected sight. The blueish white light of the Protego seemed to be streaming around someone, but it was mixed with hints of other colours – silver and red were clear; but when she looked closely there was also a thin hint of emerald-green to be seen. At the other end of the classroom there was another patch of light – the bright, transparent blue of a simple Protego charm, with brown and orange accents this time.

As the students gasped and gaped, the light started to fade. From inside the Protego Maxima shield, the form of Draco Malfoy could now be seen clearly; from inside the other, Vector could see two of the Beauxbatons girls.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vector said quickly, panting as she tried to get her breath under control after the shock of the most exciting moment she'd seen in a classroom for ten years.

"I'm sure we'd all like to know that," said another voice, as the Headmistress appeared, flanked by Auror Banks and the Durmstrang chaperone. But before anyone could say anything, a thatch of black hair flashed into the room and its owner flung itself around Draco.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, his face a picture of worry. "I was chatting with Auror Banks and the Headmistress in the Great Hall and felt the Shield activate!"

Draco smiled at him. "Perfectly all right," he replied quietly. "It seems your intuition was quite correct."

"What is this outrage?" Madame Dubois began, as she had just spotted Marie Thibault and Eva Thillin surrounded by the blue light. "Why are my students cut off like this?"

Ron spoke up. "There was an explosion of some sort around Draco, and I saw these two get caught up in the back draft, so I threw up a Protego around them."

"I saw the same thing, and joined in with Ron's spell," Hermione added. "I hope it's all right that we acted to protect your students, Madame?" she finished, a sweet – but entirely false – smile on her face.

Dubois looked around. "Yes, well. I hope this will all be explained most carefully."

"I shall make sure of that, Madame," a male voice said, a quiet voice with a deal of authority around it. "To begin with, I should like to have a word with Mr Malfoy and the two young ladies, in private, if I may."

And with that, he led the three students mentioned out of the room. And if Harry followed Draco, and Danielle Thibault followed her sister; everyone else was too shocked to say anything about it.

"Well," Professor Vector said, "I suppose we must consider today's class finished."

* * *

Naturally the talk at lunch was about nothing but the events of the Arithmancy class. Draco and the two girls had returned from being interrogated by Auror Banks, who had roped in the Headmistress and Professor Flitwick as impartial witnesses – a move which had riled up Madame Dubois; but as the Auror gently pointed out, she could not be considered as an impartial witness to his questioning as she was a witness to the events themselves.

Draco assured everyone that the Auror had treated the three of them very gently. After patient questioning the picture emerged: Draco had felt a warning from the protective ward that Harry and he had set up together, and instantly cast the Protego Maxima. As it sprang out, he felt the Haussmann shield react to it as well, and could see the four different colours swirling together to make the very strong shield that had surrounded him. Some object – no doubt another fake galleon, Banks thought; he had unobtrusively pocketed a small mound of shreds of melted metal from the classroom – hit the shield, and fell to pieces against it; at the same time, the Haussmann shield had lashed back to expel away the Dark magic that the object had contained. This had hit the shield created by Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, a shield which had surrounded the two girls who seemed to be in danger from the back-spell.

Madame Dubois had listened to this recitation with a stony face; her own girls assured her that the Auror had made it clear that he understood they were all in shock, and that the events did not constitute any form of evidence against them. There was at present no charge being levied at any one.

"I see," she said, and left the luncheon table to seek out the Headmistress and Auror Barnes.

Angelique Delacour leaned across the table as Dubois left. "I'd keep out of her way," she said softly. "When she looks that angry, she wants someone's head."

The other Beauxbatons girls agreed, with a shudder. Evidently Madame's temper was something to be very wary of.

* * *

The Potions lesson was a complete anticlimax: the whole class worked on the Expositor Falsitas potion, and Harry and Draco managed to still be about three weeks ahead of everyone else. Halfway through the lesson, Harry decided to share one of Professor Snape's tips, one that, in his arch way, he had marked as being 'likely to be comprehensible even by Horace Slughorn': by adding a small portion – one or two flakes – of powdered boomslang scales, they were able to cut out two hours of boiling.

Naturally, Professor Slughorn asked why this would work, and Draco explained that the scales would make the potion sufficiently stable that they could add the powdered moonstone more or less straight after the armadillo bile, without needing to leave time for the bile to be incorporated into the mixture. As it happened, Snape was right: Slughorn thought about this for a few seconds, muttered to himself something about the underlying heather tincture's effects, and finally said "brilliant!"

Borage did not attend every potions class; but he was at this one, and he watched this exchange very carefully before nonchalantly walking over to Harry and Draco's bench.

"There's more to your newfound brilliance with potions than meets the eye, isn't there, Mr Potter?" he said to Harry, very quietly.

"Er, yes, sir," Harry replied. "Um, we found some extra notes left by Professor Snape that suggested the boomslang scales."

"I see," Borage remarked, his face impassive. "And did they say anything else?"

"Well, one or two things that helped us get ahead. Um, you're not angry are you sir?" Harry asked, distinctly aware that this was the man Draco hoped to be apprenticed to, and it would not do to get on the wrong side of him.

Borage smiled, actually smiled, at him.

"Not in the slightest, Mr Potter," he replied. "Part of being a good student is recognising a good teacher when you find one, and taking his advice to heart. Severus Snape and I had our disagreements – sometimes spectacular – but he was a brilliant potion maker. I see no reason why you should not follow good advice when you find it, nor why you should feel guilty for doing so."

Here he turned to Draco. "I do hope, though," he said, continuing to speak without pause, "that you will be able to explain the reasoning behind these short-cuts and additions, Mr Malfoy, to the standard of exposition that you provided this afternoon."

Draco looked stunned. "Um, thank you sir, I think," he said, not quite sure whether he was being complimented or scolded.

"Well done, Mr Malfoy," Borage replied; removing the lingering doubt from Draco as his chest swelled in pride at the words of praise.

Across the class, a pair of brown eyes had been watching with interest ever since Borage approached Harry and Draco' bench. The eyes narrowed as Draco's chest puffed up. Just exactly what had the man said? Were Harry and Draco being given special treatment? Favouritism? How was that even fair?

* * *

After dinner, Hermione was convinced of the favouritism: she was studying in the library with most of their group, but Harry and Draco were nowhere to be found. When she asked about this, Ron told her that they had gone to the Manor.

"What?" the witch had yelled. "But – it's a school night! How can they be allowed out!"

It was just Hermione's luck that Professor McGonagall entered the library at this point; she had offered to give some help to the Thibault sisters, who were rather struggling with Transfiguration.

"Miss Granger!" the Headmistress said sharply. "Mr Malfoy was concerned that his mother learn of the attack as soon as possible, and from him personally."

"Oh," said Hermione, rather abashed. When put like that, she could quite see that he had to go.

"In the circumstances, I could hardly refuse," the Headmistress continued. Her face softened as she continued, "but then, you are all adults. If you wish to go out and visit your parents, and you ensure that you return at a reasonable hour, I see no problem with that."

"Oh!" Hermione said, much brighter. "May I?"

"Of course," the Headmistress replied tartly. "I just said so. Would you like to accompany Miss Granger, Mr Weasley?"

And so it was that twenty minutes later they tumbled through the Floo together. Miriam, freshly bathed, saw them at once and squealed with delight. Hermione got to spend a very pleasant two hours visiting her family; and if Ron was at all bored by the event, he wisely chose to say nothing about it.

_Tuesday 21 July_

Lucius Malfoy eyed his wife very carefully.

This time, there had been no delay, and she had seemed quite calm and collected during Draco's visit last night. But he had been married to her for a score of years and knew better than to trust appearances.

But she seemed relaxed this morning, and was idly reading the Daily Prophet.

"I don't know why you read that rag," he said.

She fixed him with a stare; but he breathed easily as he saw it was not the death stare of the previous day.

And then she smiled sweetly at him, and all his instincts shouted at him that this was a Very Bad Sign Indeed.

"Well dear," she said, her voice oozing the same sweetness as her smile, "if people tell me what's going on, I won't have to, will I?"

And she went back to her paper.

Lucius said nothing. He had learnt some wisdom in twenty years of marriage.

* * *

"I wish to register a complaint!" the voice rang out.

Philip Anofeles came out of his office like a shot. He knew that voice; it was the voice of the Beauxbatons deputy Headmistress. He had met the woman at several soirées in Paris, and knew that she was not someone whose wrong side he ever wished to see again.

"Madame Dubois!" he said obsequiously as he came into the reception area of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "Please, come into my office and tell me how we can be of service."

"Oh," she said sniffily. "It's you. Well, I suppose we must make do."

They entered his office and he offered her coffee, which she refused.

"I am not 'ere for pleazantries," she said, and even though there was anger in her voice, it was still the sexiest thing the man had heard for months. "There have been events at 'Ogwarts. I 'ad 'eard reports about attacks on students before we came, but I did not believe zem. Zen we arrived, and zere was an attack on Mr Pottair. Still I 'eld my tongue. If British people wish to attack British students, that is zeir affair.

"But yesterday! My own students were at risk! Zey were in ze way of dark spells! Zere were shields, and unpleazantness. I WILL NOT 'AVE EET!" she finished, yelling. "You will do somezing about it! Today!"

"Um, yes, well, err," the department head began, then pulled himself together. "I mean, of course, I take your comments with the greatest possible seriousness Madame, I assure you. Naturally, dealing with the issues _in situ_ , so to speak, is the job of our Auror Department, but…"

He didn't get any further.

"You will not fob me off to someone else!" the Frenchwoman said belligerently. "You will take my complaint, and you will act on eet. Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, crystal clear," the head said, mopping his brow; he was now perspiring freely and his 'guest' was quite certain it was from fear; at which she permitted herself a small smirk. "I shall take this up with the Minister … myself …" and then, as she looked at him, clearly expecting more, " … today! Yes, of course, we shall make sure that your concerns are heard in the highest councils of the Ministry. I shall demand a full report;" and then, frightened as she opened her mouth, he spoke louder, "and action! Today!"

"I zink you should look into this Auror who iz handling the case .. A Monsieur Banks. I zink maybe he is a leetle bit young for ze job. And 'e made my students feel … uncomfortable. Iz 'e not a bit 'eavy-'anded, do you think?"

"Yes, of course, dear lady," the department head said, calming down a bit. Without knowing it, she had thrown him a lifeline: someone else to blame. "I assure you that the matter will be dealt with with the utmost urgency and expediency. Now please, do not let me detain you any further. You are very kind to allow me so much of your time, but I would not dream of keeping you from your duties at Hogwarts."

As he said this he had risen, and gently steered Madame Dubois to the door; so that as he finished, they were standing at a Floo point, from which she returned to Hogwarts.

The department head returned to his office, closed the door, and poured himself a stiff firewhiskey, which he threw back at a gulp.

There was a knock at the door, and Rosier, who had timed his entry to the second, came in.

"The Minister has agreed to see you and Robards at eleven o'clock," he said without preamble.

Anofeles looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"What? Oh God," he said. He would have accused his deputy head of listening in on private conversations (and he would have been entirely correct in doing so); but Madame Dubois had not taken any pains to be quiet, so no doubt half the god-damned Ministry knew about the interview by now.

"I could go in your place, if you wish," Rosier suggested.

It was tempting; but no. It would show weakness; it would be deadly if Dubois ever got hold of it. On the other hand, if they both went, it would show that they took this very seriously. And Rosier could do most of the talking. Yes, that would do.

"We'll both go. Square it with the Minister, would you?"

Rosier, who had expected exactly this outcome, smirked inwardly, but kept his face impassive. "Very good, sir," he said, and left the head to the rest of his bottle of firewhiskey.

* * *

The meeting turned out to be even more of a disaster for Anofeles than he had imagined.

To begin with, Chief Auror Robards took issue with him even before they had exchanged greetings.

"What do you mean by this blasted letter?" he thundered at Anofeles.

The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation blinked. He had come here to attack, not to be attacked. His deputy sat beside him with an impassive face; but he knew exactly what Robards was upset with, even if his boss did not. _That will teach him to sign letters without reading them carefully first,_ he thought. Or perhaps it wouldn't; this meeting could well be the last one Philip Anofeles ever attended as department head.

"Don't just blink at me, you imbecile!" the Chief Auror snarled. "Trying to tell me how to do my job! And what the hell does your department know about what makes a good Auror, anyway? Robin Banks has my support, the support of all his Auror teammates, and is well-liked by the student body into the bargain. I will not have you tell me that his age and his manner which you say is –" here he consulted the letter, which of course he had brought with him – "'overly gentle and respectful and not calculated to inspire confidence in the Auror presence at Hogwarts'. None of your damn business."

"I'm afraid, Gawain, that it is, a little," Arthur Weasley, invited along as he was handling most Hogwarts matters, interjected. "But perhaps we should hear from Philip? He did ask for the meeting, after all."

Anofeles, who had definitely not asked for the meeting, as Rosier had wished it on him, and who also did not want it, blinked again.

"Well," he began, "the matter is, as you say Deputy Minister, germane to the matter that I need to bring to your attention. I had a visit today from an old and dear friend of mine, Madame Dubois, who, as I am sure you are well aware, is Deputy Headmistress at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and currently residing at Hogwarts as chaperone to the party of girls visiting us from that fine institution of learning…"

"Get to the point," Robards growled.

"Yes, well, um," the head of the DIMC blustered. "Well, she complained. She said that her students had been attacked at Hogwarts; that our Aurors didn't seem to be doing anything about the attacks; and she thought that your Mr Banks was being 'heavy-handed'."

Robards glowered at him, but when he spoke, his voice was low, and tightly controlled.

"So, apart from young and personable, two attributes generally seen as positive, you have now accused Mr Banks of being overly gentle and heavy-handed. You can't have both. Which is he?"

Anofeles opened his mouth and shut it again, in an excellent impression (if he but knew it) of a goldfish. Rosier butted in smoothly.

"He does have a point, sir. I do think that perhaps tempers are a little frayed at the perceived lack of action on the one hand and some possibly over-enthusiastic questioning on the other?"

Robards glowered at him in turn, but decided it wasn't worth trying to chew him out. "I very much doubt the latter. I'd like to see the interrogation if the boot was on the other foot and the French wizarding authorities were investigating foreign students at Beauxbatons…"

"Quite," Kingsley butted in, the first time the Minister had yet spoken. "I don't see that this meeting can go any further without Mr Banks' presence. Can we get him here?"

"Of course, Minister," Robards said. "He's waiting in my office; I told him to come in to the office in case he was needed." He left the room for two minutes, returning with Robin Banks behind him. Banks stood up next to his boss.

"Good morning, Minister, gentlemen," he said pleasantly. "How can I help you?"

Rosier studied the young man carefully. He had not met him previously; but years of sizing people up in an instant told him that Robin Banks was no pushover. Up till that moment, he had been vacillating; someone would have to be thrown to the werewolves, that was obvious, but he had not decided whether he wanted it to be Banks or Anofeles. Now he made up his mind; getting rid of this man would be very difficult, for rather small reward; Anofeles was a whole different proposition. It was quite clear from the Minister's body-language so far during the meeting that he couldn't stand the pompous wind-bag; he just had to work on that a little, and the reward would be huge: as Head of the Department he would have much more freedom and power.

He realised that he had tuned out a little, which shocked him; he needed to keep on top of this meeting. But evidently, they had asked Banks about what he'd been up to, and he had set up a Pensieve viewer showing the interrogation of the three students. The viewer projected an image onto a screen – Weasley said it was just like some Muggle device called a 'sinemar' or some such word. _He would say that_ , Rosier thought, snorting to himself.

They watched the scene; it was clear that 'heavy-handed' was, quite simply, a fiction. The man had handled all three students carefully and gently, made it clear exactly what he was asking and why. It was the perfect example of a text-book interview.

"Well there you are, you see," Anofeles said. "We can't have Aurors telling suspects what it's all about! Puts the wind up them!"

Robin looked at him; he knew a fool when he saw one. "With the greatest respect, sir, 'suspects' is a little strong. No charges have been laid as yet; the interview was to establish what happened, which I'm now able to say I have a strong idea about. My colleagues and I have decided on an appropriate action plan, which is being implemented as we speak."

"And what exactly is that plan?" Anofeles demanded.

"I'm sorry, sir," Banks replied, "but I'm not able to discuss sensitive operational details."

Anofeles all but jumped out of his seat at this. "Sensitive operational details?" he squawked. "I see. You're going to fob me off and tell me it's all under control."

"It **is** all under control, you blithering idiot," Robards growled, and for the first time it seemed to penetrate Anofeles' skull that perhaps no-one in the room (excepting Rosier, who was his deputy and had to be) was actually on his side. He began to sweat again, and wiped his brow as Robards picked up a folder in front of him, the report from Auror Banks that he had received that morning, and continued.

"There was an attack on Draco Malfoy yesterday. The attack failed because Mr Malfoy is adept at shields. The attack rebounded and two Beauxbatons students would have been caught in dark magic but for the prompt action of two Hogwarts students who shielded the Beauxbatons girls perfectly adequately. Based on evidence from this and previous attacks, the possible perpetrators have been narrowed down to just two; both of these persons are being shadowed in the normal Auror way. We can't just arrest people on suspicion, so we need to wait for another move; but in the meantime, the safety of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons students is as certain as we can reasonably hope to provide."

"I see," said Anofeles, his voice tight and his anger barely concealed. "And may we know who these suspects are, or at least whether either or both of them are from Beauxbatons or the Durmstrang Institute?"

"You may not," Robards replied.

Anofeles did not get to reply; the Minister cut in straight away. "I think, Philip, that you are getting a little too close to this matter. As you say, Madame Dubois is an old and dear friend of yours. I think perhaps you need a little time off to consider things."

"Um—" Anofeles began.

"Yes," the Minister continued, ignoring him, "hand over everything to Mr Rosier and take two weeks leave, effective immediately. Gentlemen," he said, turning to the Aurors, "you seem to be handling this as well as anyone could have hoped; please continue. You have my full support, on these and other matters."

Turning to Rosier, he continued, "please draft an appropriate response to Madame Dubois and run it past Arthur."

He looked round the whole meeting. "Thank you gentlemen," he said, rising to leave the room.

"Thank you, Minister," they replied.

It was only as he left the room that Anton Rosier wondered exactly what "other matters" the Minister meant …

* * *

It was a very relieved Robin Banks who introduced their guest speaker for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome into our midst someone with a great deal of practical experience with dark magic, particularly in the realm of curse-breaking. Mr William Weasley has been working for Gringotts Bank as a curse-breaker for some years now and has agreed to talk us through the practical aspects of his job."

"Thanks," Bill began.

"Oh, Mr Weasley!" Danielle Thibault gushed. "So cute!"

"And taken," Gabrielle Delacour said drily.

"Thanks sis," Bill said, laughing. "And thanks to you for the compliment; but as Gabrielle says, I am married, and to her sister. And please, call me Bill."

The lesson continued on in a happy style, and three hours passed in a flash. Bill produced memory-projections of some example expeditions that the goblins had given permission for him to do so, outlining the pitfalls he had encountered and the magic required.

Hermione, who had expected to be bored and learn nothing – Bill was, after all, Ron's brother, and she thought she knew all about him – found that she had taken so many notes she had nearly run out of parchment. It was just so interesting! All the different spells he knew, and the novel ways in which he used them, and the different kinds of recognition spells, gave her a lot of material she hadn't known, or hadn't seen that way before. It was quite an eye-opener for the whole class.

They all applauded when Bill finally finished, and Seamus declared it was the "best DADA lesson ever – no offence, Professor Banks."

"None taken," Robin replied, with a twinkle in his eye. "I rather agree with you!"

After class, Draco arrived to find Harry chatting with Bill and Ron, with Hermione naturally hanging on. The Durmstrang chaperone, who had sat in on the class, came up to them.

"Mr Weasley," Smetana said, "thank you, a most invigorating exposition."

"Thanks," Bill replied. "And please call me Bill, Mr …"

"Ivan, please," the other replied. "Ivan Smetana. Tell me, you have mostly been in Egypt, yes?" Bill nodded. "Very good. I believe they worship the sun – was there any ritual, perhaps, about the solstice? It must be important, yes?"

Bill suddenly got the strangest feeling that this was not a random question – the man knew something about the ritual he had performed in June. But how could he? Bill hadn't told anyone, and he doubted that Karkaroff would have; the man was known to be secretive to the point of lunacy.

"Yes," he replied slowly. "But, you understand, my employers might not like me to discuss it."

"Oh," Smetana replied. "Would it have been a death ritual? They are something of a speciality of mine."

Bill looked at him closely, and dropped his voice. "Just what exactly do you know?" he asked, so quietly that no-one but Smetana heard him.

"I know that you should show Harry the map," the other replied, just as quietly. Then he raised his voice. "But I must not bore you with my own, ah, what do you say, hobby-horse? No. Thank you for a most interesting lecture."

And he shook Bill's hand and left the room.

"Must be about dinner time, is it Ron?" Bill asked his brother.

"Yep," Ron replied, surprised that they had been chatting long enough to cover the break between class and the evening meal.

"Well, lead on then!" his brother twitted him. "I was promised a dinner for this little talk!"

The others laughed as they left the room; but Bill took Harry aside just as the two of them reached the door.

"I want to talk to you privately after dinner," he said, quietly. "What that Smetana fellow said might be rather important…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE:
> 
> With apologies to Monty Python for stealing an immortal line…
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.  
> And thanks to all who comment -- I love reading them all!


	57. Return of Some Old Friends - and a Green-Eyed Monster

**57\. Return of Some Old Friends - and a Green-Eyed Monster**

_O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;_  
 _It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock_  
 _The meat it feeds on;…_

_I_ ago, from Shakespeare's _Othello_ **.**

* * *

_Wednesday 22 July_

As Harry walked in to breakfast, a loud voice boomed out "'ARRY!" at him. He turned at once to view the teachers' table; and there, as large as life (which is to say, very large indeed) was Hagrid, beaming at him.

"Hagrid!" he yelled in reply as he rushed over to the table and unceremoniously gave the half-giant a hug across the table. "It's good to see you!"

"And you, 'Arry, and you," Hagrid replied. "'Ave you got some time to come and see me?"

"Yes, I have a free period after Transfiguration – can we come for morning tea?"

"Course yer can. Oh, and 'Arry? Madame Maxime's given me some pointers about cooking rock cakes, so yer'll have to try my new recipe."

"Of course," Harry said, beaming; though he was inwardly groaning. He doubted even Madame Maxime could save Hagrid's rock cakes; on the other hand, she could hardly make them worse, he supposed.

"Good," said Hagrid, returning the grin. "Now yer'd better go and see to that man of yours, he seems to have got caught up 'imself."

Harry looked over to see that indeed, Draco had rushed to the table and was standing chatting to a small group of people. He could see Blaise and Pansy; but who was that between them? As he watched, Draco pulled the new boy into a big hug.

* * *

As Hagrid hailed Harry, Draco spotted another newcomer: sitting between Pansy and Blaise was Theodore Nott. He knew that Nott had been undergoing intensive therapy at St Mungo's; it must have been paying dividends if he was able to come visiting, and his arm seemed to be pretty much healed, judging from the look of him eating breakfast.

Draco smiled at the three. Theo looked up at the blond, saw the smile, and gave him a wary one in reply. It gave Draco pause to realise that Theo was still anxious about how Draco felt about him.

Draco thought for half a second: how did he feel about Theo? Well, the boy had been put under the Imperius curse by an apparent expert, and forced to curse his friend; as far as Draco was concerned, there was no way Theo was at fault, and certainly nothing to be gained from blaming him. Taking his courage in both hands, Draco strode over to Theo and carefully shook his uninjured left arm, before pulling the other boy into a hug.

"Potter is definitely a corrupting influence on you," Pansy said; but they could all hear the amusement in her voice.

"Wouldn't trust anyone else to corrupt my dragon," said Harry, as he came up behind Draco and snaked his arm around his fiancé. To his delight, Draco leant back into his embrace and practically purred, before sitting down next to Theo.

"Good to see you looking well," Harry said to Theo, as he sat down between Draco and Ron.

Theo looked at him, which was a bit difficult with Draco sitting between them. The Slytherin was obviously rather nervous, still, and Harry smiled to him.

"We're not going to bite," he promised, as he served himself bacon and eggs from the dishes on the table. "The war's over, and we're all going to put the old enmities behind us. OK?"

Theo looked thoughtful, and then grinned as he reached out his arm and offered Harry his hand. Harry shook it, feeling slightly giddy at the trust the man was showing: it was not his good arm, but the injured one, that he offered.

"So, Potter," Pansy piped up, "worked out your animagus form yet?"

"What?" Harry said. "Er, um, no, not yet. Have you?"

"Well," said Pansy, a wicked grin on her face, "no, but Blaise and I do think that Draco's will be a Siamese cat."

"Oh ha ha," Draco replied, mirthlessly. "Well, if it is, dear, I shall be sure to scratch your eyes out first."

The banter continued around the table, as the students quite naturally talked and joked about their classes. Almost everyone joined in, and the conversation stayed light and friendly. Which Headmistress McGonagall, who was watching the students like a hawk, thought was an excellent development. The teachers were well aware of the chance for rivalries and unfriendliness to develop; there were still many people in the Wizarding world who bore serious grudges against people like Blaise, Pansy and Theo, for no other reason than that they were Slytherins.

Flitwick was watching as well. He was delighted that people were getting on, even with the suspicion caused by the attacks on Harry and Draco; he was quite certain that this was due in very large part to Harry's own efforts to include everyone. He was very proud of both Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy for the many ways in which they demonstrated every day that it was not only possible for former enemies to get together, but possible for the new alliance to be strong and enduring.

There were two people at the eighth years' table who were watching more than participating. Theo Nott found that his old friends were getting on very well without him, and he felt a bit left out; there was little he could add to the conversation, as he had not attended eighth year classes with the rest of them. He was feeling rather jealous of the easy manner in which Pansy and Blaise were getting along; he had always hoped to get together with Pansy, but Draco had always been in the way; and now it seemed he had a new rival …

Ron, sitting on the other side of Harry, spotted that Theo was a bit uncomfortable, and must have divined the reason and decided to do something about it, for he addressed Theo directly.

"Oi! Nott!" he yelled out, taking care to keep his voice friendly and inquisitive, rather than accusatory. "I hear Zabini is a demon when drunk, can you tell us any good stories?"

Blaise blushed bright red as Theo's eyes lit up.

"I recall there was this one time at a Slytherin party…" Nott began, and it wasn't long before the tall, thin, shy boy was caught up gossiping with the group, and it felt to the Slytherins like he'd always been there.

But, sitting on Ron's other side, one other person was still watching, and still silent. While Hermione had been at the classes, she did feel that maybe they were all taking their studies a bit too lightly. They would have exams soon; they should already be studying, not sitting around joking. Did no-one else care about their education?

Hermione found that she was still fighting the feelings that had crept up on her about Harry. Something in her had always enjoyed being the one he turned to for help; it was hard to get used to the fact that Draco seemed to be filling that role more and more. And even that Harry was needing less and less help; his scholastic abilities seemed to be greatly increased. It was a puzzle, and, like all puzzles, it bothered her. She wanted to work it out, to understand what was going on, and to be in charge again.

Her mood was not helped as Ron and Harry started whispering to each other. She was torn between curiosity to know what they were saying; and her upbringing that told her that eavesdropping was rude. But in the end she pretended her upbringing had won; but the truth was rather that they spoke too softly to hear; and that inflamed her feeling of being left out even more.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said.

"Course," Ron said, waving his toast to signal that the thanks were entirely unnecessary. "What did you and Bill have to talk about?"

"Ah," said Harry, "you noticed that he grabbed me after dinner last night, yeah?"

"Course," Ron said again. "I'm his brother, remember? He was eating too slowly, I could see something was on his mind; and then when you left the room half a minute after he did, it was kind of obvious."

"Oh," Harry said in surprise. Ron seemed to have grown up a lot; the old pre-Horcrux-hunt Ron would not have had eyes for anything but his own dinner. "In that case, thanks for not following us. It is kind of a secret, I gather. He didn't say much, only that he has something he needs to show me, but it's at Gringotts. We cleared it with the Headmistress and Slughorn that Draco and I can go and see him tomorrow afternoon as our Potions work is advanced enough to skip the lesson."

"Whoa, mate!" Ron said, more loudly. "Missing potions tomorrow! Result!"

Harry smiled. Hermione, who had heard this last remark, did not. What was Harry thinking? Skipping classes? Did he want to fail? And why was he being given special treatment? Again?

* * *

Wednesday's Transfiguration class picked up from where Friday's had left off as the discussion of animagus forms continued. Professor McGonagall outlined a general understanding of the theory; but then admitted that most animagi did it by pure fluke anyway; the only known recent animagi who had seriously worked at having an animagus form were the now famous examples of the three Marauders, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, who had wanted to become animagi so they could support their werewolf friend, Remus Lupin, during his monthly changes.

"But in theory," she finished up, "we should be able to teach you the transformation."

"I bet Harry can do it already," Seamus yelled from the back of the room.

"Mr Finnigan, you know better than to call out in my class," McGonagall said sternly. "And, I would hope, better than to embarrass one of your fellow students. I don't think even our celebrated student has ever tried to assume an animagus form, have you Mr Pot-"

And here she looked over to Harry's seat; but her jaw fell open. Sitting on his stool, wagging his tail madly, was a beautiful black Labrador dog, who eyed her in the mournful, never-been-fed way that only Labradors can, before shaking his head.

"Very impressive, Mr Potter," she said. "Now kindly revert to human form, and don't forget you must register your animagus form – unlike certain other people we have already mentioned."

At this, the Labrador screwed his eyes up tight, for all the world as though he were concentrating madly; and then the screwed-up face became Harry's face, and he was sitting on the stool again.

The class erupted into noise. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about this; many expressing wonder, or admiration. By contrast, Draco drawled, "showing off again, Potter," as he smirked at him, but Harry could see admiration in his eyes.

Hermione, however, was in shock. She had read that it took weeks for even strong magicals to perfect an animagus form, and turning back was a mite tricky, too; yet Harry seemed to have done it as a party trick, a thought which made her quite angry. Either he had been practising without telling her, a thought that made her feel hurt, or he was showing off.

"Harry!" she hissed. "Are you trying to show everyone up?"

Harry looked at her, astonished, but it was Ron who answered.

"'Mione," he said, "you know he wasn't." He turned to his raven-haired friend. "I think she's a bit shocked. Probably thought it should be harder. You know how she gets when it looks like someone's broken the rules."

"Yeah," Harry replied with a smile, and cupped Hermione's chin with his right hand. "It's OK, Hermione; I was shocked too. I didn't do it on purpose; it just happened; I thought about it, wondering if I did have an animagus form, and what it might be, and then suddenly I was a Labrador."

Hermione looked at him. She could see he was telling the truth. She knew perfectly well with her rational mind that he would never try to upstage anyone, or make them feel small; that wasn't Harry at all. But her rational mind wasn't winning. She took some deep breaths, and forced down the feelings once again.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually. "Of course. I understand."

"All right then," McGonagall said, and the moment passed as the lesson moved on into a discussion of how to discover what your animagus form might be. It turned out that there were ways to find out: for example, people who could cast a Patronus often took a similar animagus form, though Dean pointed out that Harry gave the lie to that, as everyone knew his Patronus was a stag.

"Mr Potter does tend to be exceptional in most things though, you must admit," McGonagall replied.

"He's an exceptional lover, that's for sure," a certain blond member of the class said in a penetrating whisper. Both Harry and Minerva went bright red.

"That's quite enough of that, Mr Malfoy," the Headmistress said rather primly.

The discussion ranged across a couple of test spells and rituals, culminating in the inevitable homework exercise of trying out the various methods that had been discussed. But for once, the class was actually looking forward to Transfiguration homework.

* * *

Anders Anderssen was quite nervous. After his discussion with Harry Potter on Monday, he had agreed to talk to Robin Banks; as Harry had pointed out, the young Auror was quite pleasant and easy-going, and was sure to listen sympathetically to one of his students. Robin had agreed happily to see the Durmstrang student but had been rather busy on Tuesday; and so the meeting was held over until Wednesday morning, when Anders had a free period as, in common with over half the students, he was not studying History of Magic.

The delay had done nothing for the visiting student's nerves; he was shy enough at the best of times, but the thought of talking to an Auror meant that he worked himself up quite a bit during Transfiguration. Thankfully, he had avoided Professor McGonagall's eye during the class, so he hadn't shown his weakness openly in the class; but as he left, Ivan Smetana came up beside him.

"What's wrong, Anders?" the chaperone asked baldly. But at least he had the sense to ask in German, so that no curious ears would learn lines for gossiping mouths.

"N-nothing sir," the student replied, in the same language. "But please excuse me, I have to go and have a chat with our Defense teacher now."

Ivan stopped and regarded the lad shrewdly. "I think, perhaps, I should tag along," he said; and Anders knew that resistance would be useless. It always was with Durmstrang professors; they did as they pleased, and the students put up with it.

And so when Robin opened his door, he found two Durmstrang visitors on his doorstep. He smiled easily at the pair, and invited them in with a nod and a sweep of his hand. As they sat down, he noticed that the student was practically shaking with fear; so he offered them tea, and quietly slipped some calming draught into it.

"Mr Anderssen, Mr Smetana, thank you for coming by," he began; and to Anders's obvious relief, he said it in German. "I think perhaps English is uncomfortable than for you, and my Swedish is poor; shall we converse in German?"

Anders nodded.

"Very good," the Auror continued. "Now, Harry tells me you want to say something about the Charms class; are you happy to tell Mr Smetana and me about that?"

The boy took a deep breath and nodded. "As you know, I have an aptitude for Charms," he began, "so I have been very careful in the Charms room. Mr Smetana has made it very plain how easy it would be for us to be accused of wrong-doing because we are outsiders."

"There is wisdom in that," the Auror conceded. "But you did see that when there was wrong-doing, we took care to find out it was Mr Corner and his friends at the root of it?"

Anders pondered this. "Yes," he mused, "that is true. I hadn't really thought about it like that. But yes, you have tried to punish only the guilty, I see that."

Robin was delighted to see that the boy's face looked a lot less stressed and worried than before; whether it was the reassurance or the calming draught, or a combination of the two, was really neither here nor there.

"So, you were careful in the Charms room?" Robin prompted.

"Yes. People leave personal items there; it would be possible to steal someone else's goods, or to introduce something incriminating in with their items. So my own items were charmed. Just before Mr Potter was attacked, someone tried to put something into the pile of books I leave there. Of course, they failed; but by the signature of the magic, it was some Dark object."

"I see," Robin said. "You suspect it was a cursed galleon?"

Anders smiled and nodded, clearly grateful to be so easily understood.

"Of course, I do not know this. But I very much think so, yes."

"And you know who that someone is?" Robin said.

"Oh yes," Anders said, and named the person.

Robin sat back in his chair.

"Yes," he said softly. "I have had my eye on that lady for some time, too. Really, she was the only person who could have sneaked that galleon in to Corner's hand."

Smetana arched an eyebrow. "You think so?" he said sharply.

"Oh yes," the Auror replied. "After all, it can't have been a Veela – Transfero spells cast by Veela magic are highly volatile, they couldn't cast the spell safely at all, nor have possession of the coin for more than an hour or so. As for the others, well, Mr Corner is something of a loner…"

"Yes, I see what you mean," Smetana replied.

"Well, thank you for your help, Mr Anderssen," the Auror said. "Is there anything else you need?"

The Swede blinked at him. "Is that it?" he said, clearly dumbfounded.

Robin nodded.

"You – you just believe me? Just like that?"

"Of course," the Auror replied. "Why should I not believe you, when you are telling the truth?"

Anderssen looked shocked, and Smetana appeared to take pity on him.

"Go and get ready for lunch," the chaperone said softly. The Swede nodded, and left the room.

"Quite brilliant at Charms, that one," Smetana said conversationally, "but not really Durmstrang material. Too shy."

"Ah," Banks observed, "but he does have the courage to come and tell me what's on his mind. That's quite something. Tell me, Mr Smetana, do you have the same courage? Will you tell me why you have suddenly stopped looking at Draco Malfoy like you want to kill him?"

Ivan Smetana winced. "Ah, I see. You are a very observant fellow, Mr Banks. I think, perhaps, I should trust you, and tell you the truth. Maybe that will make things easier."

"If you tell me the truth," the Auror replied, "and it stops people getting hurt, I promise you that it will make things easier."

Smetana laughed. "For whom? Heh? You want me to say I threw the cursed coin, so your career is easier?"

"The truth, we said," Robin replied mildly. "I know who threw the coin, and it was Corner, not you. And I even know who gave it to him, and probably convinced him that it had a mild Stupefy on it – I found evidence of that in the fragments that were left, by the way."

Smetana became very serious indeed. "I see, I think we have all underestimated you, Mr Banks, because you are so young. But I remember your marks – you were a brilliant student."

"Though we never quite saw eye to eye on behavioral issues, I seem to recall, Professor Karkaroff," the other replied.

"So, you know."

"Yes."

"Well then," Karkaroff continued, "you tell me why I stopped looking at Draco Malfoy like I want to kill him."

"That I don't know for sure," said Robin Banks carefully, "but I think I can guess. When Harry was attacked, but not destroyed, you suddenly realised how powerful he is. And so how much of a protected position the Malfoys are in. You wanted revenge on Lucius Malfoy because he was an ass during the War; and because he was prepared to hunt you down and kill you. But I think – I hope – that you've now decided that he too was a victim of Voldemort; and while he might have acquiesced to the torture and killing to some degree, it's time to move on from there."

Karkaroff took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, "something like that. Alright. So, you know who we are hunting?"

Robin nodded.

"So why not arrest them?"

"We know there is a mole in the Ministry directing the villain here," Banks replied. "At the moment, I have taken steps to make sure the assailant isn't going to get very far; but we really want the contact as well."

"I see," said Karkaroff with an appreciative smirk. "You are a very clever man, Herr Banks. How can I help?"

* * *

"'Arry!" Hagrid said as Harry and Draco turned up at his hut. "'Ang on a minute. Fang! Down boy!"

And, having managed to get his dog to heel by almost sitting on it, Hagrid opened the door wide to let the two students in. Of course, as soon as he did so, Fang managed to get out from under him; and, mindful that Draco was not overly fond of animals, Harry made sure to grab Fang and let him greet him with the usual slobbery exuberance he had displayed over the years; and the look on Draco's face made it clear that the small sacrifice of dignity was worthwhile.

"Come in! Come in!" Hagrid was burbling as this reunion was taking place. "That's right! Never mind Fang, Malfoy, 'e won't 'urt you."

Draco, who had his own ideas about what would and wouldn't hurt him, and who knew from experience that his ideas and Hagrid's were wildly different, held his peace; but he did make sure that Harry was seated between him and the boarhound.

"Now! 'Ere you go!" Hagrid said, and steaming mugs of tea appeared in front of the three of them; and a plate of rock cakes that looked, for Hagrid's cooking, unusually palatable to Harry's practised eyes.

Harry decided that he did really have to show willing, so picked up one of the cakes and broke off a small bit. To his surprise, the cake actually broke quite easily, and he cautiously put the piece in his mouth and chewed.

"Mmm," he said appreciatively. "They're really good. Draco, try one."

Draco looked at him as though he were mad, but Harry broke him off a piece and put it in front of him, making it rather awkward for the blond to refuse, so he popped it into his mouth and was, in turn, surprised to find that such simple fare could be so delicious.

"That is good," he admitted.

Hagrid beamed with pride. "Yeah, well, Olympe, that's Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons, she told me the old ones I used to make were just awful and I wasn't to make rock cakes out of real rocks any more, and taught me her own recipe."

It took all of Draco's Malfoy training to keep from laughing at this; he could just hear the authoritarian Headmistress of Beauxbatons saying exactly that. An image of Hagrid cooking rock cakes in a Beauxbatons kitchen while wearing a pink apron sprang unbidden to his mind, and he almost choked on his tea.

"Yer right there, Malfoy?" Hagrid asked, and to Draco's astonishment his voice held real concern. He nodded in reply, which seemed to satisfy the giant. He certainly wasn't about to explain what had happened!

"So, anyway, you two together? 'Ow's that going? I must say, I didn't expect ever to see you sitting at my table willingly, Malfoy."

Draco looked at the Care of Magical Creatures teacher rather sheepishly; unbidden, the episode with the hippogriff Buckbeak, who had been condemned to death because of him, sprang to mind.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Sorry, was that?" Hagrid said. "Sorry for wha'?"

"Sorry that I was a bastard to you. I hated you. Especially when that hippogriff wouldn't let me fly on him."

"Yeah, well, that's all done with now I reckon," Hagrid replied. "Seems to me we've all grown up a bit since those days. So, tell me what's been going on since the War?"

They chatted for a good long while; and when they went back up to lunch, Draco found, rather to his surprise, that he was Hagrid's friend; and somehow that gave him a warm feeling he never would have expected. Harry really was corrupting him, he mused; before the Battle of Hogwarts, he was filled with contempt and cold loathing for the half-giant, and had assumed that the feeling was mutual. Before, he felt the man was dangerous; now, he felt oddly safe. Hagrid still had ridiculously dangerous pets, but somehow the man himself felt utterly dependable. The past, it seemed, was gone. And certainly, never once again, then or in the future, was any of Draco's previous behaviour brought up, even tangentially. Except, as we shall see, in one small way…

* * *

As lunch was coming to a close. Harry received an owl asking him to join the Headmistress in her office. When he got there, he was rather surprised to find not only the Headmistress waiting for him, but Professor Babbling as well.

"Ah, Mr Potter," the Ancient Runes Professor began at once. "I have marked the work that you turned in last week, and I wanted to show you it particularly."

All of a sudden Harry felt like he was eleven years old again, and he remembered the first assignment Snape had handed back to him. As Professor Babbling handed over Harry's work, he took it with a trembling hand, and could barely bring himself to look at it. Given that he had never studied Runes, he expected to find gallons of red ink on it, correcting the many errors he must have made. And surely Professor Babbling would be no less barbed than Snape had been at this upstart who dared to enter her classroom without knowing her subject?

But there was no red ink, and no scathing comments written in spiky writing.

"As you can see, I found nothing at all to correct in your work," Professor Babbling said, her voice light and airy.

"That's… er… quite something, I guess," Harry stammered.

Professor Babbling fixed him with a beady eye.

"No, Mr Potter," she replied. "If one of my students had done it, that would be 'quite something'; in fact, it would be quite remarkable. Of the students in that class, only Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy have ever turned in work that was without error; and they certainly did not do so on their first attempt. You, on the other hand, have handed it an exercise that is not only completely correct, but many of your interpretations are, quite simply, inspired."

"Oh," said Harry. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh indeed. If I had not watched you myself, I would think that you had copied someone else's work; but I know you didn't. Mr Potter, we both want to know what is going on here; people simply do not display a natural talent for Ancient Runes straight away. But the Headmistress will discuss the wider implications; I simply would like to invite you to join my class on a more regular basis, Mr Potter."

"Oh," said Harry, again. "I guess this would mean Draco isn't alone in that class, so, um, I guess, yeah, I'd love to."

Professor Babbling pursed her lips in disapproval. "I do hope, Mr Potter, you will see this as an opportunity to learn a very interesting skill for which you appear to have an amazing aptitude, rather than merely a chance to spend time with your partner."

Harry blushed in embarrassment; but then he noticed that the Professor's eyes were twinkling.

"It's quite all right, I do understand," she reassured him. "Well, I shall see you after your Charms class, then."

And with that, the witch left the office.

McGonagall turned to him.

"Well, Harry, just what is going on? All the teachers have noticed that you are showing remarkable aptitude and magical strength. Such as exhibiting an animagus form on your first try. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

"Er, no," Harry replied. "I mean, I'm just being me. I'm not trying to be unusual; I'm not aware of anything that's changed particularly."

"I see," said the Headmistress thoughtfully. "Well, I'm not about to complain about a student showing excellent work, Mr Potter. And now you'd better be off or you will be late for your Charms class."

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry said, and he left the office.

* * *

Feeling that she needed a few minutes to herself, Hermione reached the Charms classroom first, and set herself up ready for class. Damn, she thought, as the door opened just as she was finishing getting ready. She looked over and was quite surprised to see that it was Zabini and Parkinson who came in, and more so that the other girl came and sat right next to her, while Blaise took up a seat behind them.

"Hermione," Pansy said, "we need to talk."

* * *

The Charms class passed without much event. Draco noticed that Hermione was particularly quiet; she didn't even put her hand up when Flitwick asked about properties of Charms, and Draco was sure that she knew the answer. Just what was going on? She always volunteered in class. And why was she sitting next to Pansy of all people? It was good that they seemed to be getting on, but it did seem rather suspicious…

"Knut for your thoughts?" Harry asked, breaking in on his reverie.

"Ah," said Draco, a little startled. "I was just wondering what's up with Hermione."

"You too, eh?" Harry replied. "Yeah, I noticed where she's sitting and how quiet she's being. Still, it's not like she's causing any trouble."

"Yet," said Draco. He wasn't quite sure why he was feeling a little pessimistic; he just hoped he would be proved wrong.

* * *

Hermione's quietness evaporated the moment Harry walked into the Ancient Runes classroom.

"Harry?" she said quizzically. "Are you joining us again?"

"Mr Potter has shown a considerable aptitude for Ancient Runes, and I have asked him to attend," said Professor Babbling. "Now, kindly sit down quietly and attend, we have three more variant rune schemas to discuss today."

They took their seats. But Hermione was neither quiet nor still; she kept looking over at Harry, who was engrossed in the exercises Professor Babbling had set, and muttering to herself for some time. Everyone could see that she was fuming. The whole injustice of it all was building up inside her. It was so unfair! She had worked so hard to get where she was, and suddenly Harry could just swan in and be the expert?

After a while, as always in Runes classes, they got to discussing the different possible significances of their interpretations. Blaise, on Harry's other side, asked a question of the class in general; before Hermione could even open her mouth, Harry had given him the answer. It didn't make sense! He should be coming to her for help, not being the person other people went to!

When they had all finished the first set of exercises, Professor Babbling addressed the class again.

"Now, for your second set of exercises for the day, I must first teach you a new schema. This is quite an unusual schema, and has only come to be widely understood recently so is not in the books; but the Ministry will be examining students on it in future."

This development did not help Hermione's temper at all. For when they got to the exercises and Babbling asked the occasional question, for once Hermione did not have the answers down pat. Which was mortifying enough; but then Harry would screw his eyes up, pop them open, look up to the roof, and announce the answer, as if he had read it off the ceiling. And be praised for giving an answer 'worthy of Miss Granger at her best'.

It hurt. She tried to bottle her feelings up. The tears stung in her eyes, and she brutally wiped them away. But it was no use. All the jealousy, all the envy, the feelings of hurt, welled up inside of her. She remembered all the times she'd been put down because she was a girl, or a 'swot', or a 'mudblood'; and a red mist of anger descended on her. She spluttered incoherently with rage; then, to everyone's amazement, turned and fled out of the classroom.

Everyone looked shocked. Only one pair of eyes was hiding something else: the thought that here at last might be a useful way to get to Harry …

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook and fanfiction.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and bookmarking! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And thanks for the kudos, and double thanks and Hagrid’s new improved rock cakes to those who commented on chapter 56! Special welcome to drarrylover who read the whole thing in one go!


	58. Hermione Returns to her Senses

**58 Hermione Returns to her Senses**

The second of the dormitory towers of Dumbledore Tower held the female Eighth Year students from Hogwarts. As luck would have it, seven such students had returned for eighth year; and so, there being space for eight, one person had her own room. By a funny sort of unspoken agreement, the girls had more or less ignored the layout suggested by the notice pinned on the notice board on the first day, and organised themselves so that the single room was given to the one girl who was engaged: Hermione.

Not only was her room not shared, it was also the first room as you went up the tower; which made it ideal for those nights when Ron came visiting, stayed late, and couldn't be bothered to walk all the way back up to his room on the top floor of the tower given over to Gryffindor and Slytherin male students. And if those nights became more frequent as term went on, no-one appeared to notice.

After the first of these sleep-overs, they had been woken up by bizarre 'eep!' noise to find themselves being stared at by an even more wide-eyed than usual house elf. There was a crack of apparition, and Kreacher appeared beside the poor elf.

"Misty will return to kitchen duty and keep her mouth shut!" the old elf said to the first one. "Misty is not to disturb Master Ron and Mistress Hermione! Kreacher will be looking after their room!"

And so it was that Kreacher took over the duty of cleaning Hermione's room. The brunette was not particularly pleased by this: It went against the principles of her Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare to treat Kreacher as a slave. But when she tackled Harry about this, she learnt that, in fact, the Headmistress had insisted that Kreacher be paid for his work at Hogwarts, as he was a Black house elf, not a Hogwarts one. Kreacher had, of course, wanted to give the money to Harry; but Harry insisted that he was giving Kreacher his choice to work here or stay at Grimmauld Place, any fiduciary arrangement was strictly between him and the school. Accordingly, Kreacher was being paid the princely sum of a galleon a week for his services, with Mondays off. Hermione privately thought that such a paltry payment was just as bad as slavery; but Kreacher would not accept more. And really, she mused, he probably didn't have anything to spend it on, anyway.

Ron privately found it hilarious that the ancient elf seemed to be so taken with the Muggle-born witch; he was sure that Walburga Black's portrait would have deeply disapproved. But he held his tongue. It was a delicate peace; but it worked. And it meant that his nocturnal activities went unremarked, uncensured, and most important of all, unstopped. Indeed, far from remark or censure, Kreacher seemed to positively revel in their clandestine meetings, and would leave little chocolates, or flowers, or even once, it appeared, a scented candle for them.

Now, scented candles were all very well; but they weren't Ron's thing at all, so Hermione, who found them quite soothing, only used them when her fiancé wasn't there. When she rushed out of the Ancient Runes class that Wednesday afternoon, her emotions in a huge turmoil, what could be more natural than to light the candle and lie on her bed meditating? But when Kreacher popped in to freshen the room, he sniffed the air suspiciously. He had been house-elf to a dark family for many decades, and he knew nasty charms when he felt them. He looked at Hermione's spaced-out expression and did not like what he saw one little bit. But such things were beyond house-elves' authority. He felt around the room with his house-elf magic and quickly determined that the charm was carried by scent, and the scent was coming from a lighted candle standing on the mantelpiece. Where, he wondered, had that come from? He extinguished the candle and went in search of a mistress or master who could help.

As Kreacher ran out of the tower, he found Neville Longbottom in the common room, evidently taking advantage of his free period to Floo-call a friend. Kreacher would have ignored him; but the friend, it seemed, had spotted him.

"Oi! Kreacher!" George Weasley's voice rang out. "Where's the fire?"

"Mistress Hermione Granger is not being well!" the elf replied miserably.

"Blimey," George said, struck by the despair he heard in Kreacher's voice and the fact that he had completely forgotten to be snarky. If the little runt was that upset, something was seriously wrong.

"Watch out, Nev," he said, "I'm coming through."

Neville stood away from the fireplace, and George appeared.

"Right," he said to Kreacher, "show me."

* * *

Bathsheda Babbling was visibly shaking. She had been teaching Ancient Runes for twenty years, and never in that time had she had so much as a cross word in her classroom. She had always taught her students that runes was very precise work and required them to concentrate; any form of anger would ruin the abstraction they needed to do well. So she was entirely unprepared for the scene that had happened that afternoon.

It had obviously affected her very badly, Minerva McGonagall thought. The Ancient Runes Professor had turned up on the Headmistress's doorstep in such a shape that Minerva was worried the woman would collapse in front of her and very nearly called Madam Pomfrey.

"No, I'm alright," the teacher gasped out, breathing heavily. "Just tea and a chat, please."

Minerva summoned a house-elf and Winky appeared.

"Tea for two, please, Winky," she said, and the elf, whose eyes were round as saucers at the sight of the normally cool, calm and collected Ancient Runes teacher in obvious distress, hurried away.

While she was gone, Bathsheda began to explain the commotion of the afternoon's class. By the time a tea-tray had appeared, she was already some way towards re-establishing her equanimity.

"Hermione Granger!" she said, as the Headmistress passed her a cup of tea. "Of all people! Normally the most diligent and careful of students! And she just flew off the handle!"

McGonagall pursed her lips. There was more here than an upset staff-member, that was clear. She quite agreed with Babbling's assessment; for Hermione Granger to run out of a class was not only almost unprecedented, but in her NEWTs year, practically unthinkable. There had been that incident with Divination, she supposed; but Divination hardly counted as a subject, and Trelawny was a fraud, in McGonagall's eyes. Ancient Runes was different. Ancient Runes was a subject Hermione had always seemed to enjoy and to excel at.

No, someone was getting at her. And not just with nasty words, either, the Headmistress was sure of it. It had to be part and parcel of the other attacks. Robin Banks was away this afternoon, having been given a half day off in lieu of his weekend work, but she decided that she would have to have a word with him in the morning.

These events had to stop. She understood that there were wider concerns; but they could not, would not, be allowed to interfere with the safety of her students and staff.

* * *

As soon as George entered Hermione's room, his hackles rose. As a prankster, he was well aware of the different compounds and potions that could be used to create compulsions; he and Fred were very careful to steer clear of anything that could potentially get out of control. People might think of the pair as happy-go-lucky and slapdash, but in truth they carried out extremely rigorous tests on their products. They knew perfectly well that a large part of their success was the trust that their customers put in them that everything they made would work perfectly, without unexpected side-effects.

So when he smelt the light hint of wood from an ash tree mixed with tincture of hyacinth and marigold, he knew that this was not good. He and Fred often used a touch of ash; it gave otherwise short-lived compounds a much better shelf-life. But the two flowers, especially mixed together, were a compound they would never go near. Especially if…

He looked around the room. Yep, there it was, a vase of roses. White and pink, though. He went over to investigate; as he suspected, they had been charmed with a simple colour-change charm. He cancelled the charm.

In front of him stood a vase of yellow roses.

"Has Hermione been having a problem with jealousy recently?" he asked.

"Um – you could say that," a breathless voice answered him, as Ron Weasley cannoned into the room, having run all the way from the Ancient Runes classroom when he had gone there to escort Hermione back to the tower and learnt that she had rushed out of class. "You know, just a little. Especially around Harry, it seems."

"Lovely to see you too, bro," George said with a mischievous little smirk. "Well, yellow roses and marigold and yellow hyacinth are the flowers of jealousy; and someone has charmed this candle to put out a mild compulsion charm, I'd say. Might be an idea to open a window and get the smell out – that ash will mean it will linger for a long time."

Ron did as he was bid, and for good measure cast _Ventus_ and watched as the wind from his wand blew away the scented air. As the last of it left the room, Hermione stirred.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, the worry clear in his voice as he rushed to sit next to her. "What happened?"

"Runes – too much –" the witch replied, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Came back here –"

And then it seemed that the whole event had caught up with her, for she dissolved into tears and fell into Ron's arms.

"Ah," said George, his voice clearly showing how awkward he felt, "Neville and I will pop along to dinner, OK?"

The two of them left the room to give the lovers some privacy.

* * *

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when Ron entered the Great Hall to find his brother and Neville in the middle of the student group. George was showing off some of his prank items – they had made some special gum that changed the colour of your face when you chewed it, which seemed to be a big hit with the Beauxbatons girls if the sea of red, green and yellow faces was any indication.

"Impressive," Ron said. "Can you do stripes?"

"Ron!" George replied. "I like your thinking! We'll make a prankster of you yet!"

"So," Ron said as he took a seat next to his brother, "to what do we owe the – ahem - pleasure of your company?"

"I was missing my Nev," George replied with a salacious wink. "McGonagall said that as his husband I was welcome to come and visit for dinner, so I'm taking her up on it. How's Hermione? I heard she was under the weather today?"

"Something like that," Ron replied, impressed at how smoothly George had deflected any suspicion of his presence and Hermione's absence. "She's asleep at the moment."

"Is she all right?" one of the Beauxbatons girls – Thillin, Ron thought – said. "Shall we look in on 'er afterwards?"

"Oh I don't think that will be …" Ron said, but was interrupted.

"But of course we will. She needs a few girls to buck her up. Marie, will you come with me?" Eva replied crisply.

"Of course, Eva," the girl on her left replied. "Now, who shall we get to try the purple gum?"

* * *

At the end of the meal, as people were leaving, Ron signaled to Pansy and Blaise to stay for a second. Mystified, the two Slytherins, together with Theo Nott, who had been with them all day, sat down again.

"Hermione gave me a message for you," Ron said quietly to Pansy.

The brunette arched an eyebrow at him.

"She told me to say you were right."

"That's it?" Pansy asked.

"Yup," Ron replied.

"OK," Pansy said. "In that case, we have some work to do. Come on, boys," she said rising from the table. The three of them had gone about three steps when Pansy turned round to Ron, who was still sitting there.

"That includes you, Ronny-boy," she said archly.

"Oh," Ron said, "um, OK," and got up and went with them.

* * *

There was a small knock on the door.

"Come in," Hermione said, rousing herself up from the bed.

The door opened, and Marie Thibault entered, followed by Eva Thillin. Hermione smiled in greeting and the two French girls smiled back; but something seemed a little … strained. As though they had expected something to be there, that wasn't.

"So," Marie was saying, "we came to see 'ow you are and if there is anything we can do to 'elp?"

"Thank you, that's very kind," Hermione said, getting her feelings under control. She just hoped that any strange behaviour would be put down to her eruption in class, and not to its true cause.

Fear.

For Hermione was now quite convinced that one of the two girls in front of her had orchestrated the attack on Harry. And very probably was responsible for the charmed candle Ron had told her about.

The candle. That was it. One of them had looked at the candle, and been upset to see that it was not burning. But which one?

Hermione had to push the thought aside for the moment. It would not look good to be too out of things.

"Um, do you have any more notes from the Runes class?" she asked, to keep the conversation alive.

"Oh yes," Thibault replied. "'Ere, I have made a copy for you," she continued, passing Hermione a piece of parchment. We 'ave finished the new schema. Your friend 'arry, 'e is so knowledgeable, yes?"

"Ah," Hermione said, looking down to keep the two other girls from seeing the sadness in her eyes. "Yes, well." She looked up again.

"Harry's knowledge of Ancient Runes came as a surprise to all of us," Hermione continued with a small, sad smile. "I think that was what caused me to go overboard – just the shock of him being there, and knowing everything."

Hermione was sure she did not imagine it this time. There was, just for a second, a look of fierce hunger in one of the girls' eyes. But it was gone in a flash.

"Yes, well, you look much better now," Thillin said. "Can we maybe get you some food?"

"No thanks," Hermione said, "I don't quite feel up to eating just yet, and I'm sure that one of the house-elves will oblige when I'm ready."

"Very good," Thibault said. "Well, we should not keep you, you should rest some more."

And with that the two girls left the room.

As soon as the door shut, Ron removed the invisibility cloak.

"Did you see it?" Hermione asked him.

"Yes," he said. "I reckon Pansy got it spot on. But let's not talk about it just yet, hmm?"

And saying that, he walked over to the bed and clasped his fiancée in a tight hug, which was returned just as fiercely.

* * *

About half an hour later, another knock came on the door. But this was quite different to the first, when the two Beauxbatons students had visited; that had been timid and shy, this was brash and strident. Neither Ron nor Hermione had any doubt who was there.

"Come in, Pansy," Hermione said.

The door opened, and Pansy and Theo came in holding hands.

"Where's Blaise?" Ron answered.

"Studying in the library. As are two certain French ladies that I told him to keep a good eye on," Pansy replied, with not a hint of remorse that she had given her friend a boring job as a spy.

"You were right," Hermione said softly.

"Course I was," Pansy replied; but the four of them all knew it was a front, and that secretly she was very pleased to be told she was right by 'the brightest witch of her age'. "And you saw her?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Like you said, no-one is going to suspect a twin, simply because you can't imagine one of them acting alone. So you look at both of them, or neither."

"Well, it did help that I knew that her mother is famous for her scented candles," Pansy replied. "It just looked so odd. And when you told me there was a scented candle in your room with the purple-and-gold seal on it, well, that clinched it."

"So, has anyone examined the candle?" Theo asked.

"Good point," Ron said. "Kreacher put it out, and George scented the ingredients in it, but no-one's touched it."

He took his wand out and cast an _Aparecium_ charm to disclose any secret writing or marks. Instantly, spidery lines appeared, winding around the candle.

"Wow," Theo said, dropping Pansy's hand and coming forward to examine the candle closely. "That's incredibly fine work."

"What does it mean?" Ron asked.

"It's a transfiguration signature," Hermione replied.

"Yes," said Theo. "Someone has transfigured the original scented oils of the candle into the marigold and hyacinth that George detected. And done a brilliant job."

"Do you think it could have been done by …" Ron asked, waving his hand, not wanting to put in the name of the girl they all now suspected.

"I don't know," Theo replied. "It is a first class piece of work; but I do think it must have been done inside the castle. It would be too big a risk to be caught with it otherwise. Flitwick would have cast general detection charms on everything brought in to the castle, so unless it was well shielded, or hidden in some object, it must have been transfigured here.

"Anyway, I suggest we leave it alone for now. Unlit, it can't hurt anyone. We should just make sure that Hermione is completely free of any charms."

"I'll do that," Ron said, and the two Slytherins gestured to him to go ahead. They quite understood that the current friendly relations between them did not yet extend as far as casting spells on one another.

Ron stood in front of Hermione, wand drawn.

"All right?" he asked.

Hermione nodded her assent.

" _Revelio incantatum!_ " Ron cast, and a soft violet light passed over Hermione. It showed two deep blue spots; as soon as he saw them, Ron cast a _Finite Incantatum_ at each, and they disappeared completely.

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, as the light faded. "I feel much happier now."

"Excellent," Ron said. "Just to be sure, we should check the parchment they gave you too. _Revelio incantatum!_ " Ron cast again, pointing his wand at the copy of the notes from Ancient Runes that Thibault had left behind. It glowed a deep, deep blue. Ron cast _Finite Incantatum,_ but this time it seemed to resist him. Theo, realising that this was a very strong charm, cast a _Finite Incantatum_ of his own, and slowly the light faded altogether.

"Thanks," Ron said, rather breathless.

"Pleasure," Theo said. And it was; the Slytherin was keenly aware that his standing in the Wizarding world was still pretty low, after the attack on Harry and Draco; even though he had been acquitted on a retrial, he still had a long way to go to rebuild people's confidence in him. Helping Hermione, however basically, would be a good step on that way.

"Good thinking, Ron," Pansy said, and the red-head looked shocked to be praised by his former adversary. "You should probably get some sleep," Pansy suggested to Hermione. "Or do you need to eat?"

"No," Hermione said, "I'm good. Ron, can you go and tell Harry I'm very sorry for the last few days? I bet he's stewing that he's done something wrong."

* * *

Harry was still feeling very upset after the evens of the Ancient Runes class, so he and Draco had kept a low profile. They'd had dinner in the Great Hall, mostly because their absence would have been remarked on. After dinner, they had hung out in the common room for a little while; but it was obvious that a good deal of the gossip was about what had happened in Ancient Runes, so they decided they were better off getting away from the place and letting people talk freely, rather than face the hushed whispers and embarrassed faces.

And Harry was glad to get away in private; it felt like the two of them had not spent time with just the two of them together all day, and Harry felt drained by it. They spent an hour doing homework in a companionable silence; then Draco asked about the Runes assignment and they worked through it together. It did not take the two of them long to finish; Draco was even more astonished than before, as they had now finished all the homework that was due in the next ten days.

"Right," said Harry, "that's enough study."

"What would you like to do now?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled.

* * *

In his room, Neville had come to the same conclusion: he had done enough study for the night. Especially as he had talked his husband into staying with him. George had Flooed home while Neville was studying to pick up some 'essential supplies'; but now he was sitting on Neville's bed, watching him study. Neville was finding this both somewhat upsetting and something of a turn-on; while he'd rather not be watched while working, there was something about it being his husband doing the watching that made it very different from anyone else.

"Right," he said as he put his quill down. "I'm done for the night."

"Excellent," said George, "now we can play with my supplies."

"What?" Neville asked in surprise. "I thought you'd be getting a toothbrush and pajamas, that sort of thing?"

"Oh, well, them too," George said dismissively. "But I got the essentials as well."

So saying, he opened his bag and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers.

"Here's to us!" he said, as he poured out a generous measure each.

* * *

Harry and Draco lay together on the bed, stripped to their boxers, hugging and kissing and enjoying one another's gentle touches.

"What did Bill want?" Draco asked eventually.

"Oh, you remember he told us about the map?" Harry replied.

Draco scrunched up his face in concentration as he cast his mind back to the conversation at the Burrow.

"Yes, I think so," he said. "We had butterbeers in Arthur Weasley's garage. The map was that thing he found in Egypt."

"That was it. Well, he's got permission from the goblins to show it to me. So he's invited me to Gringotts tomorrow afternoon. You can come too if you want, I squared it with Slughorn."

"Of course I want," Draco replied, and they fell silent for a moment or two.

"Why not tell Ron?" Draco said next, referring back to when Ron has asked about it at breakfast.

"Oh, I will," Harry replied. "It's just that Bill wanted it kept quiet, so I didn't think I should mention details at the breakfast table."

A little while later, there came a knock at a window. Harry sighed; but rather than get up, he opened the window with wordless wandless magic, which, as it did every time, caused a little frisson of excitement to pass through Draco. An owl flew in, dropped a letter on the bed right next to Harry, and flew straight out again.

"Well, I guess they don't want a reply," Harry said, retrieving the envelope. "It's from Gringotts," he said, as he saw the seal on it. He opened the letter and began to read; as he did so, he let out a low whistle.

"What is it?" Draco asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's an invitation," Harry replied. "From Primak, the Chief Goblin. Seems the goblins want to give Ron, Hermione and me an award."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. "Rumour has it that you broke out of Gringotts on a dragon. I can't imagine that they'd be pleased about that!"

"The rumour is true," Harry replied. "But by what he writes here, they're ecstatic. Using a dragon in a vault, and housing a dark object in it, are both now highly illegal, and have been since the First Wizarding War. Reading between the lines, I'd say that once we escaped, they told the Ministry that they couldn't remove the dragon or the cup because of the secrecy of client accounts; but now the cup was gone and the dragon was free, and they wouldn't let it back. And since the dragon was guarding the Lestrange vaults, they took the money for repairs out of it."

"Good," said Draco, who had plenty of reason to hate his aunt. "I hope they made them pay double."

"I think we can be sure of that!" Harry replied. "Anyway, I guess we'll need to tell Ron and Hermione about this. Do you think Hermione will be alright?"

Draco's answer was forestalled by a knock on the door. The two boys scrambled to put on some bathrobes over their boxers, and invited the visitor to come in. It was Ron.

"Hi guys," he began. "Sorry to disturb you, just wanted to give you some news about Hermione."

"Is she all right?" Harry asked. "I didn't upset her, did I?"

He looked from Draco to Ron; both of their faces had the same expression: a sort of exasperated incredulity.

"Harry," Ron said, "you really can be clueless sometimes. You're just being you, and we all love you for it. But she's been under a charm which has been making her feel extremely jealous of you. That's all sorted out now; but we still have to deal with the troublemaker."

Draco looked at him very seriously. "Do you think it's the same person who attacked Harry?"

"Has to be," Ron replied. "And the interesting thing is that we had two visitors tonight …"

And Ron went on to discuss the visit from Marie Thibault and Eva Thillin. It took a while, as he also told them about Kreacher and George and Neville's actions and explained exactly what everyone had seen and the conclusions that were being drawn from them.

"OK," Harry said, letting out a nervous breath. "If you're right, and I think you are, we know how to stay safe for the moment. I know Robin has set up some tracking charms, but he obviously missed the candle. But we can keep those two under close watch I guess. Also, we won't be here tomorrow afternoon."

And in turn Harry went on to explain the invitation from Gringotts, and gave Ron the letter to read.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Ron said. "Not a lot of notice? And we'll miss Potions!"

"You remember Bill telling us about the map that he and Karkaroff made?"

Ron nodded.

"OK, well, he's got permission to show it to us. But it's all very secretive. That's why we arranged to go. I guess the goblins decided that, since we're going to Gringotts anyway, we can receive the award at the same time."

"Just like them, really," Draco added. "They just make the date, you turn up or you don't. But we're going to, right?"

"And we'd already squared Potions with Slughorn anyway," Harry replied. "He said that you two could go if you wanted to, considering that Bill is your brother; so that's no problem."

"Brilliant!" Ron said with a huge grin once he learnt that they would all be missing the Potions class. "This really will bend Hermione's wand all out of shape!"

And with that, he bid them good night and left.

* * *

Rookwood went over his plans one more time. Tomorrow was the new moon; unfortunately, the exact time was in the afternoon, and the ritual demanded deep darkness. So it would have to be performed after sunset; and given that it was July, he would wait till midnight. The witching hour was always a good time to perform a ritual, he decided.

He laid out all of the items he would need once more, checking each on a list he had compiled. Cauldron, three types of wood to burn under it, the sixteen different ingredients the potion would need; enough charcoal to keep the fire burning all night if necessary; stirring paddle; Circe's circlet, from which he and Barnes had managed to remove the disintegration curse, thanks to the books in Snape's library (and no thanks to Umbridge, who simply looked on and made the kind of helpful suggestions that he could happily have done without); and the full instructions and incantations, written out in a special luminous ink that he would be able to see even in the darkness of midnight with no moonlight.

There was just one more thing he needed: the specific word that would reverse the memory charm when required. But Rookwood had not lasted for years in the Dark Lord's employ without developing a keen sense of self-preservation. The word was a secret, and as long as only he knew what it was, he would be safe; Umbridge would need it to get her memories back, and so she would need him. It was his life insurance policy; as such, he had not even decided what the word was yet, so that even legilimency would not help her. Not that Umbridge was any sort of a legilimens, he knew; but beginners got lucky occasionally.

As he worked, he muttered to himself, and Barnes and Umbridge gave each other a look that conveyed how exasperated they were with the other wizard. They had had to put up with this muttering and getting ready for four hours now, and it seemed to both of them more like four weeks. When he had finally finished, shrunk all the elements down, and packed them all back in the cauldron, Umbridge decided that enough was enough.

"Right!" she said, imbuing the word with all the false, brittle brightness that the Hogwarts students had learnt to hate like poison. "I think that's enough preparation! I know you want everything to be perfect, but it won't be if we're all anxious and overtired. I think we all need an early night."

Rookwood all but exploded in indignation. "Madam!" he said, "I am not a child that needs to be told to go to bed!"

"Of course not," Umbridge said sweetly. "So as an adult, of course you agree with me that we need our sleep. Very good. Off to bed!"

And this time, Rookwood could see that there was no way out of it. Umbridge, he had learnt, never gave up when she had decided on something; he would just be steamrollered into whatever she wanted. Probably at the end of a _Somnos_ charm; she had already used one against Barnes when he had been prating on a few days ago.

And looking at Barnes, he could see that the other wizard would be no help whatever; he was sitting there, grinning at Rookwood's evident discomfort.

"All right," Rookwood said, sighing as he accepted the inevitable. "Off to bed!"

* * *

While Ron went to see Harry and Draco, Hermione took advantage of the opportunity to get some food.

"Kreacher!" she called.

The house-elf popped into the room.

"How is Kreacher being able to help the Mud-ggleborn Mistress Granger?"

If Hermione heard the slip, she showed no sign of it. _Kindness and compassion._ That was the way.

"Kreacher, could you get me some dinner please?"

"Of course, Kreacher lives to serve," he said, the bad temper dripping from his words. But Hermione was becoming inured to it by now; she had seen him with Miriam and Teddy, whinging about being forced to be a nursemaid while very obviously enjoying himself very much. She now began to see that Kreacher, given the chance, was really a soft-hearted fraud who only pretended to be cranky as a defense mechanism.

As she was thinking these things, a rather delicious plate full of chicken and mushroom appeared in front of her, and she wolfed it down.

"Thank you, Kreacher," she said when she was finished; and even though the elf wasn't there, he must have been listening, for the dishes vanished, and an enormous slice of pear tart with clotted cream appeared instead. It was too much for her to eat, she thought, scandalised at the waste of food; but then she worked it out: too much for her, but not too much to share with Ron …

As if on cue, as she was thinking this, Ron entered the room, and his eyes lit up as he saw the dessert. She looked at him and smiled.

"Care to share this with me?" she asked.

She did not need to ask twice. When they had finished their dessert, they lay together on the bed in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said eventually. "I guess I've been a bit of an ass."

"Um, yeah, I guess you have," Ron agreed. Hermione smirked inwardly. Ron might be good at strategy, but he was never going to make a great diplomat, that was for sure. "But then, you were under stress, and under a compulsion charm."

"I know," she said. "I felt so jealous – Harry seemed to be getting special treatment all along the line, and then you seemed to take his side."

"How do you feel now?" Ron asked, his voice showing the concern she was longing to hear.

"Much better," she said. "Of course I know it's all rubbish. Harry is special, and he deserves to be treated well. I'm not jealous of Draco any more – he clearly gives Harry what he needs. Harry's got him, and that's good for him. And I've got you, and that's good enough for me."

"OK," Ron said. "Hang on, I thought I had you?"

"That too," Hermione answered, as she pulled Ron into a cuddle and deep kiss.

That night was one of the nights when Ron didn't get back to his room.

* * *

"Bend Hermione's wand out of shape?" Harry asked, bemused, as the door closed.

"Potter!" Draco said sharply. "Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"What?" Harry asked, oblivious to the _double entendre_ that Draco had picked up on.

And then Draco explained it, by bending Harry's wand out of shape, eliciting the most delightful and sensuous moans from his fiancé.

And so, as Pepys put it, to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily.
> 
>  **Facebook:** In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged) to 'like' it.
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	59. Returning to Gringotts

**59 Returning to Gringotts**

Robin Banks had a fun afternoon off watching Ginny playing Quidditch. The Holyhead Harpies were now inviting her to play with them three times a week, and Robin was quietly confident that they would make her an offer of a position sometime soon. Just exactly how they would square that with Ginny returning to Hogwarts remained to be seen, of course; but Robin wasn't particularly worried about that. He had been brought up to believe that the logistics would fall into place if you followed your passion. Certainly, that idea had worked for his father; his passion for German culture and obscure branches of Teutonic wand lore had led him to his present position as the British Ambassador to the Bundesministerium der Magie, the German Ministry of Magic.

He turned his attention back to the game. There was no doubt at all that Quidditch was Ginny's passion. You could see it in the obvious delight in her eyes as she swooped around the pitch. You could see it in the reckless way she would shoot after the snitch as soon as she saw it. And you could see it in her flushed face and dancing eyes when she landed after a match. And how, still breathless and panting, she would rush to discuss the game, point out errors, congratulate team-mates for good play. It was obvious that her excitement was infectious; the whole team came off the ground chatting and laughing.

"Captain material, that one," a voice said beside him. He turned to see the Harpies' manager beside him. He nodded. He knew very little about Quidditch, but he knew a very great deal about people, and Ginny was clearly a born leader. And he was glad for her sake that the manager thought so too. It could only be good for her career.

He smiled. Ginny was playing the sport she loved, he was doing a job he loved, and they had each other to love.

Life was good.

* * *

_Thursday 23 July_

As he returned from McGonagall's office to the little office he shared with Toby Proudfoot, it was hard to keep the feeling he had had the afternoon before.

He had thought he had everything under control at Hogwarts. He was certain that his suspect was the right one; and he had taken steps to neutralise her as a threat. But now he knew that he had not been clever enough. He had thought everyone was well protected; and Hermione had been got at.

"Buck up, son!" Proudfoot said as he saw Robin's expression as the younger Auror came through the door.

"How?" Robin replied. "I stuffed up."

"Not really," Proudfoot replied. "You've roped these guys in, they all know the score; and you can't wade in and arrest the perpetrator without cast-iron evidence, which you don't have yet. No, I'd say you've done as well as could be expected. She got past your guard, and that doesn't make you feel good, but there's nothing you could have done, not really. That comes down to luck. The good thing is that George found the candle, and our villain hasn't been alerted to it."

"I suppose you're right," Robin replied morosely.

"Of course I'm right. Now, pop along to the Great Hall, you'll be in time for breakfast, and I'm sure they'll all be glad to see you."

* * *

As Proudfoot had predicted, everyone was happy to see Robin; indeed, his arrival was overshadowed by George, who had stayed the night, it seemed, and was still handing out free samples of the latest Weasleys product, called Transfi-GUM-ation; chewing gum that gave you just a hint of an animal form: cat's ears, perhaps, or a rat's nose and whiskers. The girls from Beauxbatons were evidently enjoying the gum immensely, judging by the sheer volume of their shrieks.

Under cover of the noise, Robin slipped quietly in a seat next to Harry and across from Hermione. He looked at her with a very penitent expression.

"I heard about yesterday's business from the Headmistress," he said very softly to Hermione. "I'm sorry."

"That's all right," Hermione reassured him with a bright smile. "We found the problem and it's all good now."

"Yes, but you shouldn't have had the problem in the first place," Robin replied.

"Nonsense," said Hermione. But she could see they were beginning to attract attention, so she hurriedly hissed, "talk to Harry next period, we'll be at Arithmancy."

Robin, accepting that there was a need for confidentiality, nodded.

"Hey Professor Banks!" a voice said from up the table. "Are you here to spy on us?"

"No," the Auror laughed. "I just missed you all yesterday afternoon and had to check everyone was all right."

This brought a round of laughter; under cover of the mirth, Robin said softly to Harry, "come and see me after breakfast, all right?" When Harry nodded in reply, Robin got up and sauntered over to the teachers' table.

* * *

Harry waited until everyone had gone to Arithmancy before he walked to the Aurors' office and knocked quietly on the door.

"Come in!" a voice said – Toby's, he decided.

He walked in to find the two Aurors poring over a map of the Midlands.

"Hello," he said, "you wanted to speak to me, Robin?"

Robin turned and looked at him contritely.

"Oh Harry," he said, "I'm sorry you got caught up in the business yesterday. Is there anything I need to know to make things right?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "No-one blames you, if that's what you mean. After all, you didn't place the candle there; and it's been there for a while, I think, so probably before you knew there was anything to be wary of."

"Yes, but it's still a nasty artefact, Harry. I should have spotted it."

"Ron said George told him the original scented oils of the candle had been transfigured into marigold and hyacinth," Harry replied, "so when it came into the castle it wouldn't have been nasty."

"Did he now?" Proudfoot replied. "We hadn't considered that. How did he come to find that out, I wonder?"

"I think he cast an Aparecium charm," Harry replied.

"Well," said Robin, who had brightened considerably, "let's try it, shall we?"

Robin did so immediately, and once again spidery lines appeared, winding around the candle.

"Bingo," Proudfoot said softly.

"Indeed," Robin replied. "No wonder we missed it."

Then, noting Harry's puzzled expression, he went on to explain, "this is a classy piece of work, Harry. Whoever did this is very good at Transfiguration, and also wanted to hide the work. You see how the lines are slightly curved? That would repel a good many revealing charms. It's hard to hide things from _Aparecium_ , though, unless you're an expert at charms."

"So… whoever did this is brilliant at Transfiguration and quite good at Charms, but not brilliant, is that what you're saying?"

The two Aurors nodded.

"And that would be …"

They nodded again.

"Right," said Harry. "OK then. So, are we good?"

"Oh, yes, if you forgive me," Robin replied.

"Nothing to forgive," Harry replied as he rose to leave. "Oh, there is something else," he remembered, and sat down again. "This afternoon, Ron, Hermione, Draco and I are going to Gringotts. Some sort of award ceremony; then Bill wants to show us something. Are you aware of that?"

Robin's brow darkened. "I knew about Bill," he replied, "but not the award. I thought something else was happening?"

But Harry looked mystified, so he waved it off.

"Must have been mistaken. Look, if you're leaving Hogwarts, you should have an Auror guard you. Who do you want?"

"You, of course," Harry said immediately. Robin smiled, touched by the straightforward trust Harry still showed.

"All right," he said, and turned to Toby. "Are you OK to man the fort here?"

"No problem," said Toby.

* * *

In the event, the Headmistress went with them too, so it was a party of six which arrived at Gringotts just before half past one. They were met by Bill, and a goblin who introduced himself as Raredd; Harry could tell, from the subtle signals people give in such situations, that Raredd was Bill's boss, and was careful to show appropriate politeness. Not that it mattered a jot; Raredd took them straight into the bank and they found themselves being ushered into the office of Primak, the Chief Goblin.

The room they entered was enormous; the entire ground floor of 4 Privat Drive would have fitted into it comfortably, Harry thought. Though perhaps that was partly an illusion caused by the fact that the room was almost empty. The room was paneled in dark timber paneling up to the height of a goblin; above that, the walls were painted in a dark green. There was a line of crystal chandeliers in the room, which gave off a light tinted with golden hues which seemed to sweep across the green in strange and ever-changing patterns. The effect was mesmerising; Harry felt that if this were his office, he would spend the whole day watching the play of the lights on the walls.

In the exact middle of the room was a desk, roughly the size of a double bed; in front of it were ranged three chairs, and behind it, sitting on a dragon-hide swivel chair, was the oldest goblin that Harry had ever seen. He was so obviously the Head Goblin that any introduction was clearly regarded as superfluous.

Primak, Head Goblin of Gringotts, opened his mouth to speak.

"I had not expected so large a party," he grizzled, as extra chairs were fetched for them.

Harry was watching the others and saw McGonagall's face twitch. As he saw that, it occurred to him that this was a set-up; the goblins knew precisely how many people were in their party, and would have had time to fetch chairs as they were being shown to the office. Primak was obviously trying to make some goblin point; but it was too subtle for Harry.

But McGonagall knew pretty well what the goblins were up to. "I'm glad to see the goblins are as warmly welcoming as ever," she said, very drily. "You will understand that Mr Potter isn't likely to go anywhere without Mr Malfoy, as he is legally responsible for him; and the Ministry wants Harry protected, so Robin is here; and I am here because, as Miss Granger, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley's Headmistress, I am responsible for them during term time.

So, you see, our party is just as large as it needs to be."

The goblin laughed.

"Well met!" he said. "Too often witches and wizards treat us like dirt, so they should not be upset if we return the favour. But you have spoken well. And Mr Potter here has a reputation for being more friendly with goblins than the average. For the rest, we will suspend judgement."

Ron looked like he was about to explode, but Robin touched his arm. He knew the goblins rather well, having been on guard duty around the bank before now; so he knew that this was actually not the put-down that it sounded.

"Thank you for your courtesy," he replied to Primak. "I hope we shall all prove worthy of it, and more, before the day is done."

Primak looked at him keenly for a moment, and then broke into a smile. With his triangular mouth, it was not a pretty sight.

"Auror Banks, isn't it?" he asked, and Robin nodded. "Very well. I have heard of you, too. Good. Now, I know Raredd is keen to take you away and show you some trinket, but we do have the matter of a break-in, followed by a break-out, to deal with."

Harry gulped. Primak's letter had sounded almost kindly, but in the flesh he was quite scary. If this turned ugly, they might need more than one Auror.

But he needn't have worried. The Head Goblin turned to him, Ron, and Hermione, and said, "you broke in to a most ancient vault and stole an article from it, and I should, by rights, be furious about that. But on the other hand, the Lestranges are no more; Bellatrix is dead, the others in Azkaban for life. And that means that we don't have to deal with any complaints from the family."

Primak positively beamed with joy as he said that. Clearly, the goblins did not like dealing with complaints.

"So, as I wrote to you, Mr Potter, we have repaired the damage at the Lestrange's expense; the dark object is gone, so the Ministry can't get upset about it being there; and the dragon is free, and can remain so as far as I am concerned. A happy conclusion, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yes, I guess," Harry replied, rather mystified that the goblin seemed to want his opinion. And then a thought occurred to him.

"Er, excuse me, sir, but who owns the Lestrange Vault now? As you said, the family is in no position to claim it."

Primak grinned. He was ecstatic that a wizard had called him 'sir' – they were never so polite – and even more so that Harry had grasped the heart of the matter.

"Well, Mr Potter, as you may be aware, the Lestranges were all Death Eaters; so under the Lordship of the self-styled Lord Voldemort. As such, if the line failed, its assets would revert to him."

"But Voldemort is dead!" Ron exclaimed.

"And killed by …" Primak replied, hesitating to see who would get the point.

"Harry," Hermione replied mechanically. "So what?"

"So Voldemort was a lord," Raredd answered.

"But that was just a title he gave himself, surely?" Harry said. "He spelt it out for me – I AM LORD VOLDEMORT is an anagram of his real name, TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE."

"Perhaps," said Primak. "But he did come to see us about titles. As the only surviving member of the Gaunt family, he was entitled to the style of Lord; he chose to continue to use his adopted surname, which we decided to ignore. For a consideration. In formalising his position, he adopted some of the older Articles of Lordship. You may be interested to peruse them. Particularly the Articles of Inheritance at the end."

As he was saying this, a junior goblin produced a sheaf of papers, which were rapidly copied for each of the magicals in the room.

Harry turned to the section. It gave the legal basis for the reversion that Primak had already spoken of, and he started reading that. But Hermione found the section of most interest first.

"So, should Voldemort lose his life by engaging in a duel, his assets are split equally between the winner and all of Voldemort's descendents, if any?"

The goblins all nodded; the inheritance laws were well known to them, as was the conclusion that Hermione reached, as the sickle dropped.

"So the Lestrange vault is Harry's?"

"Exactly!" the goblin replied. "And the title Lord Gaunt. Together with a number of other estates and lordships."

"Er, well I don't think I really need any more money," Harry began, but the goblin stopped him with a look.

"It's not just money, Mr Potter," Primak said. "There are a number of other artefacts of great interest in the vault, together with books, rare potions ingredients, and other sundry items of value."

Draco put his hand on Harry's knee to tell him to shut up. "Exactly what?" he asked.

"Ah yes, Mr Malfoy, you would ask that," Primak said, mostly to himself. A younger goblin handed him a very thick file of papers, which Primak passed over to Harry without further comment.

Harry opened the file. On top was a summary of the major assets of all the accounts he could claim, beginning with the Potter and Black vaults, then the Lestrange account, then the various other Death Eater accounts that he could claim by right of their holder being dead or in Azkaban for life.

Harry closed the file, deep in thought. It occurred to him that the goblins might be insulted by any refusal; and if he accepted the Lestrange accounts, he could accept and thereby legitimise their actions in removing money from them.

"Very well," he said, adopting the rather legal formalisms that his Muggle research had thrown up, "I accept the Lestrange vaults for now, and sanction your actions with regard to your expenses incurred. As for the others, I think we should discuss these accounts in detail later. May I keep this file until then?"

"Yes, yes," Primak replied. "Whenever is convenient. Raredd can go through them with you."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely as he shrank the papers and placed them in his pocket. The other goblins looked shocked; apparently, taking such summaries of accounts out of the bank and being offered the services of such an important goblin were not routine events.

"Now that that matter is resolved for the moment," Primak said decisively, getting everyone's attention, "we can continue. Would Miss Hermione Granger, Mr Harry Potter, and Mr Ronald Weasley please stand."

The three did so, rather mystified; the goblins all looked rather expectant, and Harry wasn't entirely sure that this was a good thing. But Primak did not give them time to worry.

"You three have broken into a Gringotts vault not your own, faced off against a live dragon, haltered it, and ridden on it, breaking out of Gringotts in the process."

Harry did not like the sound of the way this was going. Surely they'd just dealt with all of this? But Primak had not finished

"And you did these things under attack from bank staff, and while attempting to escape from bank custody."

And then Primak broke into one of his very-much-less-than-reassuring smiles.

"Do you have any idea how jealous we all are of you?"

The three magicals looked at one another, stunned.

"Um, no," Ron replied rather tentatively.

There was a small, awkward, silence, broken by a goblin entering the room.

"All is ready, Master Primak," she said.

"Very good Hardstaff!" said Primak, and then turned to the guests. "Come," he said, and led them all out of a door that was hidden in a little alcove.

* * *

After walking down a small corridor, they came out into a large room. They found themselves standing on a balcony that run along one side of the room, the main part of which was about six feet below them. In front of them was a sea of goblin faces. They had been chatting animatedly as the party arrived; but the wizards and witches were amazed to see how, the moment Primak entered the room, every goblin fell silent and looked up at him.

"Greetings fellow goblins! I present to you Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley.

"You are all well aware of the effrontery that these three have shown in breaking into Gringotts and stealing a valuable magical artefact. An artefact that should never have been stored at Gringotts, under the contracts of our provision of vaults. And you may have heard that this artefact was a horcrux created by the one we style 'Poletotsmurt'. They have destroyed the horcrux, and together rid the Goblin nation and the Wizarding world of perhaps its greatest foe.

"We, the Goblin nation, stand ready to recognise such bravery. You all know, though our guests do not, that every goblin who manages to tame, and ride, a wild dragon is awarded the extra name Drakonezdach; or, as wizards would say, Dragonrider. The Goblin Council has decided that, as these three rode a dragon on Goblin soil, and in recognition of their efforts on all our behalves, we confer this honour upon them as well."

At these words, the silence of the hall was broken by loud and excited cheering. It was so sudden that Ron flinched slightly at the sound; Harry steadied his friend, but it seemed that only he had noticed.

"And also we name them Goblinfriend."

Another cheer rose up, louder than the first; but it seemed that Ron was inured now, for all three of them stood firm.

"In token of these names, and the honour they carry, we award our new friends commemorative medallions."

So saying, each of the three magicals was given a small golden medallion on a dark green ribbon. It was almost comical to watch the goblin assistant as she placed one around each of their necks; Ron had to practically kneel before she could reach over his head.

It was the headmistress who spoke first when this ceremony was complete.

"Master Primak, goblins, wizards, Hermione" she said, acknowledging all the people in the room, "this is a momentous day. I'm sure that the three recipients won't quite understand that this action is, to the best of my belief, unprecedented."

Primak nodded. "Indeed. This is a Goblin ritual that we have never shared before."

"Then we are very honoured by your kind gifts," Hermione said, with a small curtsey; and with a little jostling from her, the two boys murmured something similar with a bow.

"There is no need for gratitude, Hermione Dragonrider Goblinfriend," Primak replied. "But such as you offer, I accept."

"There may be no need for gratitude," McGonagall replied, "but I hope there is room for a similar action on our part."

At these words, all of the goblins fastened their beady eyes on the headmistress, who calmly hefted a large tartan bag onto her lap. Their eyes grew round in shock – and greed – when from it she withdrew a single object.

A sword.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you what this is," she said. "Here is one of the treasures of Hogwarts: the Sword of Gryffindor. I understand, though it is not exactly common knowledge, that Mr Potter gave it to Griphook as the price of admission to your vaults. We can argue whether that means that his visit was in fact sanctioned by the goblins or not. But that is not my reason for bringing it here."

"And just why have you brought it here?" Primak asked, licking his lips, which seemed all of a sudden to have become very dry.

McGonagall stood up and held the sword out in horizontally front of her. It shone in the lights of the room, and Harry could see that every goblin's eyes were fastened upon it unblinking. "I understand that you goblins have different views on ownership than we wizards and witches do. A fact that has caused a great deal of friction between us. Therefore, in the spirit of a peace offering, I have brought this sword back into Gringotts, where you believe it belongs."

There were sharp intakes of breath from the wizards and witch behind her.

"No you can't!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Evidently I can, Miss Granger Dragonslayer Goblinfriend; and I am. As for whether I have the right to, as I said I understand that Mr Potter gave it to Griphook. If he had any right to do so, then as Headmistress of Hogwarts I must be considered to have more.

"Since the sword returned to Hogwarts via the Sorting Hat when it was needed, I think we can be confident it will do so again should Hogwarts have need of it. Apart from such times, Master Primak, it is my wish that the sword be displayed here. Rather than be shut up in Hogwarts, where no-one can see it, but you goblins feel robbed, I ask that this sword be displayed openly in the lobby of this bank, so that everyone who enters the bank will see it and know it as a symbol that the Wizarding world and the Goblin nation can work together and have shared treasures without petty jealousies."

Primak looked at her keenly, and then walked up to her. It should have looked ridiculous; McGonagall was a good two feet taller than the goblin. But somehow, whether through age or office, the goblin radiated a dignity that made it impossible to laugh.

"Madam McGonagall," he said slowly, "I am deeply moved by this action. On behalf of the Goblin nation, I accept this treasure and this charge to display it. And for this action, I name you Goblinfriend also."

McGonagall inclined her head in acceptance of this offer.

And with that, it seemed that the ceremony was done; the Head Goblin simply walked out, and his guests, having nothing better to do, followed him. As they re-entered his office, Raredd came over to them.

"Come," he said, "and I will show you the map."

* * *

Harry found he liked Raredd's office a lot more than he had Primak's. For a start, it was much lighter; there was no paneling, and the walls were painted a light blue. But more than that, there was no ostentation. The room was filled with tables, and the tables had scrolls and books all over them. There were four or five goblins working at the tables, clearly joking with one another. It was a huge mess. But while Primak's office was mostly for show and imposing customers, Raredd's was clearly a place where people did real work.

Hermione's eyes went round as they entered, and Harry and Ron each had to stifle a guffaw. They could see at a glance that she would have given her eye teeth to read just one of the scrolls.

"Mr Weasley," Raredd said, and both Ron and Bill's heads snapped round. "Mr William Weasley, I mean, not Mr Ronald Weasley Dragonrider Goblinfriend. Mr Weasley, please bring our guests over here."

Bill led them over to a large table. On the table was laid out a large parchment, held down at each corner by precious stone. McGonagall chuckled, and when the others looked at her quizzically, she said, "trust the goblins to use diamonds and rubies worth a king's ransom for paperweights!"

Raredd opened his mouth as though to give a smart reply, but Harry forestalled him.

"So, this is the map Bill and Igor Karkaroff made in Egypt?" he asked.

"Yes," Raredd replied shortly. "Now, as Mr Weasley made the map, I'm sure he can tell you more about it than I can; I will return to my own desk. Once you have finished here, I will answer any further questions." And so saying, the goblin left a rather surprised Bill Weasley to it.

"Wow," Bill said softly. "This is quite an honour; normally Raredd won't let any stranger, not even another goblin, look at anything in here without being watched like a hawk. Right, well, yes, this is the Map of the Worlds. Here you can see the spheres clearly;" and so saying, he went out to point out each of the spheres in turn. For the benefit of those who were not there when he had discussed the map at the Burrow, he explained each sphere in some detail. Naturally, there was not much to be said about the Sphere of Tangible Presence, but Hermione wanted to know exactly the difference between the next two, the Sphere of Intangible Presence and the Sphere of Intangible Extension. Here Bill was able to explain further; Harry gathered that the goblins had done quite a lot of research since Bill had told them about it in June. It seemed that a soul generally moved from Intangible Presence to Intangible Extension once everyone who knew them was dead; though there were ways to expedite the process. As Bill continued, it became clear that a lot of the rituals about the dead were in fact concerned primarily with moving a soul from Presence to Extension.

"You've certainly learned a lot about these two spheres since we spoke," Harry said. "Do you know any more about the Sphere of Intangible Absence?"

"Nope," Bill replied. "We have found a couple more papyri, but they still mostly suggest that the Egyptians believed that people leave the Sphere of Intangible Extension and proceed out of this stage of being into another one. What that other one is is anyone's guess."

"OK," said Hermione, obviously rather miffed not to have a better explanation, but evidently accepting that it was because of lack of knowledge, rather than people fobbing her off as a 'mere student'. "And Harry was on this map?"

"Yes, here," Harry said, pointing to a faint triangle on the map. As he leant over, his finger actually touched the map.

And then it happened.

Just as when Karkaroff had spelled the parchment, the design leapt off the page into three dimensions. Harry recognised the yellowish transparent concentric spheres that Bill had described. His finger seemed to have moved with the display, so he was still pointing at the triangle that they knew represented him. The green, red, and silver designs, woven together, were clearly visible. Harry followed the design out with his finger, crossing into the Sphere of Intangible Presence. As he did so, it felt as if room suddenly became crowded with people; it was strange, because while there was a definite feeling, he couldn't see anyone.

And then there came a white mist, just like the one he had seen when he saw Dumbledore at the King's Cross Station in his mind; and out of the mist came the two people he most wanted to see in all the worlds.

"Mum! Dad!" he all but shouted.

"Son!" he heard, but said oh so softly, hardly more than the stirring of air. And he felt them around him, hugging him, but it was less than a touch, and he knew he was feeling with senses that do not belong to mortals in any normal way.

He had so many questions to ask, so many things to say; but in that moment, he had no words. Somehow, all of his doubts and fears melted away. Without any explanations, without any words at all, he knew that his parents loved him, and were proud of him, and accepted Draco.

And then the moment was gone and his parents faded. His finger had kept moving all the while, and now was in the Sphere of Intangible Extension. He continued on; a moment later, his finger touched a black kite-shaped object that was inside the triangle that evidently represented him.

"It's Voldemort," he said. There was no doubt about it, no doubt whatever. "Except …"

"Except what, Harry?" Bill asked in a soft whisper. Harry could hear the excitement in his voice warring with a desire to keep quiet lest he disturb Harry's concentration and break the spell.

"No, it's all right. I thought there was something missing, like he's not all there; but it's because he made horcruxes, so of course his soul is splintered."

"But he's really dead?" Banks asked.

"Oh yes," Harry said. As he did so, everyone let out a sigh of relief, and Harry felt strong arms around him, and Draco nuzzled him from behind.

"What was going on when you yelled out about your parents?" he asked.

"Did you not feel it?" Harry asked. The others all shook their heads. "Oh," Harry continued, "when my finger entered the Sphere of Intangible Presence, it felt like there were lots of other people in the room. You all really felt nothing?"

The others shook their heads again.

"It must be because you're special, as the Owner of the Deathly Hallows," Draco said. "It is not because you're a freak, all right?"

Harry smiled. "Got it," he said. "All right, so I felt people, but only actually saw two – mum and dad."

"Wow, Harry!" Hermione said, her eyes alight with inquisitiveness. "What were they like? Did they say anything? Did they touch you?"

"Hermione," Ron said gently, "this is kind of Harry's gig."

"Oh," the witch said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"That's OK, 'Mione," Harry replied. "They're good questions though. I saw them but I didn't really see them somehow. I guess you could say they were ghosts – but not even as visible as Nearly Headless Nick or the rest. I knew who they were, but I couldn't call it seeing, not really. And I felt them hug me, but I couldn't really call it touching. They didn't really say anything; but I knew they were proud of me and happy for me; and I knew," he finished, turning to Draco, "that they accepted you as my husband."

Harry then kissed his fiancé.

"All right you two," Bill said at once. "This is a workplace; we don't really do that stuff here."

"In that case," Draco said, "it's time we went somewhere else."

* * *

They were taken into a side room for privacy and had a further interview with Raredd. The goblin had not, in fact, done any work at all; as soon as Harry had activated the map, he had felt the magic, and watched the scene with rapt attention. Harry gathered, from the very rapid and excited conversation that Raredd had with Bill, that this was not expected to happen, an impression that Bill confirmed.

"You never cease to amaze, Harry," he said. "What you saw is supposed to be impossible; at least," he continued, his voice becoming thoughtful, "Karkaroff told me when we did the ritual that the _Reperiri_ spell he used was strictly a one-time-only thing. But I guess because you're the Master of Death, it worked for you. Maybe that's why Smetana…" And here Bill trailed off into silence.

"Smetana?" Draco prompted.

"I wonder," Bill said. "Smetana mentioned the map. But only Karkaroff and I know about it."

"Smetana is Karkaroff," Robin said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, a cold edge coming into her voice. She had very little love for the former Durmstrang headmaster; and hearing that he was disguised at Hogwarts while they were busy investigating attacks on students was very suspicious.

"Yes," Robin replied. "I have conducted an interview with him. Don't worry; I'm quite certain he had nothing to do with the attacks on Harry. I suspect that he might have wanted to, at the beginning; but now he has quite a bit of respect for our friend. Anyone who can survive a Flagrante Transfero curse is going to get that from a former Death Eater."

Hermione turned to McGonagall.

"Did you know this, Headmistress?" she asked.

"I did not," said the headmistress, pursing her lips. "I rather think Albus's portrait knew; I'm certain he suspected something."

Ron groaned. "I guess he's still infuriatingly close-lipped then?"

"Quite," said the headmistress. "I shall be having words with him when I return to the Castle. Which I should do presently; the afternoon is all but gone. Is there anything else to discuss, Master Raredd?"

The goblin perked up. Harry half-expected him to be insulted by McGonagall's forthright manner; but he seemed to revel in it. He remembered that goblins liked plain dealing; clearly McGonagall was in tune with them.

Raredd contented himself with explaining that the four Goblinfriends would be welcome to visit Gringotts as guests of honour at any time; he also explained that the honour naturally extended to their spouses, and as such he confirmed that Draco would have the right to the name of Goblinfriend once he and Harry were married. The party then bid farewell, and Raredd offered the use of a Floo connection to McGonagall, an offer which was gratefully accepted.

The rest of the party decided that, since they were in Diagon Alley, they would like to catch up with Fred and George, so decided to make their way to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. When they got to the lobby they found that the Sword of Gryffindor was already there, housed in a display case in the middle of the room.

"Wow," said Ron, going up to it. Here, in the open space, catching the light, it looked magnificent.

"Amazing," said Harry at the same time.

"Gosh," said Hermione, seeing the rubies sparkle. As she looked closely, she could see their reflections in the polished metal. Subconsciously, she counted them: Ron, Harry, herself, Draco, and … Hang on.

"Where's Robin?" she asked.

"Here I am!" he called, as he came through the arch that led on to Raredd's office. "Sorry, just needed a little word with Bill. Right! Let's go shopping!"

* * *

Fred and George were delighted to see them.

"Hey, little brothers," Fred cried, scooping up Ron, Harry and, much to his surprise, Draco into a four-way hug. "What brings you here?"

"Playing truant from school?" George asked, joining in what was now practically a scrum.

"No, no," Robin said, as the others disentangled themselves. "We were invited to Gringotts."

"Wow!" said Fred. "You must tell us all about it."

They went up to the twins' flat, where tea and cakes were produced; to Draco's delight, Molly had been baking, and sent 'her boys' some very delicious lemon tarts, which he and Ron proceeded to eat with gusto while Robin and Hermione explained the afternoon's events, with occasional interjections from Harry

"Blimey," said Fred when they had finished. "You have had a busy day!"

"And how was yours?" Harry asked, mostly to be polite.

"Well, a terrible thing happened before I left Hogwarts this morning," George said, with a very long face.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"We sold out of Transfi-GUM-ation!" Fred said, with a grin.

"An absolute disaster," Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Fred, having looked over to him as he spoke, noticed that they were about to run out of lemon tarts. But of course Draco and Ron were both exercising that particular squeamish politeness that refuses to take the last piece of anything.

"As is this!" he said, swooping over and grabbing the last tart. "We're out of tarts!"

"Oh no!" said George, putting his hand to his forehead in the universal stage gesture of dismay. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Go to dinner at mum's / and cadge some more / **of course** ," they chorused together. "Do you lot want to come?"

"Would Molly mind?" Robin asked.

"Mind?" George replied, looking vaguely scandalised. "She'd be ecstatic!"

* * *

It was a very merry gathering at the Burrow that night. Molly had been overjoyed to have them, and insisted that George invite Neville over as well. Kreacher was called, and asked to fetch Neville, which he did with the usual amount of grumbling which they paid as much notice to as ever; namely, none at all. As an afterthought, when the house-elf returned, Harry asked him to fetch some elf wine from Grimmauld Place, and they all ate and drank rather more than was good for them.

"So, what have you guys been up to today?" Neville asked during the meal. "We missed you in potions."

"I bet Ivanov missed us particularly," said Draco, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Actually, I think he did," Neville replied. "He was moping the entire time. I think he likes having people around who really challenge him. Unlike, say, me."

"Hey!" said George. "Don't put yourself down!"

"That's right," said Fred. "We'll happily do that for you."

When the laughter subsided, Neville asked again, and they told him about their visit to Gringotts and the new titles that three of them had. They did not get a chance to tell about the map; when Molly heard that her boy was now a Dragonrider and Goblinfriend, she erupted into congratulations, and Arthur produced some very special sparkling elf wine of his own and insisted on a toast for the three of them. When they had all settled down after the toast, Molly produced a magnificent treacle tart in Harry's honour; and Kreacher reappeared with a Spotted Dick 'for Master Draco and Master Ron Weasley' which the others were only too happy to help him demolish.

Fred and George had brought some of their party hats. Molly hadn't seen them before and was most amused when she put hers on to find that her whistle gave an elephant's trumpet, and her hat produced ears that flapped on the side of her head and a trunk that waved around.

"You boys!" she said, in mock complaint, but her eyes were shining in pride at the endless inventiveness that they displayed.

"Yes mum!" they said, in mock repentance. "Oh, mum, got any more lemon tarts?"

"What happened to the last batch?" she asked.

"We had visitors," Fred replied, indicating the assembled company, particularly Draco and Ron.

"Draco!" she said happily, "you like my tarts?"

"Very much so, thank you, they were delicious," the blond replied.

"Well," said Molly with a smile, "you're in luck; I baked some more."

She waved her wand, and three boxes filled themselves with lemon tarts and came to rest in front of Fred and George, Ron, and Draco.

"Oh!" said Draco, moved by the open generosity, "thank you very much! You didn't have to do that!"

"Pish tush," Molly said, "of course I did. It's my pleasure, young man."

After dinner, there was a general move into the front room to play card games that the twins set up. Molly, however, grabbed Draco by the arm before he could go in.

"Draco," she asked, "can I have a word?"

Mystified, he naturally nodded, and she took them into a little alcove off the kitchen that, by the piles of parchment and bottles of ink and quills was clearly reserved for paperwork.

"Next Friday," she began, and Draco racked his brains.

"Next Friday?" he replied.

"Harry's birthday," she said briskly.

Draco's mouth fell open. His head was in quite a whirl: of course next Friday, the 31st of July, was Harry's birthday. Everyone in the Wizarding World knew that. How had it slipped his mind? But Mrs Weasley was still talking, so he closed his mouth and tuned back in.

"Your mother and I are thinking of organising a party here after school finishes for the week. Is there anything he would particularly want, do you think? Anyone we should invite? Here's a list of what we have planned so far."

As she said this, she handed him a large piece of parchment containing rather a lot of names.

"Um – thank you," Draco said, "can I think about this and get back to you?"

"Of course, dear. Now, you'd better go off with the others or they'll wonder what we're up to."

Draco nodded, thanked Mrs Weasley, and went into the front room, finding that Harry had reserved the seat next to him for him.

It was nine o'clock when they broke up. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco returned to Hogwarts; but Robin, after a discreet interval, Flooed to the Ministry instead.

He had another engagement that night.

* * *

Rookwood and Barnes apparated into Devil's Crag. The moment they arrived, they dropped into a crouching position, casting detection charms to make sure that the place was deserted. They found nothing. Satisfied, Barnes started erecting wards to keep prying eyes out, while Rookwood began work on the ritual preparations.

He found the flat rock in the centre of the clearing at the top of the crag without any difficulty; even in the low-level twilight, it was unmistakable. He set up the wood for the cauldron, taking care to arrange the different woods in the order specified by the ritual. He was well aware that there was a school of thought that said this was all meaningless, that any source of heat would do; but it seemed to him that if the ritual bothered to specify what to do, then doing it couldn't possibly hurt. And this ritual was extremely detailed about building the fire.

Once the wood was ready, he set up the iron bar tripod to support the cauldron, half-filled it with fresh water from the hidden spring in the crag, and set it to boil. As it was doing so, he made the other preparations: sowing a circle of salt around the rock to ward off any disruptive magic, washing the required fresh herbs, laying out all the ingredients carefully. The water boiled, and he added the ingredients, carefully stirring after each one was added. The instructions were clear, and detailed; but he found the whole thing quite a palaver.

By eleven o'clock, they had completed their work. The cauldron was simmering and would need nothing more for the next two hours but constant tending of the fire underneath it. This was the only duty that Rookwood was prepared to delegate; so he set Barnes to watch and work, while he went round and checked the wards. He found they were generally good; there were a couple that seemed to have slight imperfections, but he fixed them readily enough.

Half an hour later, it was time to fetch Umbridge. The ritual required that she not see any of the preparations, so she had had to stay behind at Spinner's End until everything was in place. Now that they were ready. She could safely be brought to the circle that he had made. This was another task for Barnes; Rookwood wasn't about to leave the other wizard alone with the cauldron, not since all his careful preparation would be for nothing if the man contaminated anything.

As it didn't make any difference what Umbridge wore, Rookwood had suggested simple black robes would make the most sense. But black simply wasn't Dolores Umbridge's style; she appeared wearing pink robes, in a shade and cut that Rookwood felt should be illegal, it was so tasteless. Still, he didn't need her for her fashion sense.

He sat her on the bench he had found for the purpose, bound her eyes as required by the ritual, and placed Circe's circlet on her head, in preparation. He placed the last ingredient, a stick of sandalwood, in the cauldron; instantly, smoke billowed out, exactly as it was supposed to. As it hit the circlet, the latter glowed bright orange, and Rookwood began to intone the spell.

* * *

The tall, dark, elegant wizard was sitting in his office about to leave for home when the owl came. The envelope had the emergency mark on it, so he opened it immediately. He read the letter. It was not good news.

Umbridge was supposed to have told him the words to unlock the spell. That way, he could get rid of the two accomplices and engineer the perfect moment to bring her memories back. Or find that blasted box that she had secreted away. He had once been grateful to her for the leg-up she was able to give him into the Department of International Magical Co-operation; but now he knew she was a poisonous toad. Gratitude was long gone, now there was only the fact that unless she stopped it, his secrets would become known in a year's time.

But that musing was getting him nowhere. It seemed that Rookwood was smart enough to see that his life probably depended on her not finding out the secret. No matter. He would go to Devil's Crag himself, and find out by the simple trick of eavesdropping.

A quick Tempus showed him that he had time. He could still make his dinner appointment. The ceremony was to be at midnight; he should make it comfortably. But he would be careful about drinking tonight. He would need a clear head.

* * *

He reached the point at which the unlocking phrase was required. It could be anything, really; but it would be best if it were something no-one would ever guess. It was unlikely anyone would think to try the memory unlocking incantation; but if they did, this one phrase needed to be inserted in it. It had to be something no-one would think of.

He thought quickly about Umbridge, about the things he had read. She had taught Potter. _Potter…_ and it came to him.

* * *

The dark man crouched in the undergrowth. Umbridge had been right about the wards, so he had not been detected, and had managed to get close.

He listened.

And in amongst the stream of Latin, he heard the phrase.

His lips curled in a predatory smile. A good choice, he thought. But now it was time to slip away.

Slowly, quietly, Anton Rosier got to his feet, walked carefully outside the wards, and apparated home.

* * *

The three men crouched unseen in a niche hidden behind one of the rocks of the main ritual circle of Devil's Crag. It had been a brilliant idea to ask Bill about it, Robin thought; the man had known all the secrets. Toby Proudfoot had grizzled that bringing him along was a little unorthodox; but that was Robin Banks all over. And Toby hadn't really kicked up a fuss.

They, too, heard the words, then slunk away, apparating to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, where Robin would write a report before snatching a few hours sleep and attending Hogwarts later in the morning.

"Thanks, guys, that was brilliant," Bill said. "Let me know if there's anything I can help with."

"There is one thing," Robin replied. "Why would Rookwood have chosen the phrase 'I must not tell lies'?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful betas, Bicky Monster and ruth_lily.
> 
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	60. Returning to a More Positive State of Mind

**60\. Returning to a More Positive State of Mind**

By prior arrangement, the four students Flooed into Flitwick's office from the Burrow. The professor greeted them happily. He had already received a report from McGonagall about the day's events, so he didn't ask any questions; once they had confirmed that they had had a pleasant day, he just waved them off to bed, after suggesting that they might like to spend the weekend at home explaining their new statuses to their parents.

To Draco's great relief, they managed to get to their room without meeting any other students. He really wasn't feeling up to talking to anyone else.

But Harry must have noticed something was amiss. "Strip to your boxers," he said when they got to their room, and his tone of voice brooked no rebuttal.

Draco, bemused, but happy to oblige his lover, did as he was asked.

"Lie on the bed, on your stomach," Harry said, still in a commanding voice.

Draco wasn't too sure about this. A small moment of panic passed through him. In theory he would do anything for Harry, but despite all his rational arguments that the Debt was a fact of life they had to live with, emotionally he was still conflicted about it. Was he ready for Harry to be inside him? Was that where this was going?

But nonetheless, he trusted his fiancé; so he did as he was bid. Harry stripped to his boxers and then retrieved a bottle of oil from their bathroom. He sat on top of Draco and gently rubbed oil on his back. "Relax, Dragon," he said, then started massaging his lover.

"Oh – oh – oooooooooohh …" Draco moaned, as Harry found all the knots in his back. Each one was found, and gently treated, and teased out. Draco found it to be one of the most amazing, tender, loving things anyone had ever done for him, and he was ashamed to think of his previous misgivings. How could he still have any doubts that Harry loved him and would always seek his best?

An hour later, Draco lay still, totally relaxed, and Harry carefully wiped the excess oil off him and covered him up so that he didn't get cold. Draco moved onto his side, and reached his arms up in silent invitation. Harry smiled. How could he resist?

They lay together cuddling, silent, comfortable. Eventually, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"So, what got you so tensed up?" he asked, taking care to keep his voice gentle and non-accusatory.

"First it was the ceremony," Draco answered. "There you three were, Dragonriders, Goblinfriends, and I was just a spectator. I guess I felt a bit jealous; but also, I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was intruding on a private ceremony for you and the goblins. And the McGonagall gave them the sword, and I just felt like I was the loser. I had nothing to give; I was just redundant, unnecessary."

Harry squeezed his lover tight, and shushed him. "Draco," he said, putting all the passion he could muster into his voice, "of course you belong. You always belong right by my side. I need you. I love you."

Draco felt a little embarrassed by this raw display of love and desire; his upbringing told him that Malfoys didn't do overt displays of affection. At the same time, he found himself absolutely loving and accepting the sincerity of his fiancé's declarations. The two thoughts warred in his mind for a while, until he told himself not to be so stupid. Deciding it was no longer time to talk, he captured Harry's lips in a long, slow kiss that so easily, so naturally, moved on to other sensual pleasures.

When they slept, they both slept very soundly that night.

_Friday 24 July 1998_

Harry and Draco were practically mobbed when they walked in to breakfast.

"The third Dragonrider Goblinfriend awakes!" Madame Dubois cried out.

"I see Hermione and Ron have been talking," Harry said as he took a seat next to Seamus and started helping himself to sausage and eggs. "Or was it Neville?"

"Neville isn't here yet, mate," Seamus replied, while Ron blushed bright red.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said. "They kept badgering me to tell them where we went yesterday and it was easier to tell them."

Harry looked over to see that Hermione was looking daggers at her fiancé. Harry smiled at them both.

"It's OK, Ron, really. Everyone is going to find out sooner or later."

"Can we see your medallion?" Eva Thillin asked.

Ron groaned. "Yeah, I showed them mine, and they made Hermione show them hers" he said, in response to the unasked question.

Harry fished his medallion out from under his shirt and let the Beauxbatons girls admire it. As they were 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing over the disc, Theo and Pansy walked into the Great Hall, with Neville following them. As they sat down, Blaise turned to the Slytherins.

"Did you have a good night?" he asked.

"Wait," Ron said, "Theo slept in the castle last night?"

"Well officially, he rooms with me," Neville replied.

"Oh, so what's he like as a room-mate?" Millicent asked Theo, who blushed.

"I wouldn't know," he mumbled.

"I wasn't here last night," Neville said cheerily. "Got a better offer."

"Oh!" said one of the Beauxbatons girls. "You must tell us all about it!"

"Please!" Neville replied with a wink. "I'm a very happily married man."

"Too much information," said Ron, as he worked out just where Neville had been. No wonder George had been so keen to finish up at the Burrow!

At this point, rather to Ron's relief, the conversation was interrupted by the usual morning flurry of owls arriving with the post. As everyone was busy with the mail, McGonagall wandered over to the table.

"Mr Weasley, I wonder if we could have a word," she said.

"Of course, Headmistress," Ron replied, rather mystified as to what the headmistress would want to talk to him about. "Um, here, or in your office?"

"Oh, I think we will be more comfortable in my office," she replied with a smile. "If you would follow me?"

* * *

In Friday morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Ionescu still had the visiting students to test for their Occlumency prowess. Rather than have the rest of the class sit around being bored, he first taught a couple more methods to deal with a Legilimens: one enabled the students to close their minds when they sensed an intrusion, while the other gave them a way to summon outside help if they needed it.

Armed with these two strategies, he taught the basic skill of Legilimency, and invited the students to volunteer themselves as targets for their peers. Naturally, this being dangerous, he had asked the two Aurors to be in attendance, both to audit the lesson for safety concerns and to provide assistance if required.

To Armand's surprise, the Hogwarts students seemed mostly quite happy to volunteer as targets for Legilimency.

"This level of trust," he said, "is quite remarkable. Normally, if I get three or four brave volunteers in a class it is a success, but here practically everyone seems to trust one another."

Harry spoke for them all when he replied, "I guess we all went through a war together, it's kind of knit us together, even if we were on opposing sides."

Armand then paired the class off, and gave them an exercise of five specific types of memories to recall; the idea being that the partner using Legilimens would have to extract them all, while the Occluding partner was to try different strategies out to resist attack, starting with no strategy at all to make sure that their partner was actually able to cast Legilimens.

"Do not be concerned if you cannot use Legilimency or Occlumency," he entreated them. "Many witches and wizards find the Mind Arts very difficult indeed. It is no reflection on you if you cannot perform them; some people are naturally gifted, but many are not. It says nothing about your scholastic abilities."

So saying, he went on to test the Beauxbatons students, or at least the ones who were willing, in their use of the Fortress technique, while the Aurors supervised the class. It turned out that two students were unwilling: neither Eva Thillin nor Marie Thibault wished to have Professor Ionescu use Legilimens on them.

"Of course it's all right," he reassured them when they demurred. "I will not harm you in any way; but if you do not wish me to even attempt, that is your right. I will not push you."

But Madame Dubois would have none of it.

"Now girls, don't be silly," she intoned imperiously. "You have nothing to be afraid of. Professor Ionescu is not going to pry. If you persist in this, he's going to think you have some dark secrets you don't want discovered."

"Please do not pressure them, madam," said Armand, "I will not do anything without the free consent of these young ladies. It would not only be unethical; it would be impolite." And it was clear from his tone that the latter was the worse crime, in his eyes.

"But we cannot disappoint Madame!" Marie said, a note of desperation in her voice.

"There's only about twenty minutes of class time left," Robin chipped in. "How would it be if we dismissed the other students and had a private session with just the two of you?"

This suggestion seemed to placate the two girls, and the rest of the class was rather ecstatic to have twenty minutes free, so a couple of minutes later, Robin and Armand were alone in the room with the two girls, who had asked that even Madame Dubois leave. The chaperone was not pleased about this; but she could hardly insist, given that her other charges were off doing who knew what while these two girls were being supervised by two Hogwarts Professors.

As soon as they were alone, Thibault broke down.

"I cannot keep pretending!" she sobbed. "Mr Auror, let me show you what I mean."

Robin, rather shell-shocked by this outburst, cast Legilimens on the student. And there in front of him, practically pushed into his face, was the image of a tall man wearing a mask that covered his entire head, brandishing a wand at two people who were tied up in front of him. To the side there was a girl crying: Thibault herself.

"You will do what I say," the man said, in an obviously disguised gruff, low voice, "or you will never see your parents again." At this, the three of them disappeared, leaving Thibault sobbing in the corner.

Robin came out of the Legilimens spell visibly shaken.

"Oh Merlin," he whispered. "Do you know who he was?"

"No," Thibault replied.

"So," Robin said gently, "you parents were abducted by some unknown wizard and you were blackmailed into attacking students, is that right?"

"Yes," Thibault replied, through tears, and proceeded to explain exactly how the man had sent her a package containing a candle, to be placed in Hermione Granger's room, and a book of galleons to be used against Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

"But why?" Robin asked himself. "What is he trying to achieve?"

"I think we may have some more pressing matters, Auror Banks," Ionescu said gently, but the use of Robin's Ministry title made the point.

"Yes. Of course. I take it you were threatened with reprisals if you said anything to the Aurors?" he asked Thibault.

"Eet is zo," the girl replied, her accent, generally quite good, lapsing a little in the emotion of the moment. "Pleaze – you will not do anyzing? You will not let 'im know I have told? My parents –" and the poor girl broke down again and Eva Thillin put a comforting arm around her.

"And where do you come in, Miss Thillin?" he asked.

"Oh!" Eva replied. "I am an old friend of Marie's; she asked me to transfigure the candle for 'er, as she iz not zo good at eet. Zen when things were going not-so-good, she asked me to 'elp 'er, to spend time with 'er."

"What reason did she give for wanting the candle transfigured?"

"She said eet was some sort of – I think you say, 'prank'?"

"Yes," said Robin. "I guess you could see it as a prank. But not a particularly funny one. Miss Thibault, obviously this is a very tricky situation. I will have to discuss the matter with my colleagues. Obviously, we will try to find some way of tracking down your parents. In the meantime, please take no action. If he gets in touch with you again, please let us know."

"Zank you," Marie Thibault sniffled, and the two girls went off to their Transfiguration class.

Robin turned to Ionescu, who looked rather pensive.

"What do you think, sir?" he asked.

"Possible," the mind healer replied. "But there's something not quite right. I can't put my finger on it, but something doesn't gel."

"Hmm," Robin said. "Well, if you think of anything it could be, please let me know."

"Of course," the older man replied, and they left the classroom.

* * *

Much to Ron's chagrin, the interrupted conversation from breakfast was started up again at lunchtime.

"So Theo, Neville abandoned you all alone last night?" Seamus asked with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

"Not exactly," Theo replied with a smirk of his own. "Actually, Neville did me quite a good turn just before he left for the Burrow."

"It was only an Engorgio charm," Neville replied diffidently.

Seamus's eyes went wide, his curiosity piqued. But Theo answered before he could get a word in.

"Yes, but I couldn't have cast it, and you did, and we're very grateful."

Seamus couldn't help himself now. "Just what did you enlarge?" he asked Neville; then he turned to Theo. "And what do you mean 'we'?"

"My bed, of course," Theo replied drily. "What else did you have in mind?"

"And," Pansy chipped in, "'we' means two or more people. I thought you had a decent grasp of English?"

Seamus went red, but ploughed on, "I did know that, thanks Parkinson, but I was really wondering who the two - _or more_ \- might be. Apart from Theo, of course."

"Oh I think you'll work it out," Pansy replied with a grin.

"But..." Dean spluttered. "We thought you and Blaise..."

"Pfft," Pansy replied. "Blaise is like my brother. I visit his room to drag his sorry ass out of bed when he needs it. No, once it was clear that Draco was, ah, _unavailable_ , Theo asked me if I was interested..."

"And to my delight, she was," Theo finished, leaning over to give her a peck on the cheek.

At this point the table erupted into noise; half the people there, including all the Beauxbatons students, said "awwww..." while the other half said "ewwww..."

Draco gave Pansy an encouraging grin as she sat back in her chair with a smirk and proceeded to continue her lunch as though nothing had happened.

* * *

She came back to consciousness slowly. Just what had happened last night? Where was she? Who was she?

She cast around groggily, searching for her wand. It was nowhere to be seen.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Ah!" a voice said. "Sleeping Beauty awakes! Sorry, Dolores, but there's no handsome prince to save you!"

 _Dolores._ That was her name. It started coming back to her. She sat bolt upright, and looked around.

She was seated on a low cot in the corner of a sitting room. There was a couch on the far wall, on which two men were sitting, watching her every mood. She did not like them, she knew that.

"Who are you?" she asked. "What have you done to me?"

"Augustus Rookwood and Tombinias Barnes, at your service," the taller, older man said with a bow, pointing first to himself then to the other man; but both the words and the bow were mocking her, she was sure of that. "As for what we have done, why, we have kidnapped you."

"Kidnapped me?"

"Yes. You see, we were all imprisoned in Azkaban and –"

"Azkaban?"

"Yes. The wizarding prison. Please try not to interrupt. We escaped; but we cast the Imperius charm on you, and took you with us, as our hostage for safe conduct. Only it seems you have had a nasty bump on the head, and forgotten a few things."

Dolores lay down again. Her head did feel awful, that was true; perhaps the rest was. She would have to think on it. And work out if there was a way she could escape from these two evil wizards. She closed her eyes, and was soon asleep again.

The two other wizards watched her closely until they were satisfied that she was indeed fast asleep.

"Well, the memory charm appears to be working," Barnes observed.

"She certainly seems to have forgotten what happened," Rookwood agreed. "But it's still fluid until we can seal it at the full moon."

"How long till then?" Barnes asked.

"It's on the eighth of August," Rookwood replied. "So just over two weeks."

 _Great,_ Barnes thought. Only two more weeks dealing with the old witch's whining. It was fine now that she was asleep, of course; but, given how she had just behaved, when she woke up she was obviously going to be even more obnoxious than before. He hadn't thought it was possible; apparently, he had been wrong. It was going to be a severe test of his patience.

And Tombinias Barnes wasn't a patient man at the best of times, never mind when he was shut up in a house with a wizard he wasn't sure he trusted and a witch he was quite sure he didn't trust as far as he could spit a vampire bat.

All in all, he wasn't sure they were all going to survive the next fortnight.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was feeling rather conflicted. He so wanted to talk to Harry about the party, to get his opinions about who should be invited and what he wanted to happen. On the other hand, while she had not exactly sworn him to secrecy, Molly Weasley had taken care to pull him aside and talk to him quietly, and he gathered that she sort of expected it to remain quiet.

As he pondered his predicament, the answer suddenly became clear: he should do exactly what Harry would have done in such a circumstance: talk to Hermione. The only problem, of course, was finding her.

Except that wasn't a problem. It was still early evening; people were still doing homework and other study. And that meant that she would be in the library. Grabbing his own books as a front, he made his way out of the common room in search of the bushy brunette. As he had hoped, he found her at a very private table near the back of the library.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

She looked up at him; her face showed that she was a little surprised, but not in any way hostile, and Draco took heart from this.

"Be my guest," she answered.

Once he had sat down, he decided to grasp the Minotaur by the horns.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"School-related?" she asked.

"No, Harry-related," he replied.

"OK," she said, "can I finish the Transfiguration essay first?"

"Of course," Draco replied, pulling out his own essay. They each worked at their parchments in a peaceful silence. Eventually, Hermione put down her quill and put away her books; Draco, noticing the action, immediately did the same.

"Right, what do you want to talk about?" Hermione asked.

"Harry's birthday," Draco replied, after checking no-one was nearby. "Mrs Weasley has asked me if there's anything in particular that he would want, and given me the guest list to review. But I really don't have any ideas."

"OK," said Hermione, with a brilliant smile. She was glad that Draco's problem was something she could help with, and ecstatic that he had asked for her help. "Have you got the list?"

"Yes, sure," Draco said, pulling it out of his bag.

Hermione perused the guest list first. Draco had already added all the student names that she could think of; he had even, she noticed, added Katie Bell. She struck it out.

"I'm guessing you added Katie as a sort of olive branch?" she asked.

"Yes, something like that," Draco replied. "Too soon?"

"Definitely," Hermione replied. "And she was never really Harry's friend. No, don't torture yourself. But for the rest, I think you've done a great job with the list. Now, the ideas for the party?"

Draco handed her a second sheet of parchment.

Hermione read it through, and was impressed.

"Molly and Narcissa seem to have put a lot of work into this," she said. "I really can't think of anything else to add. In fact, the main thing will be to rein it in, I think; Harry really won't want a huge fuss made of him. Have you got him a present yet?"

"No," Draco replied ruefully. "I really can't think of anything."

"Good," Hermione said, which made Draco bristle a bit. _Good? How was it good?_ But he decided to keep quiet. She obviously had something in mind. "Molly told me about what they're up to, and Ron said something this morning that gave me an idea for you."

Draco was all ears. And as Hermione continued, a big smile blossomed on his face.

"What do you think?" she asked, when she had finished outlining the idea.

"It's perfect," he replied. "I suppose I should owl Molly about it straight away."

He pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing.

* * *

When Draco got back to his dorm room, he found Harry waiting for him.

"You're back!" the raven-haired youth said, rather unnecessarily.

"Yes," Draco replied. "I've been in the Library. Sorry, were you waiting for me?"

"It's OK," Harry replied. "It's just that Robin wanted to talk to us."

"Oh! Well, we should go and see him then."

"Right," Harry said, jumping up. "Er, he did say to keep it quiet so …" and with this Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak.

"Skulking through Hogwarts again, Potter?" Draco said with a grin.

"Absolutely, Malfoy," Harry replied, equally cheerfully, as he covered them both with the cloak.

* * *

"Come in!" Robin called.

The door opened, then seemed to close again of its own accord. A moment later, Harry and Draco appeared.

"That's some pretty impressive magic," Robin said appreciatively.

"Invisibility cloak," Harry replied.

"Wow! They're really rare."

"Yeah, I inherited it from my father."

"You – hang on," Robin said, moving from appreciation to amazement, "you have an invisibility cloak that still works that well after twenty years? They normally wear thin after that time!"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied shyly. He really could do without having to talk about the Deathly Hallows again. "Um, you wanted to see us?"

"Oh," Robin said, bringing his mind off the subject of the cloak, with some effort. "Yes. I need to tell you about the interview we had after your Defense class this morning."

"With Marie Thibauld and Eva Thillin?" Draco asked.

"That's right," Robin agreed. "Normally, I would of course keep things confidential, but you need to know what is going on for your own safety."

The Auror then proceeded to explain the confession that had been given, and also Ionescu's reservations.

"The best thing I can suggest is probably to get away from here for the weekend," he finished up. "Whatever the story really is, if they don't know where you are, they can't attack you. Is there somewhere you could stay on no notice?"

"The Manor, perhaps?" Draco replied

"Yeah," Harry said, "but if you don't mind, maybe we could go to Grimmauld Place tonight? I kind of fancy being alone, just the two of us."

"That would be fine," Draco said, trying desperately hard to keep a salacious grin off his face as they bid farewell and donned the invisibility cloak. But, by the look Robin gave him as they left, he hadn't quite succeeded.

_Saturday 25 July 1998_

Taking up Flitwick's suggestion, after checking with Robin that he was happy for them to go off alone, Hermione and Ron Flooed to the Granger's house. Peter and Margaret were delighted to see them, and Miriam practically went ballistic, shrieking with joy. They spent the morning chatting with the parents and playing with the toddler. Margaret and Peter were appropriately amazed when Hermione told them about the goblins' awards and showed off their medallions.

"What is wrong with you people," Margaret said, once the excitement of the moment had worn off.

"How do you mean, Margaret?" Ron asked.

"You two and Harry were the team that practically saved the whole of Wizarding's necks, right?" Margaret asked, and Ron nodded, while Hermione suddenly got it.

"And it's the goblins who see fit to honour you? And not for killing the enemy, or winning the war, but for going for a joyride on a dragon?"

"Way to kill the mood, mum," Hermione said, but she was smiling as she said it. Her mother was like a Grim with a bone; at root, this was the 'kids sent off to do adults' jobs' thing all over again. "And it wasn't exactly a joyride, we were being chased by goblins shooting spears at us."

"What?" said Peter Granger. "And you went back there? And they said, 'well done'? What is this, one moment you were the evil enemy, the next it's all buddy-buddy?"

Hermione struggled to explain. "It's not really like that, dad. Goblins are warlike creatures. They are brilliant with finance mostly because they're brilliant with security. So, as we managed to defeat their security, they respect us hugely. And they wanted to show us. All right?"

"Hmm. I guess so," Peter replied. He wasn't really convinced; but then, it was very hard to understand the world his daughter moved in. It occurred to him that this must be how immigrant parents feel when their children learn the new country's system quickly and easily, while they never do.

"And I'm sure that the Wizarding world will recognise Harry's actions soon enough, mum," Hermione said. "We're all still recovering. I wouldn't be surprised if they wait till the first anniversary or something like that. That way, we'll be finished schooling, and things will be back to normal, and we'll all be able to feel it's really over and behind us."

"Yeah, there's still plenty of cleaning up going on," Ron continued. "Dad said they're still finding Muggleborn children – like Hermione – who were made orphans, and getting them into foster care; and there are still a couple of Death Eaters on the loose. Which is a point," he said suddenly, closing his eyes and extending his hand out. He made a soft whining noise in the back of his throat; and then they heard a twang, as if from a bowstring.

Ron opened his eyes, and smiled.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"Ministry Wards," Ron replied. "The Ministry has warded this house. No Death Eater is going to get in."

"Doesn't that make us an obvious target?" Peter said, his mind immediately racing to the horrible prospect of being attacked by Wizards against whom he would have no defense.

"Nah," Ron said, "these wards are practically undetectable from outside. But I'll ask Dad about it if you want."

"Thinking of your parents, Ron," Margaret said, "have you told them about your awards?"

"Yeah, we went to the Burrow on Thursday night. Tell you what though, we didn't show them the medallions; nor did we tell them about the map…" said Ron, his voice trailing off as he remembered the rather astonishing events of that afternoon in Raredd's office.

"Map?" Margaret asked sharply. "What map?"

And with that prompt, with much talking over each other and backtracking, Ron and Hermione proceeded to explain the business of the Map of the Worlds to increasingly incredulous parents.

"Well!" Margaret said at last, "I should think they would see your medallions straight away! And you must tell them about the map. Go on, off you go, tell them all about it!"

"Thanks, Mrs Granger," Ron replied, as he gathered a handful of Floo powder. "The Burrow!"

* * *

Harry woke up to find himself alone in bed; _must have overslept_ , he mused. He got up, showered and dressed, and made his way downstairs to find Draco already there, drinking tea and reading the Daily Prophet while Kreacher cooked them bacon and eggs.

"Morning," he said.

Draco raised his head and gave him a brilliant smile.

"I see you got Kreacher over to cook; don't fancy doing it yourself?" he said, jokingly.

"Master Draco is not to be doing cooking," Kreacher said sternly. "Master Draco is not being a house-elf. Master Draco and Master Harry are to sit down and eat."

With that, the house-elf levitated two rather full plates over to the table, together with a large mug of tea for Harry. The latter, a little abashed by the ferocity of Kreacher's announcement, sat at the table and began to eat.

"Anything in the Prophet?" he asked, once the edge of his hunger was dulled.

Draco looked up. "Not much," he said.

"That's good," Harry replied, then expanded as Draco looked puzzled, "any morning the Prophet isn't spouting lies about me is a good morning."

Draco smiled, but it was a sad smile.

"Hey," Harry said, picking up on the sadness. "Don't you go feeling guilty about it, all right? They've published a lot of shit about me, and started a few fires I could have done without; but I don't care any more."

"Even when I fuelled the fire?" Draco answered.

"Even then," said Harry gently, his heart melting to see the raw vulnerability in his fiancé's eyes. He stood up and leaned across the table to give Draco a kiss. "I've forgiven you, Draco. Completely."

Draco did not reply with words; but the shine in his eyes was reply enough for Harry.

* * *

After breakfast, they Flooed to the Manor, where Narcissa was delighted to see them. Lucius, she explained, was out on a couple of errands; the Ministry was running him ragged, it seems.

"It's a bit rich," Draco said. "I know he's supposed to be on probation and under a suspended sentence; but that shouldn't mean he's the Ministry's whipping boy!"

"Hush, Draco," Narcissa said, though her eyes sparkled with delight. "Your father is doing what he loves – hatching schemes. He's happy putting the finishing touches to a legal case being tried next week. Now, was there some special reason for this visit, or did you just come to call?"

"Oh! Yes!" Harry said. "We wanted to tell you about Thursday."

He explained about the invitation from Primak, and the awards that he, Hermione, and Ron had been given. Narcissa, who knew perfectly well how touchy the goblins were about their security, was suitably impressed, especially when Harry produced the medallion.

"That's very exciting, Harry," she said, continuing when he looked rather blank, "having favour from the goblins like that is very rare. Very rare indeed. There's only ever been a handful of wizards given the title of 'Goblinfriend'; for three to have it at the same time is unheard of."

Harry blushed in embarrassment, and looked at his feet. It was all Narcissa could do not to coo at the beautiful innocence of the man.

"You really are a very special man, Harry Potter," she said. "I'm so glad to have you in our family."

"Yes, indeed, mother," Draco replied. "But I think we've embarrassed Harry enough for the moment. How is the garden?"

* * *

Lucius returned from his appointment in time for lunch, which the four had together. Lucius looked very proud when he was told about the new titles Harry had been given.

"We must see about giving you a wizarding title," he said.

"Er, do we have to?" Harry asked. "Just Harry is fine."

Lucius fixed him with a look, which made Harry realise again just how formidable the man was as an opponent.

"We really can't have the Wizarding world being out-done by the goblins, Harry. That would not do. No, I shall have a chat with Kingsley. I take it the Prophet hasn't found out about this?"

"No," Draco said. "Rather strange. I would have thought the goblins would have said something."

"On the contrary," Lucius replied. "Goblins don't care what wizards think, in general. Though perhaps …"

His voice trailed off, and Harry worried to think what he might be plotting. But Narcissa clapped her hands and announced that this was quite enough serious talk for a lovely Saturday afternoon, and asked how classes were going at Hogwarts.

"Well, that's pretty serious, too, Mother," Draco replied, and they explained about the business with Eva Thillin and Marie Thibault.

"Oh dear," Narcissa said. "Well, at least you're away from there for the moment. Harry dear, have you told Molly about your awards?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Though they haven't seen the medallion. But I'm sure Ron and Hermione will show them theirs, so there's no need."

And now he had Narcissa fix him with a stare that, in its own way, was even more terrifying than Lucius's had been.

"Of course you need to. The woman sees you as her son, Harry; so as a dutiful son, you should go and show off your medallion."

And, just as Ron and Hermione had been shooed off by Margaret, so Draco and Harry now found themselves practically pushed through the Floo to the Burrow.

* * *

When Ron and Hermione reached the Burrow, they found Molly and Arthur in the kitchen, poring over some plans that were laid all over the table.

"Oh, hello dears," Molly said, sounding a bit startled. "Harry's not with you, is he?"

"No, mum," Ron answered.

"Thank goodness!" she said.

"Why?" Hermione asked, then saw all the papers on the kitchen table. "What **are** you up to?"

"Harry's birthday surprise," Arthur answered. With a flick of his wand, the papers rolled themselves up then floated over to hide in Molly's little alcove. "Now, how are you two? And are the rumours that reach me from Bill true? You told us about being in Gringotts on Thursday, but there was something about a map?"

"Yep," Ron replied proudly, and went on to retell the story of the map, to suitable 'ooh's and 'aah's from Molly. And then he remembered the medallions, and pulled his out.

"There's something else, mum. We have been given these!"

"Well!" she said when she had inspected his and Hermione's medallion. "You must stay for lunch! Does Harry have one?

Hermione and Ron nodded.

"Well, I suppose Harry is at the Manor, but we must see about the rest of your siblings! And Hermione, we should have your parents too!"

An hour later, a rather large impromptu party sat down to lunch: Bill and Fleur were delighted to come over, the twins gratefully accepted a free meal, bringing both Angelina and Neville with them, and Ginny and Ron made six younger Weasleys, while Peter and Margaret were very pleased to be invited. When they arrived, Miriam looked all around her.

"Teh?" she asked. "Teh?"

They couldn't work out what she was on about until suddenly Hermione grinned. "Teddy. She's looking for Teddy. He's always been here before. Sorry, love, he's not here."

But such was Molly's big heart that she immediately Floocalled Andromeda; and so when Harry and Draco called round, they found fourteen people sitting around the table, with two babies happily lying under Miriam's baby gym and babbling at each other.

"HARRY! DRACO!" Molly yelled as soon as she saw them coming through the Floo, much to George's consternation; he was sitting next to her and in the line from her to the fireplace, so he copped the shriek at full volume.

"Mother!" he cried out. "Do you want that ear to stop working again?"

"Sorry dear," Molly said reflexively, then continued, "Harry, Draco, come and sit down, loves. Ron and Hermione have told us all about the map and Harry, you must show us your medallion. And Draco, how were the tarts?"

Draco grinned. He had been feeling a bit left out: after all, he didn't have a medallion, or a new name. But Molly had noticed, and was clearly making an effort to include him. Or perhaps it was just her, he thought. Maybe she hadn't had to think about him being left out; maybe it was just natural to include him. And then Harry squeezed his leg, and told everyone that Draco would be a Goblinfriend when they were married, and Arthur was talking about how the Ministry needed to get off its bottom and sort something out for the four of them.

Once more he found himself drawn into this family. Once more he felt like he belonged here. It was such a strange, wonderful feeling.

He smiled. A warm, honest smile. Here he was in this tumble-down old house, totally different to the Manor; and it didn't matter a hill of beans. For now, he didn't care about Rookwood, Umbridge and Barnes, nor about the situation at Hogwarts.

Everyone got up, and walked around, and chatted to one another, and Draco found himself drawn into umpire an argument that Fred and Neville were having, while Harry sat and chatted to George about ... Draco couldn't quite hear. But it didn't matter.

For now, he was happy belonging to this weird, disparate group of people.

For now, he could sit here, and be part of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to my wonderful beta Bicky Monster.
> 
>  **Facebook** : In a blatant attempt to steal ideas from you all, I've set up a page called 'AchillesTheGeek', feel free (by which I mean, encouraged) to 'like' it.
> 
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	61. Past Actions Return To Bite or Bless

**61\. Past Actions Return To Bite or Bless**

_Sunday 26 July_

Armand Ionescu and Agnes Touauld lived in a charming house in the village of Autoir in the Midi-Pyrenees in Southern France. There was a small group of witches and wizards there, mostly retired, who were happily integrated into the local population. There was no nonsense about blood status here; they regarded their Muggle neighbours with no ill-feeling at all and happily joined in with village life.

This was, in fact, the secret of a good deal of their privacy. Many people had sought them out over the years; but wizards, particularly British ones, would tend to look for enclaves of magicals, separate from the Muggles, and so pass right over the little village entirely as not being at all the sort of place that a witch and wizard would live.

The two lived a quiet life in a modest cottage. The country folk knew that they had retired 'a good long time ago', as it was reckoned in the village, so they assumed the two must have investments to live off. And Madame Touauld was also often consulted by the women of the village; she had a marvelous gift of healing them and their children, and seemed to be able to provide herbal tonics for almost every ailment. 'Why', the villagers would exclaim, 'your skill is practically magic!' They had no idea that this was literally true.

Very little disturbed their life for twenty years, until Minerva McGonagall had got in touch and asked Agnes to 'have a little look at a dear student of mine'. Since then, they seemed to have been drawn back into the British Wizarding scene; and Armand was finding, to his surprise, that he really enjoyed his return to teaching. But it wasn't particularly enjoyable for either of them when he sat bolt upright in bed at five o'clock on Sunday morning.

"The twin!" he shouted.

"Wha- what?" Agnes said, suddenly awake. "What twin? What are you on about?"

"Sorry, my dear," he replied. "I've just realised what the problem I was having on Friday is."

He had now got her interest. "You've just realised what the **problem** is?" she repeated. "Not what the **solution** is?"

"Just so," he replied. "When I was talking with Auror Banks, I knew there was something wrong with what he was telling me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. And now, I know what was wrong."

Agnes waited. She knew her man; it would do no good to prod him, he would tell her soon enough if he could. So much of what went on inside his head was confidential, so he tended to clam up by default when she tried to pry.

"Yes," he continued musingly. "I shall have to talk with him tomorrow." With that, much to Agnes's annoyance, he settled down and went back to sleep.

_Men!_ she thought. He had always found it easy to go back to sleep, but she found it impossible. Once she was awake, that was it. So she decided she might as well get on with the day, got up, and made herself some coffee.

* * *

_Monday 27 July_

At breakfast in the Great Hall, McGonagall rose to make an announcement.

"When we began teaching, I was asked why classes started on a Friday. I am now able to answer you. It was so that we can give you this Friday off. The Ministry has decreed that from now on, Harry Potter's birthday, the 31st of July, will be a Wizarding holiday. I'm sure you will all wish to join with us in celebrating this event; we will be having a Quidditch match organised by Mr Weasley in the morning, and a special luncheon, after which you are all free to spend the afternoon as you wish."

This announcement was greeted with general cheers; indeed, the only person who did not look particularly pleased about it was the putative guest of honour.

"Cheer up, Harry," Hermione told him. "I'm afraid you're just going to accept that people want to celebrate, and your achievements give them a reason to do so."

Harry gave her a weak smile. She knew it meant that he wasn't happy; but he would put up with it, for her sake, if nothing else. That thought gave her a warm feeling; she accepted that she was still his friend, whatever happened. The green-eyed monster was well and truly dead, and she was determined that it would remain so.

* * *

Robin was sitting in his office at Hogwarts preparing his lesson for Tuesday when he received a Floo call.

"Hello?" he said, then recognised the caller. "Professor Ionescu, how lovely to hear from you. Would you like to step through?"

"I think that would be best, yes," the mind healer replied, and did so.

"Coffee?" Robin asked, knowing that Armand never touched tea.

"Yes, thank you, that would be nice," said Armand. As Robin called for a house-elf and ordered coffee, Armand continued, "I have realised what the problem was on Friday. It was the twin."

"The twin?" Robin asked quizzically. "You mean Danielle Thibault?"

"Just so," Armand replied. "I'm sure you have seen how the two of them are always together. When I assessed Danielle, there was a clear link to her thoughts about her sister in her mind. Identical twins are nearly always like that; they share some sort of mental closeness that fraternal twins and siblings do not. And they are identical twins. But you reported nothing like that when you observed her memory?"

"No," Robin replied slowly, thinking back to the memory. "No, there was nothing at all about the twin. And now that you mention it, it does seem very strange. I mean, where was she when this attack was supposedly happening?"

"Exactly so. I believe the memory is a fake; there was no attack. And that is why she asked you to perform Legilimens and not me; I would have known instantly."

"That makes sense," Robin agreed. "We checked on the parents; the report is that they have gone away on a camping holiday in central Europe somewhere and can't be contacted easily."

"And that is probably quite true," Ionescu replied. "After all, there would be no point in fabricating this memory if the parents were at home to give the lie to it when you called. Can you perhaps send an owl?"

"We have already done so," Robin replied, "we are just waiting for it to return. In the meantime, what do you advise?"

"I think we have to keep the students safe from the two students," Armand replied. "If Marie Thibault is offering you a false memory, either she knows it's a fake and is the perpetrator, or Eva Thillin knows it's a fake and she's the dangerous one."

"We don't have any evidence as to which of them did it," Robin replied cautiously.

"No," agreed Armand. "But it takes some skill to create a false memory. My suspicion is that someone else created it and one of these two applied it. That would account for it being believable in itself, meaning it must have been crafted with some care, but not properly integrated into the twin-feature of Marie Thibault. In other words, made by someone skilled but inserted by someone with less skill."

"I see," Robin said. "And you think the skilled person is not at Hogwarts?"

"Exactly so," Armand said, beaming. "That is why he or she did not insert it themselves."

"All right," Robin agreed. "On that hypothesis, we really only need to worry about the two girls then."

"Yes," Armand said. "Can you not just, what is the expression, 'pick them up'?"

"I'd need quite a bit of proof to do that," Robin said, "and really I don't have any. There's the international issue to think about - as they are from Beauxbatons, the Department of International Magical Co-operation would get involved, and I can't imagine Rosier would be gentle with us if things went wrong."

Armand drew in a sharp breath. "Anton Rosier?" he asked.

"Yes," the Auror replied, somewhat surprised at the vehemence in the old man's voice.

"That man is a snake," Armand warned. "Watch him very carefully. Yes, you don't want him involved at all if you can possibly avoid it. Which leaves catching them red-handed; not a pleasant thought. I do not wish to use school students as bait to catch a homicidal maniac."

Robin let out a hollow chuckle. "I have to agree with you there. Tell you what, for the moment I can set up a tracking spell on them; we'll tell them it's for their own safety – which is true; if their controller found out we knew as much as we do I imagine the girls would be in considerable danger."

"I agree," Armand said. "A very neat little trick, and it should solve the problem, as you say, for the moment. What about long-term?"

"Oh," said Robin, a touch evasively, "there are other avenues we are exploring."

Armand looked at him critically, and then smiled.

"Very well, keep your secrets. Good day, Auror Banks."

"Good day, sir. And thank you for coming in."

Once the healer had left, Robin made a Floo call. This was something that would interest Lucius, he was sure of it. And indeed, the Malfoy patriarch agreed with Robin's assessment, and added a suggestion or two of his own about the particular Tracking charms to use.

"Oh, and one other thing," Lucius said. "Do you think Harry would be available on Wednesday afternoon?"

"I don't know," Robin said. "I imagine he has classes, but I suppose we could ask for him to be released from them. Why?"

"Oh, just something that would be very good for his Muggle Studies project," Lucius replied airily.

Robin knew he was not being told the whole story. But it wasn't really his problem. "I'll ask him and see what he says," he replied.

"Thank you," Lucius said politely. "Please ask him to Floo call me either way."

* * *

It was, Robin thought, rather ironic that it was the Charms class that he had to interrupt to see the two girls in question. He was careful to wait till near the end of class, and say that he 'just wanted to clear up a couple of points from Friday's lesson if I may'. As he left the room, he quietly grabbed Harry, and asked him to come by in half an hour or so, before proceeding with the two Beauxbatons students.

It was only when he got back into his office that he explained what was wanted.

The two girls looked at him with open mouths.

"What?" Thillin eventually exclaimed. "You want us to 'ave tracking spells on us?"

"For your own safety," Robin answered. "That way, if there is any problem, we will be able to confirm it was not you. And you can tell your controller that we are tracking you, if you think that will help."

"I also am not 'appy about zis," Thibault snapped.

"Well, I'm afraid the only real alternative is to take the two of you into protective custody?"

"WHAT?" Thillin exclaimed. "Me as well?"

"I'm afraid so," Robin replied. "If we took just Marie into custody, the risk for you would be enormous. We can't have that."

It took a little more argument, but eventually the two girls accepted the inevitable, and the tracking spells were placed on them.

* * *

Knock, knock.

"Sir?"

Robin gave his student a frosty look. "None of that, we're not in class now."

Harry grinned. "OK, Robin," he replied. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I had a visit from Armand Ionescu this morning. He's worked out what he thought was wrong on Friday. Given that you are intimately involved, I'd like to talk through what he said with you."

Harry nodded, and Robin explained the substance of his earlier conversation.

"After he left, I sought and obtained Ministry approval to put tracking spells on Eva Thillin and Marie Thibault. These have been applied. So I don't expect there to be any trouble for the next little while."

Harry frowned. "That's all very well, but can't you just bring them in? Or have more Aurors here watching?"

"Well, as you may remember, the Ministry suggested extra Aurors just before the break-out," Robin replied, "but there was no plausible way to disguise them, and having them here openly didn't really stop anything did it? It would just up the stakes somewhat, and I think it would bring a stronger attack."

Harry shuddered. "Stronger than the attack on the Quidditch pitch?"

"Yes, I think so," Robin replied. "I'm sorry you were involved in that, of course."

Harry shook his head. "Don't apologise," he replied. "You had no reason to suspect an attack then. And like you said, there were extra Aurors. I know that we can't really stop them if they're determined."

"Thanks," Robin said, flashing a bright smile. "It's good that you understand. Unfortunately, you and Draco are a target, and in the end people who are determined enough will get through the protections. But we still have them; they deter the people who aren't determined enough.

"As for bringing them in, well that is politically impossible without solid proof, I'm afraid. There would be a hell of a diplomatic row. And there's another reason. After dinner on Thursday night I went as an uninvited guest to a little party at Devil's Crag. The three from Spinner's End were there, and performed the first part of a ritual that needs to be completed on the Full Moon. So I would like to wait for that. I'm confident that they will lie low before then; then those three will make their move. We already know who the Ministry contact is, so we expect to be able to get the whole lot together."

"I see," Harry said. "How do you know?"

Robin smiled at him enigmatically. "I'm not going to tell you all my secrets, Harry," he replied.

"Fair enough," Harry said. "And when is the full moon?"

"August the eighth," the Auror replied promptly. He had clearly memorised this date. "So just stay out of trouble for about three weeks and we should be able to wrap it all up."

"I'll try," Harry replied. Though he doubted he could stay out of trouble for three minutes, let alone three weeks. "Is that all, sir?"

Robin gave him another filthy look for the 'sir' but did not comment. "There is one other thing," he said, and relayed Lucius's message.

"Well, I have Charms and Runes, but I'm sure I could ask about being excused," Harry replied, slightly mystified by the request. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and ask Professor Flitwick now."

"Do that," Robin replied encouragingly. "Then you can let Lucius know this evening."

* * *

She was livid. Absolutely livid. That fool of an Auror was going to spoil everything!

She knew enough about Charms to know better than to try to fool the ones he had used. They were very serious tracking charms. He would know any magic she used; and she would not be surprised if magic with hostile intent would fail her.

She had to get a message to the controller. But how? There was no agreed way to get in touch without magic. An owl, perhaps? Risky. Who knew if the owls were tracked, at either end? Her contact had warned her not to use owls except in an emergency. Was this an emergency?

She mused on throughout the Arithmancy lesson, without coming to any final conclusion, other than that this was not at all the return she had expected on her labours. She almost wondered if she should turn herself in to Mr Potter and rat on her accomplice for immunity. After all, he was rich; he could give her the money she so desperately wanted. But she rather thought that she had crossed a line by using the _Transfero_ charm on him, and she would not be forgiven for that.

No, she was stuck with playing out the hand she had.

* * *

_Tuesday 28 July_

Tuesday afternoon's practical Defense class was very interesting, Harry found. Robin Banks brought in some objects that had been confiscated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and placed them around the classroom so that each pair of students had one to examine. Each object had been given a number next to it.

"Each of these items," he said, "has been spelled in some way with Dark Magic. None of them is dangerous, though if you trip the spells the result might be unpleasant. Your task is, in pairs or triples, to work out, using the diagnostics that Bill discussed last week, or any others that you know, exactly what spell or spells is on the object in front of you. Once you have done so, move on to the next object so you can identify more. There are, you will notice, some items on empty desks; if the pair working on the next item has not finished, you are free to pick any empty table you have not visited before. You might find this reference list helpful."

So saying, Robin waved his wand, and a list of the spells Bill had discussed appeared on the blackboard behind him. Hermione's jaw dropped when she saw it; she had taken reasonable notes, she thought, but the layout Robin had given was really beautiful. Each spell had the name, intent, incantation, and wand movement laid out in columns. She immediately started scribbling the table down on a piece of parchment.

"Miss Granger," Robin said, "this is a practical class. You really don't need to take notes."

And with that, he waved his wand again, and a copy of the table appeared on Hermione's parchment.

"Hey! Favouritism!" Pansy cried, half in jest.

"Not at all," Robin replied. "Who else would like a copy?"

Practically everyone put their hand up, and Robin told them to get out a new piece of parchment, then with a single wave of his wand he spelled the table onto it for each of them.

_I love magic,_ Harry thought, as he viewed the table on the parchment in front of him. It was, he thought, practically a work of art; Robin had even contrived to put gilt edging on the layout so it looked like a picture in a frame.

The class went by in a flash after that, as they happily cast spells and argued about what was on each object. Robin was delighted that only one student managed to trip any of the spells on the object, which resulted in her receiving a Stinging Hex. He quickly healed it, before asking if anyone had detected this particular hex. A few hands went up, so Robin pointed out to the rest of the class that they all knew it was there now, so should make a note, which they did.

"Learning isn't just about what you can find out for yourself," he pointed out. "If you can learn from what other people do, you can often save yourself pain. In this case, stinging pain."

* * *

While Harry was busy in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco was occupied at the Burrow.

The plans that Arthur and Molly had been looking at on Saturday were no longer just plans on parchment; a small annex had now been added to the Burrow, covering up a piece of lawn that had always been infested with gnomes and which Molly had never been happy with. Draco wandered through, astonished at the speed of building; it really did pay to be the Deputy Minister of Magic.

Arthur, for his part, was rather apologetic. "As you can see," he said, "we got this done very quickly. I felt really bad about it; there are plenty of people out there who need extensions before we do. But the Minister insisted, and told me to take today off and supervise."

Draco nodded. He could understand Arthur's embarrassment; but he rather agreed with Kingsley. This was going to be a symbol, a message to everyone, and it was high time it was sent.

"Now, what did you want to show me?" he asked.

Arthur led him into one of the new rooms.

Draco looked at the only object in the room.

"Beautiful," he said, as his face lit up. "Yes, I can definitely work with this. Where does it come from?"

"Oh," Molly said, "it belonged to my brother Fabian. Somehow, we just couldn't use it, what with him being killed and all. But that won't be a problem?"

"I'm sure it will be no trouble," Draco assured her.

* * *

_Wednesday 29 July_

McGonagall and Flitwick had sought further information from Lucius about Harry's request to be excused from classes, and, once they had discovered what he was actually proposing, agreed that Harry should go, and gave permission for him to do so. As they didn't want Draco to be at risk, they asked if he could accompany Harry; and Lucius, after a moment's thought, decided that that would be a very good idea indeed.

Accordingly, after lunch on Wednesday, Harry and Draco, with Robin as escort, Flooed to the Manor to meet Lucius, who then took them through to his office in London. Robin was happy to hand the boys over to Lucius as they were going into Muggle London so he was less conspicuous than an Auror detail would have been.

"Sure you won't miss us?" Draco said cheekily. "You'll be bored."

"Sorry, Draco, but I have other things to excite me," Robin said with a wry grin. "And other duties – I have to escort Theodore Nott back to St Mungo's this afternoon. His arm is flaring up again and he needs to go back there for the next few days. So, please try to stay out of trouble, and I'll see you later."

And with that, he Flooed back to Hogwarts, and then the three other men left for London.

"So," Harry said when they got to Lucius's office, "are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Lucius waved them over to some rather comfortable leather sofas and sat with them.

"Of course, you need to know before we go," he replied. "Do you remember Ken Barnett?"

Harry cast his mind back. He knew he had heard the name before. But when? And then it came to him. "He was the barrister you found for me," Harry said. "Thank you for that, by the way, he was very helpful."

"I'm glad," Lucius said, and Harry was rather thrilled to hear the genuine note of pleasure in Lucius's voice. "Now, Mr Barnett has a case this week which we thought you really should see. It involves a corrupt former policeman called Darren Dyson."

At the mention of the name, Harry stiffened. "I think I've heard that name," he said.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Lucius replied. "Mr Dyson was the main source of the information that was used to persuade the magistrate to grant the injunction against you."

Draco looked shocked. "And you want Harry to go and watch his trial?" he almost shrieked. "Father, how could you?"

Harry laid his hand on Draco's knee. "It's all right," he said. "Actually, I'd quite like to go and see. What is he charged with?"

"A variety of offences," Lucius answered, "but the most serious is blackmail. It turns out that Mr Dyson was fond of doing little 'favours' for people and then demanding hush money to stop it getting out."

Draco frowned. "But if it got out, wouldn't he be implicated?"

"No," Lucius said, appreciating his son's quick mind, "he was very careful to do everything through other policemen who would have been implicated. His name wasn't on the documents; but we found evidence that he was definitely there in the background, manipulating people."

"Fine," Harry said, getting rather impatient to be going. "How are we getting there?"

Lucius smiled. His son-in-law's enthusiasm was a refreshing trait. "The trial is at the Central Criminal Court, also known as the Old Bailey, and is a short walk away."

He rose, and opened the door.

"Shall we?"

* * *

Draco was still worried when they entered the public gallery right on two o'clock. How was Harry going to take it? Three hours later he had his answer: Harry had sat stonily silent the whole time, listening intently to every word. The Malfoys were both surprised at this lack of reaction; for, as Lucius had anticipated, they were there for the period when Darren Dyson was being cross-examined, and the matter described as 'the misrepresentation of a certain unnamed under-aged teenager as a criminal' was being discussed. They were, of course, all well aware from the outset that this had to mean Harry, and any doubt was removed when the names 'Tony Collias', 'George Grunnings' and 'Vernon Dursley' came up in cross-examination.

The defense, it seemed, was arguing that the whole thing was in fact a scam; as Harry had vanished, and the Crown had not produced him to give evidence, how, they asked, could this be taken seriously. Lucius and Draco were concerned that Harry would be upset by that. But there was no need; the Crown simply pointed out that there was no legal requirement for Mr Potter to come forward, and invited Mr Dyson to agree that 'sure the jury can understand that these allegations, and these proceedings, would be distressing for a seventeen-year-old to go through'. Harry watched the jury closely as Barnett said this; it was clear to him that he had won their hearts, if not their minds. Good. He didn't care very much about Dyson, beyond seeing justice done; but if the man was found guilty, it was just one more nail in the coffin for Vernon Dursley.

As they rose to leave, Draco scrutinised him for any sign of nerves; but he was amazed to see that his Harry looked stern, implacable, and totally in control of himself. They sat together in the bar that Lucius had met Tony Collias in; Lucius introduced them to the rather nice whisky he had before, and a while later Ken Barnett came in.

"Ah! Mr Potter!" he said, as he sat down while signaling the barman for another round of whisky. "Lucius suggested you might be there today, and I saw you in the gallery. I hope you were not too upset by the evidence today?"

"No," Harry said, his tone light and controlled. "It was fine. Do you think they will find him guilty?"

Barnett frowned at such a direct question. "Hard to say; juries are very fickle. But I would say that I'm pretty sure about this one. I think they didn't like the defense trying to insist that you don't exist."

"Would it help if I turned up?" Harry asked.

Barnett looked at him appraisingly. "It would be irregular," he replied after a pause. "What you saw is the case for the defense; the case for the prosecution is officially over. It's not unheard of to re-open it if a late witness appears, or fresh evidence is discovered; but I would say that I'd rather not get you involved at this late stage, if that's all right. It tends to make the judge grumpy. Also, I suspect that the barrister will close the case first thing tomorrow, and we'll then have closing speeches and send the jury out."

"That's fine," said Harry, amused that Ken had turned it around to avoid hurting his feelings. He guessed that made a good barrister, though. "When would you expect a verdict?"

"Hard to say. It's not impossible that we will get one tomorrow afternoon; I think the case is cut-and-dried, but the jury will do what it wants."

When they had finished their drinks, Lucius suggested a light meal at the Manor, as the boys were too late to dine at Hogwarts; which turned into a very pleasant evening, as Andromeda and Teddy were visiting Narcissa, and Teddy insisted on spending the whole evening sitting happily on his godfather's lap. Eventually the toddler fell fast asleep, and Andromeda was able to prise him gently from Harry's arms and take him home.

"Well, we should probably get back to Hogwarts as well," Harry said.

"Would you like to stay here for the night?" Narcissa asked.

"Thank you," said Harry, "but we have classes tomorrow; and it's Neville's birthday, we wouldn't want to miss that."

Draco's face fell. "But … we haven't got him a present!" he exclaimed.

"Don't worry, Dragon," Harry said. "I believe that's all taken care of."

"Indeed it is, Harry," Narcissa replied, handing him a large box which, judging by the effort it took them both, was quite heavy as well as large.

"Oh!" Draco said. "Is that what you and George were discussing at the Burrow?"

"Yes," said Harry. But he refused to be drawn any further, nor to allow Draco a peek in the box.

* * *

_Thursday 30 July_

Neville stretched as he woke, and felt those two strong arms he loved so much wrap themselves around him.

"Morning, sleepy-head," George's voice teased him.

"Wha-" Neville said, coming awake and sitting up all of a sudden. "Did I oversleep?" he asked, panicking slightly.

"No!" George replied with a laugh, and then kissed his husband all over his face. "Just teasing."

"How unusual," Neville said drily. He wondered if he would ever get used to his husband's sense of humour; in some ways, he rather hoped not. It would be nice to think that George could always surprise him. He lay back down on the bed, and George gave him happy birthday cuddles and kisses.

"Mmm," he said, "I could really get used to this. It was sad that Theo had to go back to St Mungo's; but I'm happy that it meant you could come."

"Me too," George said. He would have liked to stay in bed all day; but he had a shop to run, and Neville had classes to attend. Better get on with the day, he decided.

"Kreacher!" George called, and the house-elf appeared.

"Is Master Blood-Traitor George Weasley and Master Neville Longbottom being ready for their breakfasts?" he asked.

"Yes please!" George said, completely ignoring the insult. He wasn't about to let a little thing like a snarky house-elf ruin the mood of his husband's eighteenth birthday. Kreacher vanished; and a moment later, to Neville's surprise, a tray appeared, with a cloche in the middle, surrounded by pots containing berries, syrup, ice-cream …

"This looks interesting," he said.

"Doesn't it?" said George. He raised the cloche to expose a tower of pancakes, and snagged a couple onto a plate. "What would you like on your pancakes, love?"

Neville's eyebrows were raised at the sight. "What an amazing idea!" he said, as he dipped his finger in the syrup to test that it was, indeed, maple syrup.

"Isn't it?" George agreed. "This is Harry's birthday present, which is why you got to have Kreacher deliver it. You want the syrup?"

Neville nodded, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, and George poured an obscene amount of maple syrup onto the pancakes. Neville reached out to take the fork, but George beat him to it.

"Uh-uh!" he said. "Harry told me we have to do it like this." He cut off a piece of pancake with the fork, speared it, and brought it to Neville's mouth. Neville accepted the treat happily, and rewarded George with moans of delight that made George feel rather glad that his pajamas were loose. He then took up the fork and reciprocated, drooling as a dribble of syrup made its way down George's chin.

They continued feeding each other until Neville let out a moan of disappointment.

"We've run out of pancakes," he griped, "and I'm all sticky now."

"Shower?" George asked, the grin on his face promising that it would involve a lot more than merely washing.

"Damn good idea," Neville agreed, jumping out of bed in eager anticipation.

* * *

Neville adjusted the shower temperature to one that he knew they both liked, while George cast cleansing, stretching and lubrication charms on them, and a silencing charm on the room, adding wards against entry for good measure. Neville handed George the body wash as the red-head entered the shower cubicle. Wordlessly George poured out a generous amount into his left hand, discarding to container off to one side as he rubbed his hands together to coat them liberally. Then, focusing his full attention on his husband, he ran soapy hands slowly and sensuously down his body, teasing Neville's skin with his fingertips.

But Neville decided that he wasn't in the mood for slow and sensuous. He wrapped his arms round George, pressing their chests close together, and clashed lips together with him in a desperate kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into the other's mouth.

"Oh, you want it rough, eh?" George asked when they parted for air, a very Slytherinesque smirk on his lips.

"Fuck yes!" Neville replied, as George's right hand shot down Neville's body and grabbed his penis in a grip so hard it hurt. "Yes! More!" Neville moaned.

"Oh," George replied cockily, "I haven't even begun."

And with no further warning he thrust one finger of his left hand inside his lover. By long practice he was able to find the little bundle of nerves that was Neville's prostate in seconds, and the moans increased in volume dramatically.

"FUCK! YES! OH GODRIC!" Neville shouted in brief pants. He loved this so much. The things George made him feel were simply incredible and he was in danger of coming just from this one finger. "More!" he yelled desperately.

George could hear that his husband was already close to climax so he wasted no time in inserting another finger and then another, grateful for the stretching charm that meant Neville could take them quickly.

"Ready?" he asked, a touch breathless himself.

"I – was – born – ready!" Neville replied, each word coming on its own breath.

George smirked. He loved getting his husband all worked up like this. Especially when Neville wanted it rough. He removed his hand, turned Neville around, and, only waiting just long enough for his husband to brace himself against the wall, thrust his whole length inside in one smooth movement.

"GEORGE! Oh CIRCE! That's FANTASTIC!" Neville screamed.

"Can I move?" George asked.

"Merlin, yes!" Neville replied. And then, as George did so, "oh … Oh Merlin … Oh … Oh …"

George found himself totally turned on by the fact that he had reduced the big brave Gryffindor to a stammering pile of goo, and it was not long before he felt the rush of blood as his orgasm was near.

"Close…" he said, then leaned in to whisper in Neville's ear. "Come for me, love."

Neville closed his eyes and obeyed. He tried not to scream; but the sheer pleasure of the moment and joy of being loved by this incredible man forced their way out of him, and he shrieked George's name as he came forcefully. As he did so, his muscles clamped on his husband's cock, and George found himself tipping over the edge in ecstasy in time with his lover.

George caught Neville as he started to collapse and turned him so they were chest to chest as he eased them gently to the floor of the shower. Water still cascaded over them, but their attention was only for each other as Neville found himself wrapped tight in George's arms and the redhead peppered the blond with kisses.

"Happy birthday, love," he said. Neville, throat too sore for speech yet after the yelling, murmured his appreciation.

* * *

When they got down to the common room a while later, they found all of their friends waiting for them, and were nearly deafened by the shout of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Neville was amazed. It seemed that the whole of the eighth year class was here – even the Durmstrang students, normally a bit stand-offish at any sort of social function, were there, shouting as loud as the rest. He looked around, to find that there was a lot more greenery than the usual ivy on the walls. He let out an 'eep!' of delight when he spotted one ugly-looking plant near the centre of the room.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia!" he shrieked. "How …? Where …?"

Harry chuckled to see the now fearless Gryffindor reduced to speechlessness by the ugly, unprepossessing, cactus-like plant.

"I knew that the one you had before died when the greenhouses were destroyed in the war," Harry answered, "so I asked around, and Narcissa agreed to look after one I was able to buy by owl-order for us. So it's been in the Manor greenhouse for the last few weeks. I hope it's all right?"

Neville looked over it critically, and then turned to his friend, beaming. "It's perfect. Thank you, Harry and Draco, this is amazing."

"Course, Neville," Harry replied, as ever embarrassed to be in the spotlight. "But the rest of the plants here were set up by everyone else. We decided to rename the Common Room the Green Room to celebrate the day for you."

"And I got you this to remind you of the place always," George said, as he snuck behind his husband and slipped his arms around him, revealing a small wrapped box in his hand. Neville took it and opened it. Inside was a silver chain; each link was in the shape of an ivy leaf. Neville put the bracelet around his wrist and smiled as he realised that indeed, the ivy snaked there would serve as a reminder of the ivy on the walls of the Common Room. _The Green Room, now_ , he told himself.

"Right," Ron said. "Now that's done, can we go to breakfast?"

Hermione chuckled. That was her man all over. Yes, he loved Neville like a brother; but nothing had better ever separate a Weasley male from his food …

* * *

It was sickening. Four days that stupid charm had been on. Four days she had not dared to try anything against Malfoy or Potter. Four days without getting word to her controller. And tomorrow was that holiday from classes, and she would be stuck here for three days.

Or would she? Suddenly an idea formed in her head. But she would need cover for it. She gathered together the other two girls. She would need both, she realised; for, while Eva by herself would not excite any interest, anyone seeing Marie without Danielle might ask awkward questions. Happily, they both agreed to her plan.

So it was that at the breakfast table, Madame Dubois found herself besieged by three of her charges, Eva Thillin and the Thibault twins.

"Please, Madame," they asked in their most ingratiating manner, "please may we go to London to see ze sights? Please? We promise to stay together, if only you will let us go!"

Madame Dubois was secretly pleased by the request. It was about time these girls grew up; they were quite tiring to chaperone continuously. But she was still conscientious about the responsibility she had, and not about to see them get into any trouble.

"I will discuss the matter with Monsieur ze Auror Banks," she replied imperiously. "If he can cover you, and we find zome acceptable accommodation, I do not zee why not."

The three girls naturally erupted into cheers, and Madame Dubois looked appropriately severe. "That iz not yet definite," she pointed out to them. "Monsieur ze Auror must agree. I shall ask 'im if 'e can 'elp after breakfast."

"Thank you! Thank you, Madame!" the three twittered in unison.

"All right," she said with a tight smile. "Now, off you go, or you will be late for Arithmancy."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Madame Dubois was enjoying a citrus-peel tisane in Robin Banks's office, and inwardly congratulating herself on how clever she had been. It didn't matter what the Auror said, she would come off well. If he said yes, it would be because of her good offices on her charges' behalf; if no, then he would be the mean ogre, not her.

"Mon dieu!" she said as she sipped it appreciatively. "I think this is the first decent tisane I 'ave 'ad since leaving Paris in August!"

"Thank you, Madame," the Auror replied, giving a very proper little bow at the pretty compliment. "Now, how may I be of service to you?"

Madame Dubois sighed. She could see that this young man was all business; not only that, he had a girlfriend already. Such a shame! His manners were beautiful, he was stunningly handsome, and he was obviously going places in his career; he would be perfect for any of her girls. But, never mind, she thought, and explained the request that the three girls had made at breakfast time.

Robin made a show of thinking about this carefully. But inwardly, he could see exactly what was going on: the charms he had placed made it all but impossible for the Hogwarts spy to contact the controller by any magical means; direct contact was the only way that would not cause suspicion. Should he allow it?

On balance, he decided he would. That way, he would know what was going on, and be able to control it. He would, of course, have to make sure that they had the right Auror as their chaperone; but he rather thought Gawain would fall in with that. He just hoped that wasn't wishful thinking.

"I do not imagine that that will be a problem, Madame," he replied. "I will, of course, have to arrange an Auror to escort them; would you prefer that it be a female Auror?"

Madame Dubois inclined her head slightly in agreement. "That would be wise," she replied.

"Very good. And, with your permission, I would also like to alert the Department of International Magical Co-operation about this, so that they can take any steps they might consider appropriate to ensure the girls' safety and happiness."

"I do not think we should talk to Philip Anofeles," she replied. "I do not 'ave faith in 'im."

Robin smiled. "Neither, it seems, does the Ministry," he replied. "Mr Anofeles is currently on two weeks' leave by order of the Minister; and I understand that he is not expected to be returning to his post."

"And 'oo is in 'is place?" she inquired.

"Anton Rosier."

Madam Dubois lady pondered this information for a few moments. Anton Rosier? Yes, she remembered him. Good manners, good breeding; yes, it would be good for her girls to meet him, she decided.

"It eez a good idea, that," she agreed.

"Very good. I will aim to let you know by lunchtime."

"Zank you," she replied, putting down her now empty cup and standing to leave. Robin naturally stood with her, they kissed and she took her departure.

Robin sat back in the rather comfortable dragon-hide chair that he had inherited from his predecessors as the Defense Professor and interlaced his fingers. Yes, this could work quite well, he thought. The Auror would have to be chosen carefully; he needed someone he could trust. There was one name he recalled: Harry had spoken of Glinda Dalben-Chun. Robin did not know her personally, but Harry had spoken of her as trustworthy and it seemed that Kingsley had trusted her to return Harry to the Burrow from the Manor long ago; she might be worth pursuing.

He put through a Floo call to Gawain Robards. The man looked, as he always seemed to, rather frazzled.

"Auror Banks?" he snapped. "Something else gone wrong?"

Robin bit back the sharp reply that formed itself in his head. He had learnt long ago that he got much better results by ignoring such jibes.

"No sir," he replied non-committally. "But I have had a request that would require an Auror." He went on to explain the request that the three girls had made, ending by saying, "I would request Glinda Dalben-Chun, if she is available; and I'm sure that Mr Rosier would welcome the opportunity to chat with the girls, make sure all is well, that sort of thing."

Gawain's eyes twinkled. He had put a lot of trust in this young man, and he could see that it was paying off. He had always had his own suspicions about Rosier; and here was a chance to find out exactly what he was up to, he was sure of it. Banks wasn't suggesting this for no reason.

"Yes," he said, consulting the duty roster, "yes, Glinda could be made available, and I'm sure showing three young ladies the delights of Diagon Alley and Muggle London will seem a much more pleasant idea than the observation detail I had her down for. All right, I'll sort out accommodation at the Leaky Cauldron for them. Would you like me to square it with Rosier?"

"Please, sir," Robin replied, delighted that things seemed to be meshing together.

"However," the senior man said, his face suddenly more severe, "I am giving you a lot of latitude here, Auror Banks. I think it's about time you gave me a full account of your actions."

"Y-yes sir," Robin replied, rather in awe of the sheer authority that the man projected. That he could do so through a flickering green Floo image was truly impressive. "Ah – for a full account, I would have to warn Mr Malfoy."

"True," the Head Auror replied. "In fact, let's have a round table conference. You, me, Lucius, the Minister. Probably the Deputy Minister as he seems to be involved in anything to do with Hogwarts. Anyone else?"

"Perhaps Mr Potter? And Mr Draco Malfoy?"

Robards considered this for a moment. "Ye-es," he said, a touch reluctantly. "I suppose Mr Potter is involved rather deeply; and, perforce, Draco Malfoy. All right. Anyone else you trust?"

"It might be useful to hear from Auror Dalben-Chun at the same time," Robin replied.

"Good point. All right. In that case, we'd better have her return the girls to Hogwarts say Sunday lunchtime and arrange the meeting for some time in the afternoon. I take it you'd like to stay clear of the Ministry?"

"Yes, sir," Robin replied. "I'm sure between us we can find an alternative venue."

"All right. You take care of that, I'll take care of the other. Oh, and Banks?"

"Yes sir?"

"Good work, so far. I have been relaying your progress to the Minister, and on the whole he's quite pleased. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir," Robin said.

He signed off, and made Floo calls to alert Lucius and then Arthur Weasley to what was up. They came to an agreement to have the meeting at Malfoy Manor at three o'clock on Sunday.

Robin sat back and finished his coffee. This was going to be an interesting few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Neville's birthday. Next chapter is, of course, Harry's; though an old –ahem- friend will make a reappearance first.
> 
> **Grateful thanks** as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Many thanks to kax, lets_shine_forever, diddleymaz, Saheed and DeiStarr for commenting. I hope this chapter was less draggy! And that DeiStarr found some more things to love! ;^)


	62. The Point of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here we get to find out what happened to a certain uncle; and Draco sorts out his feelings about the Debt._   
>  _Warning for lemon at the end._

**62\. The Point of No Return**

Vernon Dursley woke up feeling rather groggy, but otherwise generally all right. It actually came a bit of a shock; after his outburst, he had been led away into a rather uncomfortable stone room in what were obviously the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. His captor had then ignored him entirely, except that at one point one of those horrid house-elves had given him bread and water. At first he had left it alone; he didn't put it past them to poison him. But eventually he had felt so hungry that he had braved it, and eaten a few crumbs of bread and some sips of water. As he had eventually drifted asleep, he had wondered if he would ever see another dawn.

But here he was. Not that he had any idea where 'here' was, and to be honest, he wasn't particularly anxious to find out. But whatever he was lying on was certainly not the cold, hard stone he had fallen asleep on. He felt around gingerly, not quite game to open his eyes just yet. To his very great surprise, nothing hurt; he was bruised, yes, but his bones didn't appear to be broken, and he couldn't feel any blood. By touch he could tell that he was lying on a narrow cot. It wasn't the nicest bed Vernon Dursley had ever lain on, but it wasn't particularly uncomfortable.

He decided he had to risk it, and opened his eyes. What he saw surprised him. It was a rather pleasant room. Small, yes, and not particularly well-furnished; but it was warm and clean and pleasing to the eye. Given that he had been expecting to find himself shackled to a bed in a dungeon of some sort, it wasn't bad at all.

He stood up and stretched. He found he was still wearing the clothes he had left Privet Drive in the day before; though as soon as he thought that he realised that he really had no idea what day it was. He had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious; it could have been yesterday, or a week ago, that he stood in that parlor and heard the freak say "I never want to see him again". The words, and the icy tone of disdain, played through his mind. He had expected them to be the last thing he ever heard; but apparently Malloy, or Malfoy, or whatever he called himself, had other ideas.

He wondered just exactly what he had let himself in for. And exactly how much he was going to regret finding out.

-#-

"Ah! Mr Dursley! You are awake at last!" an altogether too cheerful voice said.

He turned to see a tall, thin, grey man, with pale blue eyes, standing in the doorway.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "My name is Johann Ries, and I am the Director in charge of this orphanage."

Vernon snorted. "Orphanage? What orphanage?"

The other man looked at him quizzically. "Really? Did Mr Malfoy not explain?"

"He told me nothing," Vernon replied. "All I know is …"

"Oh dear," the other man exclaimed, cutting Vernon off in a way that made it clear that he wasn't interested in anything he could tell him. "You'd better come to my office I suppose."

With that, the man turned sharply and, without any other word or sign, walked swiftly down the corridor. Vernon gaped; but realised immediately that the man expected him to follow him; and really there was nothing else to do.

-#-

It came as something of a surprise to Vernon that Mr Ries's office was furnished in the same style as his room had been. Just what was going on? Surely he was going to be punished; he couldn't imagine Malfoy treating him nicely, not with how cosy he and his family had been to the freak…

No sooner was the word in his head than a sharp pain seared through his head. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that he yelped in pain and stumbled to his knees. He looked at Ries, to find a stern, disapproving look on his face.

"Mr Dursley, I will explain things to you presently, but it is quite clear to me that I must begin by telling you not to think ill of your nephew ever again. What you have just felt is a small fraction of the pain that awaits you if you continue to do so. In particular, I must strongly suggest that you do not ever again us the word 'freak' to describe him, even in your thoughts. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Vernon said, gasping for breath.

"Good," the man said, a rather nasty smile playing on his face. He was secretly pleased that Vernon had called him 'sir'; apparently he had begun to grasp the severity of his position. Good. "Now, please, do sit down."

He pointed to a rather uncomfortable looking chair across from his desk; Vernon got up from his knees, with some difficulty, and sat in it. The chair was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. Ries, meanwhile, sat behind his desk, placing his elbows on it and steepling his fingers.

"This place, Mr Dursley, is an orphanage. Originally it was set up by the Muggle, that is to say, the non-Magical, world; we have taken it over."

"By 'we' you mean?" Vernon asked.

"The Ministry of Magic; though the finance came from Mr Malfoy, of course. There are very many young wizards whose parents were killed during the Magical War that your nephew ended; this property has been obtained in order to house them and train them, away from the prying eyes of the Muggle world."

"My nephew ended a war?" Vernon asked.

"You really don't pay attention, do you, Mr Dursley? Yes, there was a war; the main protagonist being a nasty bit of work who called himself Lord Voldemort."

As he said this, he touched a globe on his desk, and a three-dimensional image appeared over the blotter on his desk. An image of a man dressed in black, his face whiter than a skull, his eyes an impossibly livid scarlet, his nose as flat as a snake's snout with slits for nostrils. Vernon shuddered. His nephew had fought this man? And won?

"Voldemort it was who killed your brother- and sister-in-law, and gave young Harry the scar he bears. He also attacked him when he was eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and during this last year, until they dueled finally in May, and Harry killed him. So you see, your nephew, whom you despise, is a remarkably powerful young man. And, frankly, most of the Wizarding world would do anything for him."

Ries could see something like comprehension dawning on the other man's face. A little legilimens showed him that the man had never taken his nephew seriously; but he was beginning to. Too late! The die was cast, now.

"So, anyway, as to your situation here. This orphanage will house magical children who know something of the Muggle world; some of them know nothing of the Magical world at all. So we will be introducing them to magic rather gradually and carefully; and it was decided that as part of that, we would have a Muggle caretaker and grounds man. This rather echoes the situation at Hogwarts, the school they will be attending the September after they turn eleven, where the caretaker is a squib."

"A what?" Vernon asked.

"A squib. A non-magical child of magical parents."

"And that works well?" Vernon asked. He couldn't imagine how a squib would feel about working in a magical school; it sounded cruel.

"Yes," the man said, with a smirk. "Well, perhaps not so well for the squib. But then, he is there of his own free will. His wife died in childbirth and he applied for the post initially so he could be near his magical son. Unfortunately, the son was killed in the First Magical War, which is the one in which your nephew got his famous scar. And then the squib decided there was really no point in going anywhere else, and stayed on.

"But your case is a little different. You see, Mr Dursley, you really have no choice. Oh, you could go back to the Muggle world, where you would be tried for child abuse; and, I assure you, you would be found guilty, and go to jail for a very long time, and not one minute of it would be pleasant. But really, you made that choice when you said you wanted Mr Potter's protection. So let's not beat around the bush, or pretend that things could ever be different for you. This is your new home, Dursley. This is where you live; and you will do what I tell you to."

"Or?" Vernon asked, with a last shred of defiance.

The other just stared at him, then smirked.

"There is no 'or'," he replied. "Follow me, and I will introduce you to our charges, and your duties."

"Wait," Vernon said, "what about Petunia?"

"She is being accommodated elsewhere," Ries replied. "Now, come."

-#-

The rest of the day had passed in a blur. He met the fifteen children who were already in the orphanage, and was told that more were being found and arriving every day. He privately thought that they all looked like delinquents; and the way they looked at him certainly didn't hold out any friendliness. But he was an adult, they were children, he would make it clear who was boss soon enough.

He was shown the cupboard that housed all the cleaning supplies, and told to set to with them; he spent a couple of hours cleaning floors and scrubbing walls, after which he was exhausted, and decided to go to his room for a lie-down.

And that's when everything went to pot. The children swarmed round him; and when he told them to get out of his way, they just laughed at him and dragged him off course.

"Children!" a voice called, one he had not heard before. But it was an adult voice, and a potential ally. "Dinnertime!"

They ran off immediately, and it occurred to Vernon that the Director hadn't said anything about meals; so he followed them, to find a large dining room, where the children were being fed a meal that made his mouth water: corned beef with mashed potato, and cabbage, and steamed green beans, and onion sauce; and the delectable smell of a caramel tart for afters.

But when he got to the servery hatch, the woman behind it, the one who had called the children, looked at him with a strange mixture of pity and disdain.

"Sorry, Dursley, there's no meat for you," she said, handing him a small loaf of bread with some limp cabbage and a small pitcher of water.

He almost cried as he sat down to eat the meagre food he had been given; but he couldn't even finish the cabbage. It seemed that his stomach was still very sensitive; but it was beginning to dawn on him that what he had thought was food poisoning was almost certainly some form of spell that was still on him. And that thought made a lot of things fall into place in his mind. He looked around to see the children happily eating their meals without a care in the world; they didn't even notice him.

He couldn't bear it. He had once been a Director of a prosperous firm. Every builder in the South-East of England had known his name and sought his approval. And now here he was, desperate to be noticed by children. He couldn't face any more, and left the dining hall, seeking the solace of his room.

He found the room easily enough; but he could not enter. The door opened just fine; but he could not step into the room.

"Ah," said the Director's voice behind him, with a slightly apologetic tone. "I'm afraid you might find it difficult to enter the room until your duties are finished."

He turned around to confront the man; but he was already three quarters of the way down the corridor, and turned out of sight before Vernon could speak.

Defeated, exhausted, Vernon returned to the cupboard. That opened easily enough for him, and he had no trouble entering it; and when he did, he saw an old, lumpy mattress hidden in the corner, with a threadbare blanket on it. And no pillow.

Vernon's second night at the orphanage was a lot less comfortable than the first.

-#-

The following morning he was pulled out of bed at six, and forced to cook breakfast for the children. There was porridge, and sausages and eggs, and toast; but he wasn't invited to eat any of it. He did try; he dipped his finger in the porridge pot, but it only burnt him, and the trace that he got on the finger made him gag. And he was spotted trying to steal a piece of toast; for which he had earned a sharp tap on his hand with the porridge ladle that the woman was holding. In the end he was allowed to eat a burnt crust that one of the girls had left.

The day didn't get any better, nor the next one, nor the one after that. For the first week or so, it seemed he could never catch a break. He worked hard, but the room still wouldn't open for him. There wasn't much more food, but to his surprise, he seemed to be able to cope with the irregular and meagre meals he was getting. The children didn't seem to treat him kindly, but they weren't particularly vicious. Not that is, until one day when a little girl kicked him as he walked past, and the mop in his hand collided with his head, around his left eye socket. There would be a black eye, he was sure of it.

"Marie!" a teacher hissed to her, and he hoped she would get a stern reprimand for her kick. All his hopes deflated when all that was said was, "Nothing that will leave a mark!"

After that it didn't take long for him to work it out. Here he was, sleeping in a cupboard (he never managed to enter the other room again, no matter how much work he did); living off scraps; forced to clean (and no matter how much he did, there was always more); and becoming a play-thing and punching-bag for the children. The parallel was inescapable: the freak – and a sharp twinge of pain went through his body as he thought the word, so he changed it at once - Potter had slept in a cupboard, lived off scraps, cleaned, been pounded every day by Dudley and his gang. And why? Because of him. It was hard to keep his anger with the wizards, his sense of outrage at his treatment, when his conscience was telling him how much he deserved it.

The children gave him hell: almost every day he got beaten up, and when he mentioned it to the staff, they laughed it off as "childhood exuberance". He sustained broken bones every other day; but there was no point in reporting them because they seemed to heal mysteriously by themselves. But it seemed that only the things the children did that hampered his doing his job were healed; some of his hair was pulled out and did not grow back, and he was given a black eye that didn't heal for days. He went to the Director about this, and was told that it was a particularly exuberant child, and the Director would have a word. Vernon's description was a lot less polite, and earnt him another sharp round of pain. And the child in question didn't stop attacking him; though all of them did seem to leave his face and hair alone after that, so perhaps something had been said.

He thought at first that he was being shown some compassion at last; but a couple of days later he worked it out: it was that hissed warning again. 'Nothing that will leave a mark.' He had always been chary of leaving marks on Harry's face, too, in case anyone saw them.

No, there was no compassion, no feeling for him at all. He went through his days in a stupor: being punched and kicked; blocking when he could; eating what he could; sleeping as much as he could, even though the mattress made everything hurt, Occasionally, just occasionally, there would be a small piece of meat left out for him, or he'd manage a shower with a minute of hot water; but in some ways these rare treats just made things worse by underlining how bad his day-to-day life was.

He was in his own private Hell, and he knew it. But that wasn't the worst thing. No, the worst thing was that he deserved it. The treatment he was being given was determined, not by any feelings of the staff or students, but by the standards he had set up himself.

He was being treated as he had treated Harry. And he had never intended Harry to escape; so there was no way out for him. He had nothing, no-one. Grunnings had fired him; Malloy had turned on him; Dudley had left the Dursley family altogether; and he had no idea where Petunia was.

For a while, here at the orphanage, he had had some hope that he might move on. Escape, somehow, or get out. Surely they couldn't keep him here forever? There were laws against this sort of thing!

But these – wizards (he knew better than to go anywhere near the word 'freak', now) – they didn't care for the laws he knew, that was clear. They had their own rules.

That day at Malfoy Manor, when he had spoken in anger to Harry, that had been more than a mistake.

It had been the point of no return.

And he knew that too.

-#-

_Friday 31 July 1998_

"Oh – oh – ohhhh!"

Harry came awake very suddenly. For the first time in a while, Draco's body was not wrapped around him; he smiled as he thought how soppy it was that his snarky Slytherin fiancé seemed to treat him like his own personal teddy bear. At the same time, he missed the special warmth of his lover; until he felt the pressure lower down and realised exactly where Draco was and what he was doing. It seemed that his birthday celebrations were beginning with a bang. Or, more accurately, a blow …

"Draco! Oh! More! Oh!" and then, becoming incoherent with pleasure, he tugged on the blond hair by way of a warning, which only seemed to serve to make Draco redouble his efforts; and then, in a blinding flash of ecstasy, it was all over.

"That .. was amazing!" Harry said, once he got his voice back under control.

Draco looked up. "Naturally," he said, with a trademark Malfoy smirk and complete lack of humility, as he made his way up the bed on hands and knees, and finally gripped Harry in a bear hug and kissed him all over his face.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said at last.

-#-

They had lain together cuddling for twenty minutes or so, when Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Well, I suppose we have to get up and doing, or we'll miss breakfast."

"Oh no," Draco replied. He had heard about Neville's breakfast the day before, and was determined not to be out-done. "We're having our own special breakfast. Kreacher!"

As Draco called for him, the house-elf appeared, together with a table set for two.

"Kreacher is wishing Master Harry Potter a very happy birthday," he croaked. "Kreacher is hoping his cooking is being up to standard."

"Thank you, Kreacher, I'm sure it will be," Harry replied, being careful to present a grave and respectful face to the elf.

"Come on then," Draco said, pulling him out of bed as Kreacher vanished away. He lifted the large cloche in the middle of the table. "These pancakes aren't going to eat themselves, you know."

-#-

Harry found the whole day truly amazing. It was his best birthday ever. Mind you, it didn't have to try very hard, he thought regretfully; his seventeenth birthday had been spent mourning the loss of Hedwig and Mad-Eye; the ones before that, with the Dursleys, were all best forgotten.

But it seemed that everyone was determined to make this a birthday he would want to remember. As promised, Ron had organised a Quidditch tournament, with Harry the Seeker for the Orange team and Draco the Seeker for the Purple team. And if the spectators had expected them to go easy on one another, they were in for a surprise. Draco pushed Harry as far as he could, never letting him out of his sight, tailing him, making him battle for space and air of his own; until suddenly Draco found himself a couple of yards behind his lover as Harry did one of his impossible dives. He pulled out level two feet above the pitch.

"A Wronsky feint!" the commentator roared, echoing the thought of the crowd that Harry was just testing Draco. But they were wrong; as Harry came up from his dive, he held aloft the Golden Snitch, and the fans erupted into cheering. Even Draco couldn't keep the smile off his face as he flew down to hover next to Harry.

"That was brilliant!" he said breathlessly.

"Of course," Harry replied with a grin of his own, and leaned over to kiss the blond. "Thank you for a wonderful game."

-#-

Harry's birthday lunch at Hogwarts was a huge event. It being a Wizarding holiday, Headmistress McGonagall had invited the families of the eighth year students to come to lunch, and by the looks of it all of them had said yes. There were also a few students from other years; Ginny came with her mum and dad, of course, but she also brought Luna Lovegood along, much to Harry's delight.

The house-elves had clearly gone all out to impress. Neville's birthday party had been at dinner the night before, and the cake had been a pile of chocolate profiteroles, cleverly clumped together in a very passable imitation of a _Mimbulus mimbletonia._ Harry had wondered how on Earth they would top that. He found the answer as he walked into the Great Hall: there was the table set out ready with all his favourite food, and in the middle, the cake: a huge construction of chocolate logs, shaped exactly like his old Firebolt broom.

"Brilliant!" he said, bursting into laughter. "That's really amazing! Whose idea was it?"

Flitwick blushed rather red. "Well, Harry," he said, "we all know how much you love flying, so it seemed rather obvious!"

Harry smiled. It might be obvious; but it was fantastic. He loved it.

There being so many people there, the lunch was set out as a buffet, with lots of little tables. Flitwick explained that the idea was to go to the table often, and each time they came back to sit at a different place, to make sure they got to chat with lots of people rather than sitting in a fixed seat and only talking to the same ones. Harry was rather pleased with this idea; while he loved his friends and their families, he didn't really have a lot to say to them.

Apolline Delacour was the first person to sit next to him.

"It eez lovely to see you again, 'Arry," she said happily.

Harry smiled. "And to see you," he said, with some warmth. "Narcissa asked me to give you her best regards."

"Oh, 'ow charming!" the Frenchwoman replied. "You must send her mine in return. I 'ear you were in Paris, you 'ad a fun time, yes?"

And with very little prompting, Harry found himself happily chatting about the Sunday he had spent in Paris. Apolline listened attentively, steered him adroitly, offered some suggestions of her own favourite places that he must visit next time, and gave him her Floo address.

"You will come and visit, you and Draco, whenever you are free, yes?" she said.

"We should be delighted," a familiar voice said behind Harry, and he looked up into the silver eyes of his fiancé.

"Hello!" he said. "I wondered where you'd got to."

"I have been discussing the mating habits of wrackspurts," Draco deadpanned.

"Wrackspurts?" Apolline asked, clearly dumbfounded. "What are 'wrackspurts', please?"

Harry smiled at her. "Creatures that have been discovered by our dear friend Luna Lovegood," he said. "Apparently they float into people's ears and make their brains go fuzzy."

"Ah!" said Apolline knowingly. "We have eccentrics like that too."

Harry laughed at the ease with which Apolline seemed to have sussed out Luna.

"Please excuse us," Draco said. "Harry needs to eat, and circulate."

"But of course," the Frenchwoman replied. "Do look us up if you are in Paris, please."

They assured her that they would, and went back to the buffet table, where Draco really did force Harry to take more food.

"You don't eat enough," he said when Harry started to complain. "The house-elves have noticed. Kreacher mentioned it to me yesterday after Neville's birthday party."

"What?" Harry said. This sounded most unlike a house-elf, even Kreacher at his grumpiest. "He actually said I don't eat enough?"

Draco chuckled. "No, his actual words were 'please be making sure Master Harry tries all the foods tomorrow as we are being trying to give him all his favourites and he is not always having a full plate' or something like that. But it amounted to, 'you don't eat enough'. And also, different dishes were made by different elves, and I think they are trying to outdo one another to have your favourite dish. Winky made this, I think."

Harry looked down. Draco had placed a fair-sized portion of lasagne on his plate, together with a clump of garlic bread, and he did have to admit that it made his mouth water. They sat with Neville and Augusta Longbottom this time, and she grilled Harry a little about the Muggle Studies course. Draco smirked and refused to be helpful at all; Harry had chosen to sit with her, he could sort it out, he decided.

And so the lunch went on. By keeping the portions small, Draco managed to get Harry to try nearly every dish, which took a total of seven visits to the buffet table; in the course of the hour or so it took to do so, they managed to chat to pretty much all of the people that they didn't see on a regular basis. When Harry finished the last dish he had taken – a rather nice Chicken Chasseur which Draco declared to be his favourite of the dishes on offer – Winky popped up to take his plate.

"Is Master Harry Potter being finished?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you Winky, that was all amazingly good food. I've eaten too much!" he groaned.

Winky looked delighted. "Winky is happy to see Master Harry Potter is well fed!" she replied. "Which dish is Master Harry Potter thinking is his favourite?"

"Ooh," said Harry. "It's hard to pick a favourite. But I did enjoy the lasagne very much."

Winky puffed up in pride. "Winky is being making the lasagne!" she said. "Winky is being very proud Master Harry Potter is liking her dish?"

"You made that?" Harry said, with just the right note of surprise. "Will you make it for me again?"

The poor creature looked completely overcome at this. "Of course Master Harry Potter! Winky is being so happy!" She took his plate and popped away.

"It's a good thing she left," Draco drawled. "I thought she was about to burst with pride. Shameless, Potter, shameless."

"I learnt from the best, Malfoy," Harry rejoined, with a smirk.

Their banter was interrupted by the Headmistress requesting their attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "we're not going to have speeches; I'm just going to invite Mr Potter to come and cut the cake, and then coffee and cake will be served out on the lawn."

Harry, relieved that there were to be no speeches, happily got up and took the proffered knife. He made the required incision in the cake, and it was then whisked away by the house-elves to be cut up into slices.

"Ah-ah, Potter," Draco said at his elbow. "You touched the plate with the knife. That means you have to kiss the nearest blond."

"You made that up!" Harry retorted.

"So?" Draco asked archly. And indeed, made-up or not, Harry did as he was told he had to, to many squeals of delight.

-#-

Following the luncheon, Draco told Harry they needed to pack a trunk for the weekend.

"Oh!" said Harry. "Where will we be staying?"

"That, my love, is my little secret," Draco replied. And nothing Harry could say would get any more out of him.

Once they had packed their bags, shrunk and pocketed them, Draco took Harry to the Headmistress's office.

"Ah, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy," she said in warm greeting. "In good time, too, I see. Well done, Mr Malfoy."

"Huh?" Harry asked. "Why do you assume it's Draco?"

McGonagall fixed him with a stare. "We've been through this before, Mr Potter," she replied. "Now, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied.

"And do you know where you're going?" she asked.

"Er, no," he replied, a touch less enthusiastically.

"I thought not. First, I'm afraid, there is to be a reception for you at the Ministry; then we will be going elsewhere to celebrate with your family and friends."

Harry groaned inwardly, but kept his face neutral. He could put up with a reception. He'd better get used to it, he supposed; there were probably going to be many more to come over the years.

-#-

In the event, the Ministry reception wasn't too awful. Draco, Kingsley and Arthur made sure that at least two of them were present at all times. Most of the long-standing members of the Wizengamot were there, as well as a variety of senior staff from the Ministry, and they circulated the room, meeting people and exchanging pleasantries. Kingsley said at one point that they had invited all the heads of department, and for the first time in living memory all of them had turned up at an afternoon tea.

"You should feel honoured, Harry," Kingsley told him as he handed him a cup of tea, "normally half of them only turn up if there's free alcohol."

"I bet," said Harry rather quietly, "that you wish half of them hadn't turned up."

Kingsley roared with laughter. "Touché," he replied.

"Mr Potter," an urbane voice rang out, as a tall, dark, well-dressed man came up to him. "Anton Rosier. Delighted to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours, Mr Rosier," Harry replied, shaking the outstretched hand. The man had a wolfish smile and a too-firm handshake, and Harry distrusted him on sight. "I take it you are related to Mrs Malfoy?"

"Yes indeed," the man replied, obviously impressed. "How clever of you to remember that her mother was a Rosier. Narcissa and I are distant cousins – I forget how far back the common ancestor goes. But I bore you. I may say I have been watching your career with interest, particularly recently."

"Anton is the Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Kingsley supplied. "As such, he takes an active interest in the students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute on behalf of the Ministry. And of course you know Galatea Merrythought?"

"Of course," Harry replied, relieved as Kingsley effortlessly pulled the witch into the group. "How are you, Professor? You missed the lunch today?"

"I'm very well, thank you, Mr Potter," Galatea replied. "As I was coming to this gathering, I felt it rather greedy of me to attend both. Libatius agreed with me, so we lunched together and came here."

She turned to Rosier. "And how are you, Anton? Still single?"

This was evidently a long-standing discussion, as Rosier scowled and contented himself with saying, "yes indeed, ma'am."

"I fear your standards are too high, young man," she riposted. "Come, let me introduce you to my niece. I'm sure she would be delighted to make your acquaintance."

And with that, she practically dragged the Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation away as though he were a naughty boy.

Kingsley watched as Merrythought led Rosier away, his eyes blazing with admiration. He turned back to Harry.

"A formidable woman, that," he said.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Does she like him?"

Kingsley had unwisely taken a sip of tea, and this question caused it to explode out of his nose. He dabbed his face with a napkin before answering, "Merlin no! She hates him cordially. And I suspect the feeling is mutual. No, Harry, I'm sure she worked out that you'd had enough of the – ah – _pleasure_ of Mr Rosier's company, and has nobly taken him away."

He looked around the room, beckoned Arthur and Draco close, and then dropped his voice.

"I think you've talked to everyone you need to. Now might be a good time to disappear."

They didn't need a second invitation; scarcely a minute later, Harry and Draco found themselves in Arthur's office.

"Thank God that's over," the Deputy Minister said. "Right. Now, we are going to apparate to the next venue."

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "Um, sir, I'm not really allowed to apparate."

"On this occasion, Draco," the Deputy Minister said, "as you are both travelling with me, I think we can make an exception."

-#-

After the familiar feeling of being pushed through a very tight rubber tube, they arrived in what looked like a brightly-lit meadow. Harry blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the light, and then turned to discover that they were standing right outside the Burrow's front gate. But there was something different about the tumble-down structure. It looked more solid, somehow; the angles of the floors didn't seem as extreme as before, and the roof had clearly been extensively repaired.

"Wow," Harry said, "the old place has been done up! It looks amazing!"

"Oh," Arthur replied mildly, "you haven't seen the best bit yet, Harry. Follow me."

To Harry's surprise, instead of entering through the front door, Arthur walked them round to the kitchen door. As they reached it, Harry could see that something was different; there was a closed marquee covering most of the lawn, but beyond it he could see some other structure. _This is new,_ he thought. He walked on a bit, between the marquee and the house, and as he rounded the far corner he saw in front of him a new building jutting out jauntily from the original house into the space where they had played gnome tennis months ago.

"My goodness!" he said, "you've extended!"

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Molly called from the kitchen door. "Indeed we have! Come inside and see!"

As they entered the kitchen, neither Harry nor Draco escaped a huge hug from the Weasley matriarch; and then Molly led them inside and then proudly through a new pair of doors that had replaced the old, rickety French doors that had led onto the lawn she had always hated. The new doors led into a corridor, off which came four doors to the left, and glass doors to the right which opened onto the garden. She took them down to the last door and took up position outside it.

"Are all these rooms?" Harry asked as he saw the doors. Arthur nodded, and Harry continued, "why so many?"

"Well dear," Molly answered, "the Burrow has always been a bit cramped for space, and the Minister suggested we put on an extension so there would always be room for family."

Arthur snorted. "Suggested? He insisted. So we've shored up the old place and built this little annex. And that enabled us to build what we decided would be the perfect eighteenth birthday present for you."

As Arthur said this, Molly opened the door and led the two young men into a light, airy, spacious room. Harry could see at once that this was wizard space; there was no way that this room could fit into its external dimensions apart from magic.

"Wow," he said. "I love magic!"

"This is your room, Harry," Arthur said, and Harry looked at him, gobsmacked. "Of course, we know that you have your own house, and you share Draco's suite at the Manor; but we wanted to give you this space of your very own in our house as a way of saying to you that you really are both part of our family. We've reset the wards so you can both come and go as you please, and you will always have exclusive use of this room."

"We're also giving you the bed," Molly said. "It's an old Prewett family heirloom, but it's not really to our taste, and we rather thought you might appreciate it more."

Harry looked at the bed which was standing in the middle of the room. It was an enormous, ancient, four-poster bed. The posts were dark oak, turned and beautifully decorated with vine leaves and bunches of grapes. Over the bed was a canopy; it and the drapes around the bed were a deep Prussian blue, with contrasting designs in sky blue. It was, Harry thought, one of the most beautiful pieces of furniture he had ever seen.

"It's lovely, Molly, Arthur," Harry said, rather breathlessly. He was finding it very hard to speak. "Thank you," he said eventually. "This is … incredible. You – you really want to give me this? You're sure?"

"Of course, Harry," Molly said sternly. "You are our son. We're quite sure."

Arthur smiled in agreement. "Now," he said brightly, "we'll leave you to settle in, shall we? We'll be having a little celebration about six, Harry, so Draco will have plenty of time to tell you about the rest of the furnishings."

"Thank you," Harry said, and drew them both into a bone-crushing hug, after which the two Weasleys went back into the original building.

Harry looked at his fiancé. "Alright, spill," he said, mock-sternly. "'The rest of the furnishings'?"

"As Molly and Arthur said, the bed is their gift," Draco replied with a smirk. "But while you were busy on Tuesday, I came over here and set up the rest. This is my birthday gift to you, Harry."

Harry looked around, drinking in the rest of the room. Draco had chosen a cream and blue colour scheme to tone with the bed. On the walls at chest height there was a line of dark brown fleur-de-lis whose colour matched the posts of the bed perfectly, with a vine motif winding through them. He walked around the room to find that it was even bigger than he had first thought. There was a sitting area behind the bed that Draco had furnished with cream leather sofas and an oak coffee table. There was a walk-in robe that already contained half-a-dozen sets of clothing, which he could see at a glance were brand new. There was even an ensuite bathroom, which continued the cream and blue colours, but where the vine leaves had become seaweed, with little sea-horses gamboling through.

The whole thing was truly, breathtakingly, beautiful.

Harry turned to Draco and, not trusting his voice for a moment, wrapped him in a hug.

"Thank you," he said, "it's fantastic. You did all of this?"

"All except the clothes," Draco replied. "They are a gift from my parents."

Harry went back into the wardrobe and scrutinised the clothes. There were dark grey slacks, formal black trousers, and dark blue and dark green shirts that, by the feel, had to be acromantula silk. Everything was beautifully made.

"This must have cost a fortune," Harry said quietly.

Draco wrapped his arms around his fiancé. "Not important," he replied.

Harry turned, and kissed him. "All right," he said. "Thank you. Will you help me choose clothes for tonight?"

"It would be my pleasure," Draco replied, as a bubble of joy burst through him as he realised that Harry had finally accepted that they wanted to spend money on him just because they loved him. And was letting them do it.

He wondered if the grin on his face would last all night.

-#-

By ten to six, Draco had got the two of them ready and they were sitting in the Weasley's front room. Harry had tried to complain about having to get dressed in formal clothes – for Draco insisted that they wore robes - and having to get ready quickly so that they could be early; but Draco had pointed out that his parents were coming, that they would be here on time even if no-one else was, and that as guest of honour he should be there to meet them. Harry didn't really buy the whole argument; but when Lucius and Narcissa came through the Floo bang on six o'clock, the smile on Narcissa's face as she saw him had him convinced in an instant.

"Harry!" she said delightedly, heading straight for him and giving him a kiss on each cheek. "You look wonderful!"

"Thank you, Narcissa," he replied, and Draco had to stifle a snort as Harry all but preened himself in response to the praise. "And thank you for the clothes, they are perfect!"

"Let me see,'" Narcissa demanded, and made Harry turn around on the spot while she fastened a critical eye on him. "Yes," she said when he had finished, "that blue really does work."

Meanwhile, Draco had greeted his father, and the two stood watching the elaborate, and rather familiar, routine in front of them. Without knowing it, both of them were thinking the same thing: _rather Harry than me!_

"Hello!" said Molly, as she bustled in from the kitchen, "Welcome! Narcissa, Lucius, how lovely to see you! Harry dear, drinks are in the marquee; would you take the Malfoys out, please? We'll be bringing some canapés in a minute."

Harry obediently led his future husband and in-laws out into the garden. Fred and George were there, opening up the marquee ready for use, while Neville was just finishing up spelling his beautiful bell flowers around the walls.

"Harry!" the twins cried as soon as they saw him, "happy birthday, mate!"

"Thanks!" he replied. "Now, Molly said something about drinks?"

-#-

Arthur had said a 'little' celebration; but in the event it didn't fit any definition of 'little' that Harry knew. The marquee had dozens of little tables scattered through it, and it wasn't long before it was heaving with people. It seemed to Harry that all of his friends had come, and he took advantage of the fact to chat with people he had not seen for a while. Oliver Wood, he discovered, had been offered a job as Keeper for a German Quidditch team while Puddlemere United was rebuilding itself. It wasn't long before he and Ron got into the inevitable argument about the relative merits of Puddlemere and the Chudley Cannons; Harry quietly excused himself and tiptoed away. He could do without arguments about Quidditch.

"Har!" he heard a small voice say, and he looked down to find Teddy Lupin determinedly crawling towards him.

"Hello Teddy Bear!" he said, and bent down to pick the boy up. "Look at you moving so fast at four months! You'll be running before I know it!"

"I told you that Black babies mature quickly," Andromeda said as she came up to him. "Happy birthday, Harry, it's lovely to see you. Are the studies going well?"

A small pang of guilt went through Harry that he had not spent much time with Andromeda and Teddy recently. But he knew he would be given short shrift if he voiced the idea, so he contented himself with the opening she had given him, and began to discuss the classes they were doing. As he had expected, Andromeda was very interested to learn that Armand Ionescu had been dug out of retirement and was teaching them about mind defenses.

"Take care to learn everything he can teach you," she counseled him, "he is the best there is. It's quite something that he's out of retirement again; I wonder what Agnes Touauld thinks about it?"

"She is two parts mad that he has been talked into it, one part sad that he isn't around at home all day any more, and three parts delighted that he is doing what he loves to do," the healer's voice came behind them as Agnes came up to greet Harry. "And how is my current patient?"

Harry grinned at her. "Doing well, I think," he replied.

"Really," she said drily. "Perhaps I should be the judge of that." And so saying, she drew out her wand and cast a diagnostic spell on him, completely oblivious to the rather shocked faces of the nearby witches and wizards. Pointing a wand at someone at a private party simply wasn't done; but then, Andromeda mused, Agnes had always done things that Weren't Done and got away with them, simply because, like her husband, she was the best there was.

Eventually she put her wand away and showed Harry the parchment she had created. "I agree with you," she said crisply. "You are doing well. Mr Malfoy is good for you. I'd keep him."

"Do you know," said Harry with a twinkle in his eye, "I think I just might."

-#-

The party continued through the evening and was ended by the now traditional Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks at midnight. Harry had to sit down for these; he had carried Teddy practically the entire night and eventually Miriam Granger had noticed him, so his lap was now filled with two sleeping babies.

"You all right there?" Draco asked as he came to sit beside him. Harry looked up at him and gave the question a little thought. Here he was at the Burrow, which now felt more than ever like home now that he had a room of his own, surrounded by friends who were all having a good time and getting on together, regardless of their turbulent history, being slept on by two children who openly loved him, and having this gorgeous man as his fiancé. Was he all right?

"Never better," he replied.

-#-

A little while later, people started to drift off home. Lucius and Narcissa came up to him to say goodnight.

"Molly did offer us a room," Narcissa confessed, "which was very kind; but we felt that we should keep a little distance." In response to his questioning glance she continued, "your friends are lovely, and welcoming, Harry; but the War is still recent, and not everyone can overlook the fact that we were rather deep on the enemy's side. Will you come to dinner tomorrow night – tonight, I suppose it is now?"

"We'd love to," Harry replied. "And thank you again for the clothes."

A little to Harry's surprise, it was Lucius who replied to this. "It was nothing, Harry. It was a joy to be able to give you something, after all you've given us."

And with that, the Malfoys took their leave as Andromeda Tonks and Margaret Granger came up to see him.

"Well," Margaret said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "you'll be staying there tonight by the looks of those two. They look well ensconced."

"I rather think Draco might feel a bit left out," Andromeda said, as she gently lifted her grandson off Harry's lap. "Come on, Teddy, we'll get you to bed. Harry, the Grangers and I have decided to accept Molly's kind offer of accommodation, so we'll see you in the morning. But now these two sleepy-heads need to be in bed."

As she said this, Margaret took Miriam off Harry, who happily stood up and stretched his legs, which had gone rather numb with the weight of two sleeping babies on them.

"Thank you," he said, "both for lending me your children and for taking them back again!"

The two ladies chuckled at this. "Good night, Harry," they chorused, "and happy birthday."

-#-

Harry sat on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," he said at last. "Thank you for the best birthday ever."

"Harry, come to bed? Please?" Draco asked.

The two lay close to one another in the enormous bed. Harry looked up at the canopy, admiring the craftsmanship of the weaving and the carving on the posters, and marveled once again at the incredible love and generosity of the Weasleys. He reached over and cuddled his lover as tight as he could, and Draco could feel a sadness that Harry had been feeling all day long. He had heard the tension in Harry's voice, even as he had thanked Draco for the birthday; and he longed to soothe all the heartache away. After a long, slow, sensual massage, he finally steeled himself to speak.

"Why have you been so sad?" he asked, as gently as he could.

For the longest time, Harry was silent; and then a single sob rose up in him.

"No," he said, mostly to himself, "they don't deserve any more tears."

"They?" Draco asked. "The Dursleys?"

"Yes," Harry replied, and then he told Draco all about it. How his birthday had never been celebrated. How the best he'd ever had was for it to be ignored altogether. That otherwise, he would be given extra chores in 'honour' of the day. How if he got presents, it was a dog biscuit wrapped in used paper, or some grass clippings, or a broken ornament; something to make it clear that they hadn't forgotten the day, they just didn't care.

As he listened, Draco's heart broke again for his poor, abused, gorgeous, lovely fiancé. He gathered himself and finally plucked up the courage he had been lacking for so long and asked Harry to make love to him.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and the love and tenderness in his eyes completely bowled Draco over.

"Harry," he replied, breathlessly, "I honestly don't think I have ever been so sure of anything in my life."

It was long, and slow, and sweet. Harry, he decided again, was the most wonderful lover imaginable. Harry took his time, with many kisses, caresses and words of endearment, making sure the blond was absolutely ready. Draco was amazed at how little it hurt; and the joy of his partner inside him hit him far harder than he could have imagined possible. He'd heard people talking about not knowing their own name, and had aways assumed it was just Hufflepuff talk; but now he wasn't so sure.

With Harry inside him, something settled deep within, and he felt, in a way that he had never felt it before, whole, and loved, and sated.

He was home. This was where he belonged. This was what he wanted. For so long, he had been worried that the Debt was forcing him into a submissive role; but now he found that it was really what he wanted himself. Sure, making love to Harry was wonderful, and he would do it again in a heartbeat; but this, having Harry inside him, this was right, like nothing else in his life.

Sometime in their lovemaking, they crossed a line. Harry cried Draco's name in completion, and Draco echoed with Harry's name, and there was no going back, now. They had passed the point of no return; and Harry knew that the Dursleys were really done now. Draco's love had undone all the evil that their lack of love had done; never again could they hurt his heart. He could feel that that space inside him that Ionescu had found was now filled with memories tinged with bright silver; and he was content.

They had passed the point of no return; and Draco knew he never wanted to go back. He had been afraid of losing his independence, his identity. He was afraid the Debt would make him a slave; but now he knew he was Harry's; and that was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Afterwards they lay quietly in each other's arms for a long time. Eventually, Harry drifted off, but rest did not come so quickly to Draco. He lay still and caressed his lover. And then the two of them were suffused by a soft, red light, and he found his heart so full of peace and contentment that he drifted off to the best sleep of his life to date.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed (with permission) the idea of the Weasleys giving Harry a room of his own from Lori94, who used it in their story "Ministry Interference" which you can find at <https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8559184/1/Ministry-Interference>.  
> Filch's back-story is all mine, however.
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to my betas, the wonderful Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for their help and support.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! Gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and Harry's birthday cake to those who commented on chapter 61!


	63. Confidence Returned, Conspiracy Revealed, Counsel Ratified.

**63 Confidence Returned, Conspiracy Revealed, Counsel Ratified.**

_Friday, 31 July_

"You wanted to see me, sir?" the Auror asked as she entered Robards' office.

"Ah, Glinda, yes, I wanted to talk to you about this weekend's assignment."

"Babysitting school children," Glinda Dalben-Chun replied in an exasperated tone.

Robards sighed inwardly. It was fair enough, he supposed; Glinda was an experienced Auror, and it did look like a rookie's assignment.

"Not really," he said, spelling the door shut and setting up privacy wards. "As you know, Auror Banks has been working at Hogwarts seeking the person who attacked Harry Potter. He is reasonably certain that one of the three girls you are to 'baby-sit' is the culprit; and I have reviewed the case, and I agree with him," he said quickly before Glinda could interrupt and question Robin's experience. The young man had all the makings of a first-class Auror; but he was young, and people like Glinda, who had been an Auror for years, and a Senior Auror for the last three months, might well see his youth only as a lack of experience and look down on him because of it.

"Are you sure?" she asked quizzically. "The boy is only just out of school!"

"Robin has my absolute trust in this investigation," he continued, giving her a hard stare. "You know we wanted a younger Auror at Hogwarts to blend in; he has done so magnificently. So, officially your role this weekend is to ensure the safety of Eva Thillin, Marie Thibault and Danielle Thibault; but in reality I want you to spy on them. In particular, we believe Anton Rosier is their ministry contact; as you know, they will be seeing him tomorrow morning. We want to know everything that happens. If he wants to spend time with anyone in particular, facilitate that; but monitor it."

Glenda's eyes lit up. This was much more like it. Obviously she was being brought in to an established operation that was bigger than it looked. One that the Minister would definitely be interested in. It would do her no harm, and much good, to be part of such an operation, especially if her work helped stop the conspiracy in its tracks.

"All right," she said. "What are the details?"

They chatted for another half an hour, before Robards had another meeting to sort out the security arrangements for the afternoon tea being given for Harry Potter.

"The Minister is breathing down our neck over this," he warned her as she left. "I'm sure you'll do a good job; just, don't screw up."

"I won't," she replied as she left.

* * *

As she sat after supper in her room at the Leaky Cauldron, Glinda Dalben-Chun was surprised at how easily the afternoon had slipped past. Despite being French, and from the oh-so-snooty Beauxbatons Academy, the three were surprisingly unaffected, and seemed to beam with pleasure that they were allowed to wander Diagon Alley. Glinda rather gathered that they were used to outings involving what they called 'le crocodil', where the girls would line up in columns and march around the place, never being allowed out of sight of their chaperones; but with just three girls, and Diagon Alley being comparatively safe these days, especially now that there were Auror patrols, she was happy to allow two of the girls to go off together into one of the shops. She was careful to rotate them, so that of the three spent roughly the same amount of time with her individually, and thus the same amount of time darting off shopping. This seemed to work very well; she missed out on all the time they spent in shops comparing one dress with another, trying them on and so forth, the general business of girls' shopping that she hated with a passion; and the girls would show off their purchases with great delight when they had finished.

She reflected on what they had told her, and compared it to what the Chief Auror had had to say. Danielle, she knew, was in the clear. Of the other two, either Marie was being blackmailed by Rosier and dragging Eva along for the ride, or Eva was the villain and Marie was being influenced in some way. Given what Armand Ionescu had said, she tended to the latter view. There was, of course, the question as to how Marie was being influenced; but from the afternoon's chats she was beginning to see the way clear, and it was not a pleasant act. If she was right, Anton Rosier and Eva Thillin were being particularly nasty.

Tomorrow, they had a meeting with Rosier. He had suggested taking them to the Tower of London, particularly as they would be able to see the Crown Jewels. The teenagers, predictably, had been very excited at the idea of getting close to such wonderful and expensive objects, so it was agreed.

Glinda was sure that Rosier would find a way to take one, or both, suspect aside for a quick heart-to-heart at some point. She was also sure that her tracking charms would not be discovered, and would enable her to reconstruct the conversation as well as a Pensieve could.

It was now just a waiting game.

* * *

_Saturday 1 August_

"Mmm – mmmm."

Harry chuckled at the delicious noises his fiancé was making while Harry gently combed his fingers through the silky blond strands.

"I love you, my Dragon," he said, and was rewarded with a smile which formed itself slowly on Draco's face. The blond turned over and snuggled into the black-haired boy, and Harry happily moved his arms to cuddle him.

"What time is it?" Draco asked lazily.

"Coming up to eight o'clock," Harry replied.

"So early?" Draco asked languidly. "And you are awake because why?"

"You remember Teddy and Miriam were staying the night?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded in reply. "Well they were making a fuss which woke me originally, and then I discovered this gorgeous man in my bed."

This time Harry was rewarded with a kiss.

"Outrageous flattery, Potter," Draco said, as they pulled apart.

"Nonsense," Harry replied mischievously. "Although it's probably a good thing he left before you woke up."

"He— what?" Draco said, suddenly awake. He jumped up and out of bed, ready to defend his claim; but then he saw the evil smirk on Harry's face, and relaxed.

"You bastard," he said, pummeling Harry with a pillow.

"Got you up, though," Harry replied. "And may I say you are a wonderful sight so early in the morning."

Draco grumped, only somewhat mollified, and went off to have a shower.

* * *

The morning at the Tower of London was a great success. Anton Rosier had been charm itself. Glinda had been worried about the wizard being in Muggle society; she knew very well that wizards, particularly pure-blood ones such as Rosier proudly was, were wont to dress ridiculously. But when he turned up, he was dressed in an elegant, dark suit that, while not quite fitting in with the garb worn by most paying visitors to the Tower, suited the 'conservative Englishman' vibe that he projected perfectly.

The girls were dressed in their school uniform, which fortunately could be charmed so that Muggles would not be able to read the school name properly. They were stopped at one point by a rather gushing tourist who asked if they weren't just the quaintest things and asking if they were from an English boarding school.

"Non, non, Madame," Marie Thibault had replied. "We are exchange students, we are from Paris."

The lady clearly wanted to question them further; but, to Glinda's relief, the gentleman she was visiting the Tower with had moved on, so she pointed out to the tourist that her friend seemed to have left her behind.

"Oh, that's my husband! **Now** where has he got to?" she exclaimed when this was pointed out to her, and ran off after the man.

Both Rosier and the Auror were a little concerned by this; Muggles taking an interest was always a concern for the Statute of Secrecy. And they also did not wish to have their guests upset. But the girls seemed to take it in their stride and had happily wandered through everything, chattering like magpies the whole time, and now they were sitting at the Raven's Kiosk enjoying coffee and a variety of cakes and pastries.

As they ate, the girls were still talking at great speed; this time, it seemed, reviewing the diamonds they had seen.

"The Koh-I-Noor!" Eva said. "Wasn't it amazing?"

"Oh yes!" Danielle replied. "And the Cullinan diamonds! How amazing that zey were cut from a single stone!"

" _Pardon?_ " Eva asked. "Cullinan? I do not remember zis?"

'You must 'ave seen zem!" Marie replied. "In ze Sceptre and one of ze Crowns?"

"No..." Eva said, slowly, disappointment in her voice. "I must 'ave missed zem."

"Oh, we can't have that!" Rosier said, putting his napkin on the table. "How about you and I go and see them? I'm sure the other ladies will wait here for us?"

All at once, Glinda saw the ploy; it was an act, unfolding in front of her. She had to admit, it was skillfully done. She waved them off.

"Yes, of course, do go," she said, while quietly activating the recording part of the tracking charm on Eva.

* * *

It was nine o'clock when Harry and Draco appeared for breakfast.

"And what time do you call this?" Ginny demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Er, I was rather hoping it was breakfast time," Harry replied, rather shocked at the belligerent young witch who had accosted him. His bewildered expression was too much for Ginny, and she cracked up completely.

"Your face!" she said, in between hoots of laughter.

"Yes, Gin, well, you've had your fun," Molly said behind her. "Now come on you two, come and get your breakfasts."

'Har!" they heard a voice call, and Harry turned to see Teddy crawling towards him. He and Miriam had clearly been playing together under her baby-gym; he could see that Andy and Margaret were both keeping an eye on them. The metamorphmagus must have heard Harry's voice. Harry made to walk over and pick up the baby; but Andy stopped him.

"Let him come to you, Harry," she said. "It is good practice for him not to get everything he wants straight away."

Harry stood up tall again, and the boy covered the ground between them surprisingly quickly, grabbing onto Harry's shins when he arrived.

"Har!" he said. "Up!"

"Well done, Teddy Bear," Harry said, and lifted the boy off the floor. "Come and help me eat my breakfast."

He turned and walked into the kitchen. As he did so, Miriam, who had been watching with interest, started squalling. She was not yet mobile, so all she could do was scrunch her face and scream with frustration.

"Teh!" she shrieked. "Teh!"

"Jealous, much?" Draco said, and went over and picked up the little girl.

"Oh, Draco, you don't have to do that," Margaret said.

"I think I do, really," Draco replied with a disarming smile, "Teddy will probably fuss when he realises they're not in the same room." And with that he carried Miriam into the kitchen, where Harry was already sitting at a large plate of ham and eggs, and a black-haired, green-eyed Teddy was 'helping' by trying to gum a piece of toast to death.

As Draco sat down, Miriam shrieked again, this time for joy at having spotted Teddy.

"Teh! Teh!" she called.

Teddy turned to look at her, and his hair changed abruptly to brunette. "Mi!" he called.

The two sat happily burbling at each other until Molly collected them both expertly.

"You boys don't need an audience when you're eating breakfast," she said, as she bustled them back into the front room.

"Of course they do!" a familiar, mischievous voice called as Fred came into the kitchen from the back door, George immediately behind him. "Our little brother / always deserves an audience / whatever he's doing!"

Harry laughed. "You two want more breakfast, I can see," he said, passing them some slices from the pile of toast in front of him.

"Hey!" Draco said. "That's my toast, too!"

"Boys!" Molly said, as she came back into the kitchen. "You two have already eaten! And there's plenty of toast!"

"Excellent!" George said. "Sausage and bacon on ours please!"

"You weren't going to leave me out, were you?" Neville asked as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for his husband.

Molly sighed as she handed out plates with the requested sausage and bacon. She was obviously well used to the trencherman habits of her men, and it seemed that Neville must be the same as he had no trouble polishing off a plate that Harry knew would have defeated him.

"So, I guess you've all been up for hours?" he said.

"Well," George said with a wink, "Dad had to go into work / and we smelled his breakfast cooking / so we got up to keep him company-"

"And then went back to bed," Neville finished, neatly completing the twin's dialogue.

"Oh no," Draco groaned. "There are three of them now!"

* * *

As Glinda sat with the Thibault twins, a raven came up to her. As she glanced down at it, she noticed that, unlike the Tower's own ravens, its wing had not been clipped. She looked at it closely and realised that it was one of the Ministry's ravens and had a letter tied to its leg. _Clever_ , she thought; an owl would be suspicious, especially in daylight, but there were always ravens at the Tower. She removed the letter, and the bird hopped away before unobtrusively disappearing around a corner.

The letter was addressed to Rosier; but it was not marked Private, so, as his deputy for the moment, she had no qualms in opening it. Rather to her surprise, it contained a letter for the Thibault twins.

"Danielle, Marie, I think you should read this," she said, as she mentally consulted the tracking charm. It seemed that Rosier and Thillin were not very far through the exhibit; there were large numbers of tourists snaking through the films you had to watch before getting to the Crown Jewels themselves. Good.

She looked back at the twins to see a look of horror forming on Marie's face. As she read through the letter slowly, the look grew more and more alarming.

"'Ow can zis be?" she asked when she finally finished reading.

"What's wrong?" Gilda replied.

"It iz from our parents!" Marie said. "It seems zey are 'appy and well?"

"Of course," Danielle said, puzzled. "Why should zey not be? Zey are sailing in the Bahamas," she said, by way of explanation to the Auror, "so zey are not often in contact. Zey 'ave settled for ze night in a 'otel, and we can Floo call zem zis evening!"

Glinda thought furiously. This was a real stroke of luck; if the Thibaults were happy and well, it would prove to Marie that her confession was a lie, and maybe help them to piece together what had actually happened. Though she had a pretty good idea already.

"Yes, we can," she replied. "But I think, if you don't mind, we should not mention this at all to Eva or Mr Rosier."

"But why not?" Danielle asked.

"Oh…" Marie said at the same time as the sickle dropped. "You zink zat zey …"

"Yes," Glinda replied, "I do. And so I suggest a simple test."

She reached out her hand for the letter, and the twins handed it back to her. She carefully placed it back in the envelope exactly as it had arrived, and sealed it up with a duplicate of the spell that the ministry official who had forwarded it had used.

"Now," she said, "we wait. If Mr Rosier gives you the letter, we will know he is innocent."

"And if not?" Danielle asked.

"If not, we shall have to be very careful not to mention anything about it."

* * *

Harry and Draco spent a very lazy morning at the Burrow. As Harry was the birthday boy, Molly explicitly prohibited them both from doing any work to help clean up after the party. So they divided their time between lounging around playing with the babies and spending time in Harry's bedroom. Harry was still somewhat in shock at the generosity that had been visited upon him; but Draco pointed out to him in no uncertain terms that, as he had quite literally been prepared to give his life for the whole Wizarding world, it was their honour and privilege to be able to give him everything they would let him. At this point, Harry decided that things were definitely getting soppy, and challenged his fiancé to an impromptu wrestling match on their bed. He lost.

During the course of the morning, Harry was intrigued to notice how natural Draco seemed to be with Miriam and Teddy; and they, for their part, clearly adored him as much as they did Harry. It seemed strange that an only child would be interested in young children, and he said as much to Andromeda.

"Harry," she said to him in reply, "you really are oblivious at times, aren't you?"

"Pardon?" he asked, unconsciously proving her words true.

"The old Draco, the one you knew at school, would probably have been useless with children," she explained. "But a lot of that boy, and all of the nasty prejudices, seem to have gone out of him. And the reason is obvious to anyone who sees how he looks at you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, bewildered.

It was all Andromeda could do to refrain from bursting out laughing. Harry was so clueless, so beautifully innocent about the effect he had on people.

"He loves you, Harry. You've opened his heart up and poured your love into it, and it's starting to overflow into those around him. It is beautiful to watch."

"Oh," said Harry, blushing at the words. It seemed that everyone was trying to get him to see that he was something special today. It was a shame that he didn't really want to be special. Not that these people were calling him special because he was 'the Boy Who Lived' or even entirely because he was 'the Destroyer of Voldemort'. But all he really wanted was to belong. To be part of a family.

To have his own family, he realised. The words of Vernon Dursley came back with crushing force: "How are you going to have children? You aren't, are you? You don't deserve them!" But he discovered that those last words had lost all of their power, as he discovered that at some level he had accepted what Draco said: he deserved–- No, that was the wrong way to say it. It wasn't about being deserving. It was about accepting that he was allowed to have anything that came his way, and Vernon Dursley had no say in the matter any more.

He started to wonder. For the two of them to have their own children was impossible, he had thought. But if he didn't accept Vernon's words about 'deserving', perhaps he shouldn't accept them about children, either. Of course, in the Muggle world, he was right; male pregnancy was impossible. On the other hand, so were trolls in bathrooms; and flying on brooms; and killing basilisks with swords pulled out of hats; and turning invisible by wearing a cloak. One could do almost anything with magic, it seemed; did that include men having children? He made a mental note to discuss it with Hermione. It would be a very awkward conversation, that was for sure; but if they could …

* * *

It was not long before Eva and Anton returned. Glinda handed the letter to the Acting Head of the DIMC as she wordlessly stopped the recording charm on Eva.

"I suppose I should look at it," he said with a sigh. "It might be something important."

He opened the letter, scanned the contents, and then put it away in a pocketbook he drew out from his breast pocket.

" **Was** it something important?" Glinda asked.

"What?" Rosier replied, a little startled. "Oh, oh, no, just that idiot Pontefract forwarding something he should have dealt with himself. But perhaps I should return to the office anyway. Now, are you ladies ready to go?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," the three girls chorused, and they made their way to the exit. A few minutes later, they entered a very quiet little corner where Rosier bid them farewell and apparated back to the Ministry. A few moments later, the four witches returned to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. And for a good deal of thinking for Glinda Dalben-Chun, the Auror thought, as she quietly retrieved the magical recording that the tracking charm had made.

* * *

That evening in their rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, Eva Thillin excused herself soon after supper.

"I am zo sorry," she said, "I cannot stop yawning. Zo I shall go to bed. Good night."

"Good night, Eva," Glinda said. "We understand entirely; it has been a busy day for you."

And she did understand. She was only surprised that the girl had not fallen asleep at the dinner table; the sleeping draught she had spiked her pumpkin juice with was known to be both quick-acting and long-lasting. As it was also practically tasteless, it was something of a favourite of the Auror corps.

Once Eva had gone, she allowed fifteen minutes for her to be soundly asleep; then she and the other two girls placed a Floo call to the small wizarding community on Andros Island. They soon learnt that the Thibault parents were free and well, and having a delightful holiday. Danielle was relieved to learn that they were safe; but Marie reacted to the news very badly. By the time the call ended half an hour later, she was practically catatonic, not responding to anything her sister or the Auror said or did.

Somewhat desperate, Glinda made an urgent second Floo call to a Floo address that the Head Auror had given her in case of medical emergency. She had expected to get through to St Mungo's, so was rather surprised when Armand Ionescu answered the call, and much more surprised when he and Agnes Touauld accepted her request to come and check Marie Thibault. Agnes performed a number of diagnostics to check for potions and curses, and the mind healer spent ten minutes inside Marie's memories. Armand emerged looking as angry as Glinda had ever seen anyone look. He took up a piece of parchment and scribbled away for some time. When he finished, he sat still, staring into space.

"It's bad?" she asked hesitantly.

Armand looked at her, startled out of his own thoughts. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I got caught up in my own thoughts," he replied. "Yes, it's bad. The poor girl has had an entire fiction built on top of her normal memories by someone with some skill in Dark memory magic. Unfortunately, and you weren't to know this, seeing her parents and discovering that they are well and unharmed has caused further issues; a sort of brain-storm, if you will. I have pacified her mind somewhat; what she needs now is sleep."

He turned to Danielle. "Could you take your sister to bed?" he asked gently. "I expect that she will have recovered by morning."

The girl nodded, reassured by his kind words. "Yes, monsieur," she answered, and, with assistance from Agnes, she gently manoeuvred her twin out of the sitting room and into their bedroom, where they got her ready for bed and settled her down.

"I think it would be best for you to stay here for now," the elderly healer said kindly, and Danielle nodded. In truth, there was no way she was going to leave Marie alone until she woke up, and she was grateful that the healer evidently accepted this.

Agnes returned to the sitting room to find her husband and the Auror already deep in conversation.

"Ah, my dear," Armand said as he saw her, "Glinda was telling me there is to be a meeting of parties tomorrow about the matter of the attacks."

"Do you know who did it? Was it the Thillin girl?" Agnes asked bluntly.

"We believe so, ma'am," Glinda replied. "Is there any evidence you could give about Marie's state?"

"There was no particular evidence of potions abuse," Touauld replied. "Though of course that does not rule out her having been given one some time ago. There **was** evidence of some compulsion charms; I have rendered them dormant for the moment so that you can have a second opinion on them should you wish."

"Thank you," the Auror said. "Can I tell the meeting tomorrow? Or are there confidentiality issues?"

"The girl is not technically my patient, so, no, there are no confidentiality issues and yes, you can divulge what I found." She proffered a piece of parchment to the Auror. "Here is my official report; I imagine Armand has for you one as well?"

"Indeed," her husband replied, handing Glinda the top piece of parchment from the small pile in front of him.

"Thank you very much," the Auror replied. "And thank you for coming so promptly. I'm extremely grateful to you, it was a huge imposition."

"Of course," Armand replied, his tone making light of the burden. "It is part of having students. Good night, Miss Dalben-Chun."

"Good night, sir," Glinda replied as the two healers Flooed home.

* * *

Dinner at the Manor was very pleasant indeed. To Draco's great delight, Harry seemed to be getting more and more comfortable around his parents. They told them all about the celebrations the day before, especially the eating fest that had been the Hogwarts luncheon.

"Seven main courses? Careful, Harry," Lucius said archly, "you're becoming a Weasley!"

Draco's heart was in his mouth at this _faux pas_ ; but Harry just laughed.

"If you say so," he said. "I'd be more concerned about ending up a Dursley."

The three Malfoys looked at him, stunned.

"Harry!" Narcissa said, recovering first, "you can joke about them? That's wonderful!"

"Yes, I can," Harry replied. "I decided yesterday that Vernon Dursley has no say in any of my life any more. I don't care about offending him any more; it seems only fair, he never cared about offending me."

Draco smirked. "If we were still in Hogwarts houses, I'd demand a re-sort for you, my love," he said. "You'd be in Slytherin for a certainty."

"I think you're right there, Dragon," Lucius replied, picking up the open bottle on the table. "Port, anyone?"

It was a lot later, and the bottle had been squeezed dry, when Harry broached the question of where they were staying the night.

"Here, of course," Narcissa replied, and her tone made it clear that, for her at least, it had never been in question.

"Oh," Harry said, "thank you."

Narcissa fixed a beady eye on him.

"Harry James Potter," she began, and Harry quaked in his boots. It was never good when anyone used his full name. "This is your house, as much as Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow. You can stay here whenever you wish. Draco's room is your room, as much as I am sure your room at the Burrow is his. So I will not have you thanking me – you do not need an invitation to stay in your own house, and we do not need to be thanked for it."

"Oh." Harry gulped. "OK."

"Is it?" Lucius asked. "Understand Harry, as far as we're concerned, you're part of this family. And we know that that whale of a man we discussed before showed you nothing of the love and security that that should mean. But in this family, we look after one another. I'm glad you seem to be discarding everything he taught you about family; but please, learn from the Weasleys and us what a real family is like."

Harry found his mind was racing: did Lucius Malfoy really just group himself together with the Weasleys? He could see the truth of it, but the idea of the Malfoys seeing that they had something, anything, in common with the Weasleys was truly astonishing, and a sign of the truly remarkable progress that they had made in what? Just two months, since the end of the war?

At the same time, he found his cheeks burning. He didn't know if it was the unexpected emotion and support in the words, or maybe just the alcohol; he rather thought not the latter, but he could blame it anyway. But he couldn't blame the lump in his throat on it. He took a few seconds to calm himself of the emotion that these two speeches from his future in-laws had stirred up, composing himself to look Lucius in the eye.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet and constricted. "I'm so grateful for your love. I'm sorry that it means the Malfoys will die out."

"Oh Harry!" Narcissa cooed. "Are those words he said about children still bothering you? Put them out of your mind. It's too late to discuss such things. Let's all go to bed and look at them in the light of day."

* * *

_Sunday 2 August_

Draco woke at seven o'clock feeling that something was wrong. To begin with, he couldn't imagine what it was, so he ran through the last couple of days in his head. There was Harry's birthday: Quidditch, and that long lunch, and that interminable afternoon tea, and the party which he had enjoyed far more than he had expected to; and the sex after the party – and as he remembered that, his face flushed as he thought how perfect it had been to have Harry inside him. Was that it? Did he simply want to be shagged again?

Well, certainly that, if nothing else, he decided. He cast appropriate charms on himself and leaned over and stroked Harry, and his hand wandered down Harry's body, tickling and teasing as he went.

"Love," he said softly as he reached Harry's groin, and Harry stirred.

"Mmm?" he said indistinctly, and one blurry green eye blinked open.

"Is this for me?" he asked cheekily as he squeezed Harry's erection.

Harry came wide awake at this. Now that they had both made love to each other, he had meant to discuss with Draco what he preferred to do; but yesterday seemed to have gone past without an opportunity to do so. But it seemed that, for the moment at least, the discussion was moot.

"Would you like it?" he asked playfully in return.

For answer, Draco straddled his lover, cast breath-freshening charms on them both and then snogged him senseless.

"I'll take that as a yes," Harry said.

"You'd better," Draco replied, and slowly manoeuvred himself into position. He cast the lubrication charm, one piece of wandless magic he was becoming proficient at, and then, moaning with sheer delight, he sank down onto Harry's length.

The lovemaking was rougher than before; with Draco on top, he set a faster pace than before, and it was not long before both of them were close.

"Come for me, Dragon," Harry whispered, then repeated it in Parseltongue. The hissing noises made Draco completely lose it, and at the same time his muscles clenched, drawing Harry with him in a sweet moment of ecstasy.

The two lay panting for a few moments, then Harry quietly cast a cleansing charm. Draco shuddered.

"All right, Dragon?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco replied. "Much, much better than all right."

Harry cuddled him tight. "So, you're really OK with being the bottom?"

"I love it, Harry. Yes, I've been worried for so long that the Debt was going to force me into something I didn't want. But there's something about having you inside me that makes me feel – I don't know how to describe it. Connected to you, I guess. Like things are how they should be. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, Dragon," Harry replied. "I feel about the same. Don't get me wrong, I love having you in me; but when we do it that way, it just feels like we're totally in harmony."

"You need a nickname," Draco said irrelevantly.

"What?" Harry replied. "Where did that come from?"

"Well," Draco said, raising himself on an elbow and stroking Harry's hair, "you call me Dragon; what am I going to call you?"

"True," Harry replied. "What do you want to call me?"

Draco thought for a second. What would suit Harry? He thought of what defined his lover – the fierce love for his friends; the incredible skill in the air; those green, green eyes; that raven-black hair …

"Raven," he decided. "I'm your Dragon, you're my Raven."

"OK," Harry agreed with a grin. He liked it a lot better than 'Scarhead', the last nickname Draco gave him; and it was a million times better than 'Freak'. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

_Well, here we are being open,_ Draco thought. _Let's put it all on the table._

"Children?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a sigh. "That's kind of a big deal."

"It doesn't have to be," Draco said. "For a start, we could adopt Teddy – he's your godson, a blood-adoption is quite common when the parents are deceased. Then he could be the Lupin and Black heir."

"What about Malfoy? And Potter?"

"We could adopt more children; or there's surrogacy; or …"

"Or what?" Harry asked, a small flame of hope starting in his heart. "Is there some magic? Some potion?"

Draco gasped. "Not that I know of," he replied slowly. "But maybe we should talk to Father about that. He'd know if there's something pure-bloods use. But even if there isn't…"

"What?" Harry asked.

"You're the impossible Harry Potter," Draco replied with a teasing grin. "You'll find some way to do it."

* * *

At breakfast, Lucius had told them of the meeting in the afternoon; so they naturally talked about that, asking who was coming, what would be required, and what they expected to achieve. Draco was a bit miffed that they had not been told earlier; but Harry waved that aside.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "We know now. It's actually good that we didn't know; it stopped me from worrying about it."

Lucius smiled, glad to have made the right call.

Rather to Harry's embarrassment, they then moved on to the subject of children.

"I know you're worried about it, Harry," Narcissa began, "but you really don't have to do anything while you are at Hogwarts. And frankly," she said looking at them severely, "I don't want you to do anything about it before you are married. And perhaps we should discuss the wedding first; it is, after all, only eight weeks way!"

"Um, what do we need to discuss?" Harry asked.

"Everything!" Narcissa replied. "Where will you have it, who will you invite, who will officiate, what vows will you have, what decorations, what time of day will the ceremony be …"

"Um," Harry said, desperately trying to staunch the flow of points without appearing rude, "what do we need to organise right now?"

Draco chuckled but decided he needed to come to his fiancé's aid.

"I think Harry's a bit overwhelmed, Mother," he said. "Harry, are you happy to have the wedding here? At, say three o'clock? On …"

"The twenty-sixth of September," Narcissa supplied helpfully.

Harry nodded, and Draco turned to his parents. "Would that be acceptable?"

Narcissa nodded in her turn. "Yes," she said, "and I suppose, if you are agreeable, Molly and I can organise the rest – except you may wish to help with the guest list."

"I'm sure Harry and I can get our heads together this morning and give you a list," Draco said, and this seemed to mollify Narcissa somewhat.

"How long have we got?" Harry asked. "When do invitations have to go out?"

"Ah," Narcissa answered, "pure-blood tradition says seven weeks; more, I suspect, because seven is a powerful number in arithmancy than for any other reason."

"So that would be…"

"Next Saturday, darling," Narcissa replied. "But don't worry, darling, Molly and I will take care of it. Just give us the list today and we'll make sure everyone who needs to be is on it."

The discussion then moved back on to children. The senior Malfoys made the same suggestions as Draco had about Teddy, and about surrogacy.

"Aren't we being a bit forward?" Harry asked. "Teddy is Andromeda's grandson; shouldn't she be part of the discussion about his future?"

"Of course we will sit down with her, once you have a plan," Narcissa replied. "And please don't worry about Dromeda; I have been discussing Teddy's future with her, and she's very keen for him to be with you."

"Really?" Harry said, rather surprised at this news.

"Of course!" Narcissa responded. "You would both be fantastic fathers. Don't think we ladies haven't been watching you both with the children, Harry. I had a long discussion with both Dromeda and Margaret Granger yesterday. They are both bowled over by how well Teddy and Miriam have taken to you."

"All right, thank you, Mother," Draco replied. "But Harry was also wondering if there was any way for us to have children? Magic? A ritual? A potion?"

"Ah," Lucius said. "As it happens, Dragon, Harry –"

"Raven," Harry replied.

"What?" Lucius asked.

"Raven," Harry repeated. "Draco's decided that's my nickname. So, if he's Dragon, I'm Raven."

"Are you sure you want us to use it?" Lucius asked.

Harry looked a bit bewildered by the question. To his surprise, Narcissa looked close to tears. "Of course," he said. "It can be my family nickname. Is that all right? Did I do something wrong?"

"Well, it's just that it could be a private thing between the two of you," Lucius explained.

"We are deeply honoured that you want to share it with us," Narcissa said, her eyes shining with tears. "Most couples would have kept it private between themselves. In turn, perhaps, our darling Raven, it is time you called us Mother and Father?"

Harry nodded, the lump forming in his throat making speech impossible. He really belonged to this family, now; all of a sudden, he had tears of his own in his eyes. He took a moment to get control of his emotions, then addressed the elder Malfoys each in turn.

"Mother? Father? Do you–" and, as they nodded, his face broke into a grin. "Really? You mean it?"

"Absolutely, Raven," Lucius replied as he smilingly shook his head at the beautiful innocence and generosity of his second son. But Draco had asked a question which deserved an answer.

"Dragon, I confess I have been researching this matter with some help from a rather expert researcher I know –"

"Would her name happen to be Hermione Granger, by any chance?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Lucius replied, his eyes twinkling. "As if I would discuss such subjects with anyone else!"

"And did you come to a conclusion?" Draco asked.

"Alas, we have found nothing," Lucius replied. "No spell, no potion. Though there are a couple of books that look like they might be written in Parseltongue that we were going to ask you help with?" he said, to Harry.

"Lead me to them!" Raven replied.

* * *

"I haven't found anything definite," Harry said at lunch, "but there is one thing, one small clue. The pages that document the ritual Voldemort used to give himself a new body have some scribblings on them; but I can't really work them out."

"Hmm," Lucius mused. "Can you write them out for me?"

"Yes, I have done," Harry replied. "They're on a desk in the library."

"Thank you," Lucius replied. "I may not get to them before our meeting this afternoon, but I'm sure Hermione will be most interested."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I – er – did make two copies."

Lucius chuckled.

"And did you get a guest list started?" Narcissa enquired.

Harry blushed. "We have a list, but it's huge," he admitted.

"How huge?" Narcissa asked.

Harry steeled himself. "Once Draco added families, it was nearly two hundred people!"

Narcissa gave a short laugh. "Two hundred? That's less than we had. Don't worry, Harry. That will be no problem. Draco, you can give me the list later."

"Told you," Draco said under his breath to his fiancé.

* * *

The meeting was, naturally, held in Lucius's study. The house-elf had set up a board table for them, with Lucius at one end and Kingsley seated at the other. Arthur Weasley was seated on the Minister's right, with Robin Banks next to him, then Draco sitting next to his father. Harry was sitting on Lucius's right, then Glinda Dalben-Chun and finally Gawain Robards on the minister's left.

"Thank you all for coming," Lucius said, all brisk and business-like. "I believe we should hear from Auror Banks to begin with."

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," Robin replied, "and thank you for agreeing to host this meeting at such short notice."

Lucius inclined his head, but made no comment, and Robin went on.

"I have been asked by Head Auror Robards to give you a full report of our investigation into three matters that have been shown to be related: the breakout from Azkaban of three prisoners, namely Dolores Umbridge, Tobias Barnes, and Augustus Rookwood; the attacks at Hogwarts on Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger; and the possible existence of a mole inside the Ministry. It is this last matter that has caused us to have this meeting in a private residence, rather than a Ministry meeting room.

"Let me turn first to the events at Hogwarts." Here Robin discussed the attack on Harry during his own Defense Against the Dark Arts class, that had put him in the hospital wing for three days; the attack on Draco in his Potions class which had been contained by the Haussmann Shield; and the candle and charms used on Hermione Granger. He explained the evidence given by Anders Anderssen and Ivan Smetana and how he had come to the conclusion that, while the coin had almost certainly been thrown by Michael Corner, he did not know what it was, and the true villain was one of the Beauxbatons students, eventually settling on Marie Thibault or Eva Thillin as far and away the most likely suspects.

"Shouldn't they be here to defend themselves? Or Rosier or Madame Dubois, to speak for them?" Kingsley asked.

"Ah," Robin said, "that would not be wise, Minister. This is not a trial, but a presentation of the investigation that has been made and the evidence that has been collected. If I may continue?"

Kingsley nodded.

Robin went on to explain the events in Ionescu's occlumency class, which had ended up with Banks performing legilimency on Marie Thibault. He explained the image he had seen of Thibault cowering in a corner while her parents were threatened.

"Mind Healer Armand Ionescu told me at the time that he felt something was wrong with the memory. Subsequently, he explained that the lack of any reference to her twin was highly suspect. Based on this view, the most reasonable hypothesis was that Eva Thillin was the culprit, with some person or persons in the Ministry supplying the Dark artefacts that we found.

"I would like to leave this part of the story there for the moment, and turn to Mr Malfoy to tell us what he knows of the breakout from Azkaban."

At this point, all eyes turned to Lucius. That he knew anything was news to most of them, and for a second he basked in the knowledge that he could still surprise.

"Thank you," he said in his most patrician tones. "In the week after the break-out, I had a visit from someone who is, I'm sure, known to you all: Rita Skeeter. It seems that she was contacted by someone at the Ministry who leant pretty heavily on her. Even though she is now registered as an animagus, he convinced her that he could inject enough irregularities into the process to send her to Azkaban. That was the stick he used; and the carrot was two-fold: money to do as he asked, and the right to write articles about whatever she learnt.

"Now, I suspect that the stick was largely illusory; but the money was real. So she did a little bit of spying in your office, Head Auror Robards, and learnt about you sending some Aurors to Azkaban; and hitched a ride."

"Hang on," Robards said. "Was it she who changed the order I wrote?"

"What order was this?" Kingsley asked, and Robards explained how ' _Auror Crockford is not to guard'_ _had been changed to '_ _Auror Crockford is to guard'._

"Oh, almost certainly," Lucius replied. "But you'll have a devil of a job proving it. You'll never get her to accept Veritaserum or Expositor Falsitas – too many journalistic secrets. Anyway, she came to me and told me about the break-out, and how the three escapees had hid in a lair that Rookwood had set up in a rock near Azkaban."

"We have since found and secured it," Robin interjected.

"Yes," Lucius continued smoothly. "From the description Skeeter gave me of the _modus operandi_ I had a very strong suspicion that her contact at the Ministry was my very unlovely cousin-in-law, Anton Rosier."

"Ah!" Kingsley said. "That would explain why he was not invited to this meeting."

"Quite so," Robin replied. "The three escapees went quiet for a while – we believe that they visited Mr Goyle for a few days. We know they were at the Carrows' house briefly as a proximity ward was set off. My guess is that they recovered something from the house, but that will come later. The next thing we knew of them was a bit of a fluke. Mr Potter, would you like to continue?"

"Spinner's End?" Harry asked, and Robin nodded. "Right. As you probably know, Professor Snape left me his house at Spinner's End together with pretty much everything else that he didn't leave to Draco. During our Potions class on the ninth of July, Professor Slughorn gave me a note he had left me reminding me about it. So Draco and I Flooed there on the eleventh of July. While we were there, Auror Banks came to check up on us."

"And while I was there," Robin continued, "our three escapees turned up. It seems that they needed a book from Severus Snape's library, and rather foolishly mentioned it by name to one another; and they decided that Spinner's End would make a good hide-out. So Mr Potter cast an Unbreakable Ward around the study, Mr Draco Malfoy found the book they needed and I removed it and returned it with the Memory ritual they were going to use slightly amended."

Robin went on to discuss the events at Devil's Crag, including the use of what was almost certainly Circe's circlet, the artefact retrieved from the Carrows. He explained how, with the help of Bill Weasley, they had been able to spy on the three, and, as a bonus, had seen Anton Rosier at the site.

"So Mr Rosier is definitely implicated with the escapees," Auror Robards said to sum up. "And is he definitely implicated on the other side, with these two girls?"

"I can speak to that, sir," Glinda Dalben-Chun said, and Robards indicated for her to continue.

"I was given the task of 'baby-sitting' the two students in question over the last two days," she began. "At first, I confess I was a bit miffed at such a low-level assignment; but Auror Robards explained that this was not a routine job, and that there was definitely something fishy going on. Accordingly, I placed standard tracking and monitoring charms on the girls."

Glinda then described the little subterfuge Rosier and Eva used to go off together; the arrival of the letter and the flap it caused Marie Thibault; and then, most damning of all, played the recorded conversation. She lifted her wand and cast _Repetitatas!_ _;_ the voices of Eva and Anton filled the room.

 

> _"I tell you, eet is getting too 'ard to do anything," Thillin said. "That Auror—"_
> 
> _"Banks?" Rosier asked._
> 
> _"Yes, 'e is a sly-boots that one. 'E 'as tracking charms on us 'for our protection' 'e said. But I can do nothing!"_
> 
> _"Well, it can't be helped," Rosier replied after a short pause. "You'll just have to lie low for a while."_
> 
> _"Lie low? What iz this?"_
> 
> _"Sorry, of course, you wouldn't understand."_

("Patronising git," Draco interjected. No-one disagreed.)

 

> _"You must just forget about the plan for the moment. Do nothing; contact no-one. There's not much you could achieve anyway at this late stage; if anything happened to Potter now, it might cause problems with the timing. Unless you actually killed him. No. Don't do anything about Potter, I'll handle that. But perhaps … yes. Get Thibault to suddenly 'remember' something about Devil's Crag on the eighth of August."_
> 
> _"Devil's Crag. Eighth of August. Remember what?"_
> 
> _"Remember just 'someone said it and it seemed important'. Got it? Right, it's time we were getting back."_

"Seems pretty open and shut to me," Kingsley said. "Are the twins' parents really in any danger, by the way?"

"No sir," Glinda replied, going on to explain the Floo calls and the visit from Ionescu and Touauld.

"Is Marie all right today?" Arthur asked.

"Oh yes, sir, she woke up right as rain. But the two of them manufactured a little snit with Eva Thillin at breakfast time, so they are officially 'not talking'."

"So there's no danger of her suspecting them. Clever," Kingsley added. "Why don't we pick them all up and charge them?"

"We'd like to be certain we've got everyone, Minister," Robin replied, and Robards nodded his head in agreement.

"With such an important suspect involved," the Head Auror added, "we would like a cast-iron case; which really means catching him with the curse on his lips, as the saying has it."

"You'd probably like to know what they're up to, as well," Arthur said shrewdly. "Apart from killing Harry; though that was presumably a diversion?"

"That is my guess," Robin agreed. "I know Rosier has his sights on power—"

"You think he wants my job?" Kingsley asked with a chuckle. "Most days I'd say he's welcome to it."

"No, sir, I don't," Robin replied, with a little chuckle of his own. "I think he wants to be Chief Warlock."

"That sounds right for a Rosier," Lucius added. "A job with very little responsibility and a ton of influence. And you think Umbridge wants the Minister's job? And they've cooked up some scheme involving false memories to get her there?"

"That's my guess, sir," Robin answered.

"What about Thillin?" Harry asked. "What does she stand to get out of it?"

"Money," Robin replied. "I checked out all the students; Eva's family was not well off, and her parents died when she was young. So she is a poor orphan; and from what Ginny found out from the other students, she hates it and would do anything to get money."

"All right," Kingsley said. "What are we going to do about Skeeter?"

Lucius coughed. "It would be very hard to get a case to stick," he replied. "From what she told me, she was desperate to get information about the Death Eaters; so she must have changed your order as a way to get down to their cells. In the end, her information has been invaluable in tying everything to Rosier."

Kingsley looked at Robin. "Do you agree with this?"

"Yes, sir," the Auror replied simply.

"All right. We'll leave Skeeter alone." He turned to Harry. "In fact, we might use her again. Harry, so far we've kept the ceremony at Gringotts out of the press; we thought you didn't more media coverage before your birthday. But it might be time to let the Prophet explain just why the Sword of Gryffindor is at Gringotts, if you are happy to let the news out?"

"Yes, of course," Harry replied. "It'll be good to have something about me that's true." He looked at Arthur. "But you should probably get Ron and Hermione to agree too, sir."

Arthur's eyes twinkled. "Ahead of you, there, Harry, for once. They said they'd agree if you did."

"Very good," said Kingsley. "To sum up, no action on Skeeter, article to be published, and we put in place a watching operation until Rosier and Umbridge act next. How long do you need it to run for?"

"The ritual needs a setting step to be performed at the next full moon, which is on Saturday," Robin replied. "I expect them to make a move the following week."

"You have two weeks, gentlemen," the Minister said. "If matters are not resolved, we'll meet here again on Sunday week. With your permission, of course, Mr Malfoy?"

"I would be delighted, Minister," Lucius replied, and the meeting was adjourned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know: Eva Thillin is the villain. It was even an anagram … What do you think of Glinda? Should she come back into the story, or just fade out? And is she ‘a bit of a peacock’ as one of my betas put it, and get manipulated, or ‘man up’ into a strong Auror?
> 
> Coming up, Dudley is going to University to read Civil Engineering; any suggestions which one? (UK only, please). 
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster and ruth_lily for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook.


	64. Returning to Matters Courting and Matrimonial

**64\. Returning to Matters Courting and Matrimonial**

After the meeting at the Manor had concluded, Harry and Draco Flooed to the Burrow to find Ron and Hermione were already there, together with the other Grangers, Andromeda and Teddy. It was teeming down with rain, but fortunately the marquee from Harry's birthday celebration was yet to be struck, so everyone was outside, enjoying a late afternoon tea in its shelter, while the two babies were playing under the baby-gym, supervised by Kreacher.

"Harry! Draco!" Hermione exclaimed as they hove into view. Teddy's head immediately jerked up.

"Har!" he said. "Dray!"

Draco stood stock still, flabbergasted that Teddy had called his name – albeit truncated - as the tiny metamorphmagus crawled to them. Harry delightedly picked his godson up and swung him over to Draco, who happily caught him.

"How are you, Teddy?" Draco asked, and the baby gooed at him as his eyes turned silver and his hair white blond to match Draco's. As he came and sat down, Draco found Molly was pouring him a cup of tea, and Hermione was already tackling Harry about the meeting.

"Come on, Harry, spill! Arthur was gone for two hours, something had to have happened!" she was saying.

"Well," Harry said, taking a deep breath, and keeping his voice very quiet, "a good deal of it was confidential, Hermione. The Aurors are pretty sure that they know what's going on, and who's behind the attacks at Hogwarts; so they will take steps to make sure they stop."

Hermione took a long hard look at her friend. "Are you sure that will be enough?"

Harry thought for a second, then nodded. "Yes," he said, simply. "I trust Robin."

"OK," Hermione said. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Kingsley's agreed I'm to do an interview with Rita Skeeter about the Dragonrider Goblinfriend thing." And then, Harry had a _Lumos_ moment. "Actually," he said slowly, and rather slyly, "we could all do it. The three of us."

To Harry's surprise, Hermione seemed to be quite taken with this suggestion. "That's a really good idea," she said. "Just for once, it won't all be about you."

She looked over to her fiancé, who was rather awkwardly comforting Miriam now that Teddy had deserted her.

"Ron!" she called. "Over here!"

Ron gratefully gave Miriam into Margaret's outstretched arms, and came over to sit with his two best friends.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I have to do an interview with Skeeter," Harry began.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said sympathetically; but Harry just grinned.

"… and you're going to help," he continued smoothly.

"What?" Ron said. "How?"

"Kingsley says we can tell people about the new titles," Hermione said. "So Harry thought it could be a united front: 'The Golden Trio honoured' or something like that."

"What, you mean we actually have to get interviewed by her?" Ron replied, looking daggers at her.

Hermione swatted him and continued, "come on, Ron. Here's a chance for it not to be all about Harry for once. You know how much he hates being in the spotlight."

Arthur, coming in to the tent at this point, repressed a snort as he watched the simple byplay between the two. He loved Hermione like a daughter, and he was glad to see she was pushing Ron along; he loved his son, but he knew he could be rather lazy and needed a forceful personality behind him if he was going to achieve his potential.

Ron sighed. "All right," he said, not sounding particularly happy about it. "When is the interview?"

"Six o'clock," Arthur replied, startling the trio, who had not seen him come in. "I've just set it up with the Prophet. And Harry, I've brought along someone who would like to see you."

Harry looked round; almost hiding behind Arthur he could see a familiar form.

"Dudley!" he yelled excitedly, and jumped up to greet his cousin. Dudley had been at Harry's birthday party; but he had been rather overwhelmed by the wizards and witches, so had left after only fifteen minutes. Harry had not really had a chance to talk to him, and was grateful that Arthur had brought him over now that there was time for discussion.

At the same time, the two babies, startled by the noise began to fuss, and he turned back to them. "Oh, Teddy, Miriam, it's all right."

"Who are those two?" Dudley asked. "I remember seeing them at the party, I wondered why two babies were there."

"Teddy is my godson," Harry replied, "and Miriam is Hermione's sister. So really they're both family. Come and meet them!"

Dudley came over and sat next to Draco, who offered him Teddy. Dudley looked rather uncertain, but took a deep breath and accepted the boy, who came to him without demur, though he did look a little apprehensive.

"It's all right, Teddy," Harry said soothingly, "this is Uncle Dudley."

"Uncle?" Dudley mouthed in surprise.

"Uh-ee," Teddy said, reaching out to Dudley's face. Dudley automatically grasped his hands, and the little boy giggled with delight.

"That's right, Teddy, that's Dudley," Harry responded enthusiastically. "And Dudley, I'm his godfather so you can be his uncle, OK?"

"Um, yeah, I guess," Dudley replied, looking round at the assembled company. He noticed at once that they were all smiling at him warmly, and it came as a shock that the sudden feeling of belonging he felt was the very thing he had been wanting, but never found, at Privet Drive.

"Looks like I have a whole new family," he said with a grin.

"Haven't I been telling you just that for weeks, young man?" Molly retorted.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "You've been talking with Dudley?"

"I've been coming here once a week," Dudley replied. "Mrs Weasley—" and here Molly looked at him sternly, and he continued, "er – Molly got the creature to bring me over. I guess she took pity on me because I had to stay at school." Here Dudley seemed to feel a bit defensive, and continued, "there's no way I was going to stay with Vernon and Petunia, and they seem to have vanished anyway; but Smeltings let me stay on there after the exams until the results come out, and I've been sneaking out occasionally, meeting him in a lay-by and coming here. I hope that's all alright?"

It took Harry a moment to clock that Dudley was actually concerned that he might have done the wrong thing; the idea that Dudley cared what he thought was so novel that he just couldn't get his head around it for a few minutes.

"Alright?" he replied eventually. "It's wonderful! Molly, thank you so much for looking after him. And I'm sorry, Dudley, I haven't thought about you much since we came back from our break."

"That's understandable," Dudley replied. "I never thought much about you when you were at school, either."

"Yeah," Harry said, "but we're not going back to behaving like that, OK? We're brothers now you're a Potter; so, tell me all. You're staying at Smeltings till when?"

"Well, me and that Mr Malfoy had a chat and we decided it was better for me to stay there till I get my results – something about your house not having a proper postal address, so Royal Mail couldn't deliver them there. They're due out on the twentieth of August, and I'll need to leave Smeltings soon after that."

"And you'll know where you're studying?" Harry replied.

"Hopefully," Dudley replied. "If I get in on the first round."

"All right," Harry said. "Well, you can stay in Grimmauld after that as long as you need to, and we'll just have to see about getting your mail forwarded somehow."

Dudley gave a big grin, and Harry looked at him askance.

"Did you really think there would be a problem?" he asked, and smiled at his cousin and blood-brother. "We're family, all of us here, and we look after each other."

"Thanks, Harry," Dudley replied, and Harry smiled. There was more emotion and heart-felt gratitude in those two words than Dudley had ever shown him at Privet Drive.

-#-

To avoid having to deal with Rita Skeeter at his home, Arthur had set up an interview room at the Ministry. He invited the 'Golden Trio' and, at Harry's request, Draco, as the blond had also been present at the ceremony.

Rita Skeeter entered the room just on six o'clock, immaculately turned out as ever. Today's colour appeared to be mauve; her entire ensemble was in shades of the colour, and even her Quick-Quotes Quill seemed to have been transfigured from its familiar acid-green colour. But no matter; as soon as she produced it, Arthur took it from her and handed her another.

"I think we'll all find this more to our liking," he said.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"One of the twins' failures," Arthur replied. "It was supposed to be an Automatic Essay-Writing Quill; but it never worked properly. They were trying to get one that would elaborate the facts without actually fabricating them. But what they ended up with is a Faithful Reporting Quill; it records what you actually said, only tidied up, no 'er's and 'um's and so forth."

Rita's face fell when she heard this. But she wasn't about to go against the Deputy Minister for Magic when it could cost her an interview with the Golden Trio.

"Right!" she said with a fake smile plastered on her face. "Let's start, shall we?"

They explained to her how they had received the invitation to Gringotts; and the ceremony. As they spoke, the Faithful Reporting Quill merrily wrote away on a piece of parchment. Harry sneaked a look occasionally and was delighted to see that, just as Arthur had said, it was creating a true but polished version of what they said. Rita was also scribbling notes of her own on another pad; these he could not read. When she wasn't scribbling, she did keep interrupting them; she was very obviously skeptical about the whole thing.

"Wizards? Honoured by Gringotts? And no-one found out?" she asked eventually, and the source of her disbelief was clear: not that it had happened so much as that it had not leaked.

"Goblins are very close-lipped, as you know," Arthur said gently. "And the Ministry has been suppressing details; we have to protect these three while they are students. But they have now agreed to let events become public."

"Very civic-minded of you," Rita said.

Harry was rather surprised by Arthur's presentation of events; what he had said was entirely true, but it also allowed the inference that the trio's safety was the only concern, and their agreement the only criterion for publication. And Rita had clearly not missed this, making a note on her pad. As she did so, Arthur gave Harry a sly wink and mouthed 'Lucius' at him. Harry got the point immediately: the words had been suggested by Lucius, rather than Arthur. But they did the job perfectly, Harry thought. It gave him quite a warm feeling that Lucius was still looking after him even though he wasn't there.

The interview moved on to the Sword of Gryffindor. Of course, it was now well-known that there was a sword in Gringotts' lobby, which the goblins said was the Sword of Gryffindor; but it was clear that Rita didn't believe that either.

"Oh yes," Hermione assured her. "It really is the Sword of Gryffindor. Headmistress McGonagall presented it to the goblins as a sort of a peace offering. She said something about it being a symbol that the … what was it?"

"That 'the Wizarding world and the Goblin nation can work together and have shared treasures without petty jealousies'," Draco supplied.

Hermione beamed at him. "That's right," she said. "Goblins have different views of ownership; they think the sword should have been returned to them when Godric Gryffindor died."

"Very interesting," Rita said, her tone making quite clear that it was nothing of the sort. "But what if it is needed again? I understand Mr Longbottom would not have killed that awful snake without it?"

Harry explained how the sword returned to Hogwarts via the Sorting Hat when it was needed, so would surely do so again should a further need arise.

Rita asked a few more questions; it was nearing seven when Arthur exclaimed that these students would be wanting their dinners, and thanked Rita for her time.

"No, no, the pleasure is all mine," the reporter said as she left the interview.

"That's what we're worried about," Ron said under his breath.

-#-

_Monday 3 August_

Having dined at the Burrow and returned to Hogwarts Castle quite late, the four students didn't really catch up with their cohort until breakfast time. As they walked in to the Great Hall, Harry and Draco could feel the frostiness in the atmosphere; the normal chatter from the Beauxbatons students seemed to have halved, and everyone else seemed to have become very quiet as a result.

Looking over to the French girls, the source of the problem was quite clear: instead of sitting together and jabbering away at each other like they did at every mealtime, Marie Thibault and Eva Thillin were sitting at opposite ends of the table, and pointedly ignoring each other. Harry decided it would be fun to make mischief.

"Is everything all right, Madame Dubois?" he asked innocently, as he seated himself nearly opposite the Beauxbatons chaperone, who herself was sitting next to Marie Thibault.

"No!" the Frenchwoman wailed. "Everything, it is decidedly not 'all right'! Marie and Eva, zey are always ze best of friends, but today! Zey will not even sit near each other! And zey will not tell me what it is ze matter! Alors! My students always get along so well! What can 'ave 'appened?"

"Zey were most 'appy at the lunch on Friday," Blaise chipped in, and Harry was amused to notice that the Italian had subconsciously adopted the same sort of pronunciation as the French girls.

"Yes!" Madame Dubois replied. "Eet must be because of that woman they were with! That Glinda Daba-whatever! She 'as poisoned my girls against each other!"

Draco, who had quietly sat himself next to Harry, fought hard to suppress the smirk that formed on his lips, and schooled his features to their normal neutral mask.

"I'm sure that can't be true," he said mildly. "Our Aurors are highly trained." He turned to Marie. "Marie, will you tell us what happened?"

Marie looked up, sniffling, her face red and blotched. For an instant, Draco thought there was something actually wrong; but then he spotted the little signs: a slight twinkle in the eye; a tremor on the mouth; no, Marie was faking it for all she was worth. But Draco had to hand it to her: she was doing a brilliant job.

"So – many – things … And she – she called me – UGLY!" Marie said haltingly through her sobs.

"Non! Non!" Eva cried from the other end. "I said 'er beauty was plain!"

"See!" Marie hissed, jumping to her feet. "She thinks – I'm plain!"

And with that, Marie ran out of the Hall.

"Merde!" Madame Dubois swore softly, and rose to her feet. "I 'ad better go and find 'er," she said wearily, and stomped off towards Dumbledore Tower.

Harry leaned back onto Draco.

"A lovely bit of theatre," he whispered into the blond's ear.

"I thought so," Draco whispered back.

At this point, the talk calmed down as the morning owls arrived with the Daily Prophet and the daily mail. With a groan, Harry opened the paper. It was every bit as calm and circumspect as he had expected. At the top of the page, a garish headline stood out, over a photo of the three of them that Harry recognised as one that had been taken at the Memorial service.

 

> _**GOBLINS HONOUR GOLDEN TRIO!** _
> 
> _**Can Wizarding Honours be far behind?** _

"I bloody hope so," Harry said softly, mostly to himself. "I don't want any more. 'Destroyer of Voldemort' is bad enough."

He read on, slightly heartened to find that the article did actually extol the efforts of all three of them, and gave Hermione credit for the brilliant idea of riding the dragon out. _Good,_ Harry thought to himself. _Someone else can deal with the fame for a change._

Of course, the students all knew about the goblin ceremony and the names that Harry, Hermione and Ron had been given, thanks to Ron spilling the beans almost two weeks ago; but Harry could tell, by the sharp intake of breath, the moment that the Hogwarts students started reading the article beneath.

 

> _**SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR AT GRINGOTTS!** _
> 
> _We can now confirm that the Sword displayed at Gringotts for the last ten days is indeed the fabled Sword of Gryffindor, as claimed by the Goblins. It seems that the Sword was presented to the Goblins by none other than Hogwarts' Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, as a gesture of peace and a symbol that was can work together, Goblins and Wizards alike._
> 
> _See more, p12._
> 
> _Have your say: Powerful act, or misguided idealism? Opinions page, p13; editorial p14._

Harry put down the paper. It was immediately obvious from the phrasing what the Prophet thought about that last question, but to be honest he didn't really care what any of their opinion writers thought. He looked across at his classmates, particularly Neville; the blond Gryffindor was the only student he knew of, apart from himself, to have wielded the Sword in anger, so probably the only one with any real right to express an opinion.

"What do you think, Nev?"

"I'm a bit gobsmacked, to be honest, Harry," Neville replied, and Harry started to frown, not sure how to take that. Neville, seeing the frown, smiled at him. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, "I think it's a brilliant idea. It's just incredible that it took a woman to have the balls to do it."

Ron very nearly choked on his tea, while Harry grinned, at both the sentiment and the fact that the pureblood had used such coarse language. He picked up his mail; the pile was enormous, and he was pleased to see that Hermione and Ron had piles nearly as large. He calmly cast Draco's sorting charm on the three piles, and elected to send simple polite 'thank you' notes to the many well wishers; and, after a moment's thought, similar notes to those who had written hate mail, deciding that being polite and kind in return would be the best way to piss them off.

He was left with only a couple of real letters; the top one was from Ken Barnett and he opened it quickly, eager to see if Darren Dyson's trial was over. He scanned it quickly, and broke into a broad grin.

"What's up, Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"Darren Dyson, the guy who got the injunction against me, has just been convicted of blackmail," he replied.

"Wicked!" Ron said. "Is he going to prison?" Harry nodded. "For how long?"

"Ten years," Harry replied, his eyes sparkling. This was, at last, some measure of vindication for him; and he found it made him absurdly happy.

"'Arry?" Gabrielle Delacour asked, teasingly, "now that ze 'ole world knows, do we have to call you Monsieur 'Arry Potter Dragonrider Goblinfriend ze Boy-'OO-Lived?"

"And Destroyer of Voldemort," Seamus added with a grin.

Harry laughed. Even though he hated all the titles, the teasing couldn't touch the good mood he was in from the letter.

Ron, noticing that Harry seemed to be in a happy mood, decided it was a good time to broach something he'd been worried about for a few days.

"Harry?" he asked tentatively.

His raven-haired looked over at him fondly. "Yeah, mate?" he replied.

"Um, there's something Hermione and me want to ask you. Can we talk? Maybe you and me, while Draco and Hermione are at Arithmancy?"

"Sure," Harry said, rather mystified at Ron's behaviour. Surely his friends knew they could discuss anything with him, and they didn't need appointments. "How about we meet in our room?"

"That'd be brilliant," Ron replied with a grin, and went back to his breakfast.

-#-

Eva Thillin was beside herself with frustration. She had to get hold of that Thibault brat one more time. But the girl was playing hard to get. This stupid spat was so petty! And so ill-timed! It was almost as though she knew …

Surely not. Thillin had covered her tracks well, she thought; there was no way that stupid girl would have worked out what was really happening. Add to that the fact that her contact's memory charms were outstanding, and that they'd got that meddling Auror to do the legilimens rather than Ionescu; no, her position should be solid.

What to do? She had to plant a memory. Just one memory. Just one little accidental brush. She looked over her timetable for the day. Charms, Arithmancy, double Potions. Hmm. Potter didn't take Arithmancy; that would probably be the best opportunity. She would just have to hope she could engineer it.

She just had to.

-#-

Harry waited till Eva had left the Charms class to quietly ask Marie for a moment. She was ecstatic to be asked; but the joy on her face faded somewhat when she learned what Harry wanted her to do.

But this was obviously important – important enough for Harry Potter to ask about. And he was right, the Auror had helped her greatly, and she would do this one thing for them. One thing to help, and she could then keep away from that horrible, manipulative cow Eva for good.

-#-

After his chat with Marie, Harry returned to Dumbledore Tower, and found that Ron was already waiting for him outside the door to his and Draco's room.

"Come in, Ron," he said, entering the room and dumping his bag. He conjured two armchairs and sat down in one, gesturing to Ron to take the other. "What's this about?"

"Um, well it struck me and Hermione that you two have pretty much nabbed the only weekend that is possible for a wedding before the end of school," he began. "I mean, we could get married over Christmas, but Hermione is mental enough already about exams, she'll be impossible by then."

"I see," Harry said. "And you were wondering if perhaps we could have a joint wedding?"

"Um… yeah," Ron said. "I mean, tell me if you think it's a crap idea and would ruin your special day-"

"It's brilliant, Ron," Harry replied. "We're going to invite a lot of the same people; and if we get married at different times, we're going to have to avoid having them close together as we'll both want to go to each others' wedding."

"You're sure?" Ron asked.

"Absolutely," Harry replied. "Of course, I'll have to ask Draco about it, and you'll have to ask Hermione-"

"Nah," Ron said. "It was her idea, actually."

"OK," Harry said. "That only leaves one problem."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"Well, er, I was going to ask you to be my best man," Harry said, rather sheepish that he had not asked before now.

"Well, of course I would have, like a shot. Maybe you could ask Dudley?"

Harry grinned. "That's brilliant," he said. "Who will you ask?"

"Well, it would have been you," Ron replied, "but Mum's pressuring me to ask Percy. He's really working on being part of the family again. And he doesn't really know any embarrassing stories about me to tell at the wedding."

"Right, well, we just need to discuss it with Draco," Harry said, smiling, and Ron reached out and shook his friend by the shoulder.

"Thanks," he said, "I thought this was going to be difficult."

"Why?" Harry asked. "We're friends, remember."

"Yep," Ron agreed. "Best friends."

-#-

"Marie! Wait up!" Eva called to the girl she still thought of as her best friend as they were leaving Arithmancy.

Marie turned around. _You can do this,_ she said to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco watching. She had to trust that he would not let anything bad happen.

"What is it, Eva?" she said, letting her voice sound tired and teary, as though she were emotionally wrung out.

"I don't know why you are zo upset," the other said, looking down; and then, raising her head to look Marie in the eye, "but can we still be friends?"

As Eva glanced into her eye, Marie could feel faint tendrils, and there was a tug on the memory she now knew to be false. Something had been injected into it, something stirring up inside it.

Marie took a deep breath. She would let this work itself out, because Harry had asked her to; but she was done with Eva. This was positive, definitive proof that the girl was trying to manipulate her.

"I don't think zo," she said bluntly, and turned on her heel and left the classroom.

Draco looked closely at Eva. She looked crestfallen; but he could see it was a front. Underneath was a face that had achieved what it had set out to, and, for the moment, was content.

Draco hoped it would not be long before they removed that contentment.

-#-

"What did Ron want to talk to Harry about?" Draco asked Hermione as they exited the Arithmancy classroom.

"Ah," Hermione said, picking up her bag. "Walk with me."

She took them outside to a quiet little corner with a stone bench, and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to her.

"Ron and I were discussing wedding dates last week," she said, and stopped.

Draco looked at her; and, as she had anticipated, worked out the whole thing from that one hint.

"You want to get married on the twenty-sixth of September?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"A joint wedding?" he asked, just to be sure.

Another nod.

"Harry will love that," he said simply.

"How do you feel about it?" Hermione asked. "We're stealing your date, after all."

Draco looked at her, deep in thought for a few moments, then shook his head, evidently unable to reach a decision. "Yeah, you are," he said at last. "Stealing the date, I mean. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, actually. Can you give me some time to think about it?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Of course. Thank you for even considering it."

Draco looked at her as though she had suddenly grown another head. "We're friends," he said, simply, as though that explained everything.

And, somewhat to Hermione's surprise, it did.

-#-

It was just after dinner that it became clear to Marie exactly what Eva had implanted. She surreptitiously sought out Harry, who was studying in the library.

"Excuse-moi, Monsieur Potter," she said, then looked with interest at the parchment in front of him. "But what iz this you are studying?"

"Oh," Harry replied, his voice modest, "just some potions calculations for Draco. He's trying to work out if he can build a potion to help with animagi. How can I help you, Miss Thibault?"

"Please," the girl giggled, "call me Marie. Anyway, did Monsieur Draco tell you that Eva spoke to me after Arithmancy?"

"Yes, he did," Harry replied; then he clearly suddenly got the point. "Ah, have you remembered something?"

"Yes, I 'ave," she replied. "Someone said—"

"Please don't tell me," Harry replied. "I will let Robin know that you have something to tell him, alright?"

"Yes, that is fine. Zank you so much!"

Before she went to bed, Marie received an owl, politely inquiring if she would be available to see Auror Banks directly after breakfast. She smiled as she sent off her acceptance. She couldn't wait for this to all be over.

-#-

"Draco?" Harry asked as they got ready for bed.

"Mmm?" the blond replied as he pulled his jumper over his head.

Harry, not quite sure how to broach the subject, decided to do the Gryffindor thing and jump right in. "Ron came by to discuss wedding dates with me," he said.

"And they want to get married in a joint wedding with us," Draco finished for him.

"Yes—how did you know?" Harry replied.

"Hermione," they both said together, and Harry felt foolish for not having expected it.

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked nervously.

Draco was silent for a moment, and then made up his mind. "I think it's going to be a big wedding," he replied, and snuggled under the covers.

"You're sure? You're OK with it?" Harry asked, as he joined Draco in bed.

"Yes," Draco replied. "As of now. We're friends, after all; and I know it will make you very happy."

"That's true," Harry said. "But I don't want to do it just for me."

"No, but I do. I really do, Harry. I'm OK with this. But we should owl my mother and make sure she is, too."

And so saying, Draco got out of bed and walked over to his desk, where he took out parchment and quill and wrote out a letter on the spot. Opening the window, he called for Ozymandias, who must have been nearby as he sailed through the window almost immediately.

"Take this to mother at the Manor," Draco instructed. "Bring the reply in the morning."

And the owl happily flew off into the night.

Draco closed the window and crawled back into bed, wrapping his lover in a big hug.

"Ooh!" Harry said. "You're all cold now."

"So warm me up!" Draco replied, and they cuddled together happily.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Harry said.

"Yes," Draco drawled, "but feel free to tell me again."

-#-

_Tuesday 4 August_

"Now, Miss Thibault," Robin said, having settled his visitor with a cup of hot chocolate, her preferred morning beverage, "I believe you have something to tell me?"

"Yes," Marie said. "I 'ave remembered somezing. From that night when my parents were taken."

"I see. So the memory, which we know was false, has been tampered with?" Robin asked.

"Zat is correct, yes."

"And what did you remember?"

"It eez not a very – co-something, 'ow you say, together?"

"Coherent?" Robin suggested, and Marie beamed.

"Yes, zat is right, It is not zo coherent – just a mention of somezing called _'_ _Devil's Crag'. Somezing will 'appen zere on the eighth of August."_

 _"_ I see," Robin said, "and do you have any idea what?"

" No," Marie replied, "just that it seemed important."

" I see," Robin said, handing her a copy of her statement that his recording quill had taken down verbatim. "Well if that's all, please sign this statement, and I shan't keep you any longer."

Marie did so. "Zo, I can now cut 'er out completely, yes?"

Robin smiled at her. He could quite understand Marie not wanting to have anything further to do with her former friend.

" Yes, indeed," he replied. "And we might, with your permission, have Mind Healer Ionescu check you out after Friday's lesson? Just to make sure that nothing else is there."

" Zat would be good, zank you," Marie said, and took her leave.

Crockford, who was partnering Robin for the day, and had been present at the interview as a witness, but kept silent, now spoke up.

" Seems pretty clear to me," he said. "Matches the transcript from yesterday pretty much exactly."

" Indeed," Robin replied. "Hmm."

" What's on your mind?" Crockford asked.

Robin thought for a few seconds; but why not tell him?

" I think I should probably discuss this further with Mr Malfoy. Rosier wants us to storm them at the ritual; why? He might have some ideas."

" Makes sense," the other Auror agreed. "He's pretty good at cunning plans, that one. But you haven't got long; aren't you teaching this afternoon?"

" No, Professor Merrythought is running through most of the remaining theory with them. It's an exceptional class, Dandelus; they soak everything up like sponges."

" Good-oh," the other replied, deciding not to suggest the quality of the teachers might have something to do with it. Robin Banks had a big enough head already, and Dandelus Crockford was not one to throw compliments around like confetti. "Well, I'll sit in on the class just in case, and you can visit Mr Malfoy this afternoon, if he's available. And agreeable, of course."

" Thanks," Robin replied.

_-#-_

It was lunch-time before Ozymandias arrived with the reply. Draco had wondered why he hadn't arrived at breakfast-time, but as he read the letter he understood why. His mother, ever mindful of the proprieties, had Floo-called both Molly Weasley and Margaret Granger to ensure that they all were happy with the arrangement, which apparently had been thoroughly thrashed out over morning tea. Draco smiled as he read the letter; he could practically see his mother's influence at work. The wedding was to be at the Manor, as that had the most room; Molly and Margaret would be providing most of the food, while Lucius and Arthur were charged with the drinks.

Once they had all finished lunch, Draco pulled Harry, Hermione and Ron into a quiet corner.

" Hermione, I have made a decision about your request from yesterday," Draco began.

" Yes?" Hermione replied, tensing up visibly, while Ron looked a bit mystified until Hermione hissed "about the wedding" to him.

" Oh," the red-head responded.

" Yes," said Draco with a smirk, then repeated his remark from the previous evening to Harry as he passed the letter to Hermione. "It's going to be a big wedding."

Hermione read the letter and her whole body relaxed. By the end of it, as she handed the letter to Ron, she was beaming.

" Oh Draco!" she said. "I don't know what to say."

"' Thank you' would be enough," the blond rejoined.

" I don't think it really would be," she replied. "But, thank you."

" Of course," Draco replied. "It's what friends do."

_-#-_

Lucius was indeed available, and delighted to make time for Robin. He was happy to hear that Eva Thillin had implanted this one last, false memory; and that Marie was going to cut ties for good.

"So," Robin asked, "do you have any theories about why Rosier would want to sabotage the ritual?"

"No honour among thieves," Lucius replied promptly, and, seeing that Robin looked bewildered by this comment, continued, "Rosier has pretty much failed at Hogwarts. That means Harry is still in the picture, and I think he hadn't counted on that. So he's worried that the plan needs something else that will entice us to give him what he wants. If you attack Barnes and Rookwood during the ritual, they will probably do something stupid, and get caught. He doesn't need them – remember, he knows the phrase he needs to unlock the memories – so he'll happily sacrifice them to get Umbridge into position."

"How do you mean, into position?" Robin asked.

"She wants to be Minister. So first, he'll say that she needs to be treated kindly, given memory loss. Then, I'd expect it to become a call for a fresh trial as her memories will say she was under Barnes's hidden Imperio the whole time. He knows we'll find it hard to avoid that."

"And then …" Robin prompted, musing on the older man's word.

"And then, I imagine, he will have witnesses lined up to show corruption in the Ministry and that Umbridge was wickedly misjudged."

"Wow," Robin exclaimed. "Do you really think something like that could work?"

"Oh yes, a Rosier would make it work," Lucius replied gravely. But then he added, with a smirk, "but it won't work now that we have wind of it. Just as long as he doesn't suspect we know. Otherwise he'll pull his head in and be the devil to catch."

"Thank you, sir. That's very clear. I shouldn't trespass on your time any further."

At this point there came a knock on the door, and Narcissa entered. Both men got to their feet as she did so.

"Ah!" she said, a genuine and warm smile on her face, "Auror Banks! How lovely to see you again. Will you join us for afternoon tea? I thought we might have it in the garden."

"Well, ma'am," Robin replied, "I was just leaving…"

"Please, do stay," Narcissa enjoined him.

"I'd love to," Robin replied.

-#-

Afternoon tea was served in Harry's garden. Robin found it very relaxing to sit in the garden, which was full of late summer blooms and lovely scents wafting about.

Conversation turned to Harry's birthday party, and how pleasant it had been; and then naturally to Harry and Draco's wedding.

"You will come, of course?" Narcissa asked him.

"Of course, I should be delighted," Robin replied. "Please let me know if I can be of any assistance. I don't yet know what the Auror roster will be that far out; but if I'm on duty, I could perhaps arrange to be here in an official capacity?"

"Oh," Lucius said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I'm sure we can sort that out."

"There is one other thing," the Malfoy matriarch added, fixing Robin with a very maternal stare. "Would I be right in thinking we may have another engagement to celebrate first?"

Robin did a swift double-take as he realised that Narcissa was alluding to Ginny and himself.

"Um – I do hope so," he replied.

Narcissa smiled, pleased to have guessed correctly. "I know that Auror salaries are not particularly generous; and in that case, you will be needing a special piece of jewelry, is that not so?"

Robin blushed. "Um, yes, that's right."

Narcissa smiled. "I wonder if this would suit?" she asked, and passed him a small box.

Robin opened the box and stared gobsmacked at the ring inside. The thin band of gold sported a purple amethyst surrounded by two small emeralds. He imagined it _in situ_ on Ginny's finger; it would, he realised, be perfect.

"Is it not acceptable?" Lucius asked, his face schooled to impassivity, his eyes with the faintest twinkle that would have given away his amusement had Robin been looking.

"It is beautiful," Robin said. "But I cannot accept such a valuable gift."

"And why not?" Lucius replied. "Not only are we very fond of you, Mr Banks, but we are practically family – Harry may not be blood to us, but he is our son in every other way that matters; and Ginny is his sister in much the same sense. So you are practically marrying into the family. As such, we cannot allow you to feel inferior."

"I see," Robin said, "you're not going to let me refuse, are you?"

"No," Narcissa said, her face serious, but bordering on a smile.

"Good, that's settled then," Lucius continued. "Now, I understand that Miss Weasley's birthday is Tuesday the eleventh? Were you planning on …"

"Yes," Robin said, "I was going to organise dinner out somewhere."

"Ah," said Lucius, passing over a slip of parchment, "there again, I regret I have taken a liberty …"

Robin opened the parchment, and his eyebrows shot up.

"I can't…" he began, then stopped. "I couldn't afford it," he said, bluntly.

"You don't have to," Lucius replied.

Robin looked at him appraisingly. "I see," he said. "And just what favour, I wonder, will you ask in exchange for your generosity?"

"Looking a gift hippogriff in the mouth?" Lucius asked, playfully. "Very wise. I wonder, Mr Banks, which house you would have been in, had you gone to Hogwarts?"

"Please, call me Robin," the Auror replied. "And according to my family, there was never any doubt about that. While I have always been called charming, I have always been very good at using that charm to manipulate people to get what I want."

Lucius roared with laughter. "I see, Robin, that you are an honest knave!" he chortled. "Yes, I can see you in Slytherin. A shame you were at Durmstrang; Draco lost a good role model. Anyway, in exchange? No favour, Robin. I don't need favours at the moment, I need allies. And I think we already are that, really."

Robin smiled. "If that is your price, Mr Malfoy, I agree."

"Lucius, please," Lucius replied. "We are nearly family, after all."

-#-

_Wednesday 5 August_

Rosier sat alone in his office, drinking his afternoon tea and reading and rereading the memo in front of him. It was a report from his little spy inside the Aurors. There was nothing definite, of course; but the word was that something was happening on Saturday night. All hush-hush; but people will let little hints slip, and Angelo was always quick to pick up on hints. That was what made him so valuable, Rosier thought. That, and the fact that one slip would see his father exposed as a secret Death Eater.

It was very satisfying to have such threats hanging over people; it made it so easy to deal with them. But business before pleasure, he thought, steepling his fingers and deciding just what his next move should be.

It was clear that the message from the Thillin girl had been planted, and believed. Good. The Aurors would climb all over Devil's Crag; but they were not so stupid as to interrupt a partial ritual, he was sure of it. Banks was very irritating; but he was also very smart, and Rosier was confident that he would let Rookwood and Barnes finish, if only to be sure of Umbridge's sanity. But perhaps he shouldn't rely overly on the Auror to work out what was going on. Yes, Angelo could plant something about full moon memory rituals, and suggest that was a very bad idea to interrupt them.

Best to be sure, he decided, drafting a very short, and very private memo, then, as always, heavily charming it so only the recipient could read it, and no-one else could even tell where it had come from. Then he used the standard Ministry charm to turn it into a paper plane and sent it on its way.

He smiled. Things were going well. He would have liked to have been there to see Rookwood's face when they were caught; but unfortunately that would stretch co-incidence altogether too far. His thoughts turned to the two escaped wizards. Rookwood was smart, and might conceivably be useful in the future; but Barnes was really a liability. How to get rid of him permanently?

The idea came to him instantly, and he laughed mirthlessly at the thought of how simple it was. Cast Barnes as the next Yaxley: produce some evidence that he had been throwing memory spells and Imperio around, implicate him in the supply of the false galleons used at Hogwarts, and the Ministry would fall over itself to lock him away forever. That Barnes was in Azkaban when the galleons were supplied was no real issue; he had the paperwork to show that they were put in place after Barnes's escape. Paperwork, he thought with a grin, was never really a problem.

All of this could only help him to exonerate Umbridge, when the time came. If, that is, it did. He was still hopeful that he might succeed on his own. Doge couldn't stick around forever; it was just a case of being there when he finally stepped down, and seen to be the obvious choice to replace him. In some ways, the issue was to delay his retirement long enough for Rosier to shine.

He sat and pondered this until it was time to go home. It was a most pleasant train of thought.

-#-

_Thursday 6 August_

Minerva McGonagall had instituted a staff meeting every Thursday, ten minutes after classes finished. That gave them fifty minutes before dinner; which meant that the tendency for meetings to drag on was curtailed by people's hunger, which Minerva found very appealing. She hated long meetings.

It had been noticed that the attacks on students had calmed down somewhat; the headmistress explained that she had a personal assurance from the Head Auror that the culprit at Hogwarts had been identified and effectively neutralised.

"Neutralised?" Professor Sprout spluttered. "What does that mean? If they've been removed, why not say so? Though all the students were accounted for in Herbology on Tuesday. And if the student or students are still here, why not remove them?"

"I asked Head Auror Robards the same thing," Minerva responded sympathetically, "and he told me it was for operational reasons."

"And just what exactly does that mean?" Professor Babbling asked.

"It means," Professor Slughorn replied, a touch acerbically, "that they're not going to tell you."

"That's a touch cynical, don't you think, Horace?" the headmistress asked, but the corners of her mouth were creased in a smile, and these colleagues, who knew her well, gathered at once that she was only teasing. "But I'm afraid you are right. At least, he would not explain anything. Professor Banks, who cannot be here this evening because he is still on duty and we felt it better that he be watching the students, assures me that he is well aware of the situation, and has it in hand."

"Meaning he's roped in Potter and Draco and their cronies to help," Snape's portrait muttered under his breath.

"I suspect you are right there, Severus," McGonagall replied drily. "I'm afraid the tradition of the students knowing more than the staff may not be entirely history. But that brings us neatly to a matter that a number of staff have raised. As you have all told me, these students seem to be extremely advanced; Professor Flitwick's ambitious, not-so-secret goal of finishing teaching by the end of the calendar year is beginning to look achievable."

Filius Flitwick bowed.

"And in addition, the two students former Headmaster Severus Snape has alluded to are well ahead of even this schedule. Libatius, you were telling me about their potions work?"

"Yes," Professor Borage began, puffing himself up self-importantly. "In my view, they have already obtained NEWT-level proficiency in Potions; Mr Malfoy is, in my view, quite ready to begin a Mastery in Potions."

Snape's portrait choked on these words. "Potter is competent at Potions?" he said, disbelievingly.

"Well, you did give him your notes," Libatius answered fiercely, "and he had taken them to heart."

"I think, Severus," Dumbledore's portrait chipped in, "that Mr Potter's magical ability has increased beyond measure since his defeat of Voldemort."

"Hmpf," Snape replied.

"You'd better believe it," Flitwick said. "This year, I have yet to set him a Charms exercise he can't do first try." At this, Snape's eyebrows started to rise.

"His Herbology essays are second only to Neville Longbottom," Sprout added.

"And he has walked in to my Ancient Runes class as a complete beginner and eclipsed even Miss Granger," Professor Babbling continued. "So, Severus, I think you may need to revise your opinion of Mr Potter. And put your eyebrows down, dear, you look ridiculous like that."

Snape, whose eyebrows had indeed gone as far up his face as they could, did indeed look rather comical; but as soon as he was alerted to it, his face resumed its usual scowl.

"Well," he said, "if they're so good, why not have them sit the early NEWTs Aptitude tests?"

"That is an excellent idea," McGonagall agreed.

"What are these tests?" Professor Merrythought asked.

"Ah, of course, you would not have encountered them before," the Headmistress replied. "NEWTs Aptitude tests are a special avenue used where students are ready for NEWTS well before their cohort. If the students pass, they are awarded their NEWTs; otherwise, they can resit the exams with their cohort without penalty. In any event, they are given a moderation score which allows us to evaluate how successful our teaching has been, and areas that may require improvement."

"Well, I must agree. That sounds excellent," Professor Merrythought replied. "I'm quite sure Mr Potter is ready for his NEWTs exam in Defense; he is practically one of the teachers anyway. When would you suggest they sit them?"

"There is a week at the end of their first teaching block dedicated to revision," Professor Flitwick replied. "They could easily set the tests during that week. I understand they are getting married at the end of the following week?"

The headmistress nodded in reply.

"Then it seems to me that this would dovetail neatly," Flitwick finished.

"If, of course, they are agreeable," Headmistress McGonagall added promptly. "There is, of course, no requirement for them to do so. Filius, would you discuss the matter with them?"

"Yes, of course, Minerva," the Charms Professor replied, making a note on the parchment in front of him. Professor Flitwick rarely forgot anything; but he always made notes of anything important, just in case he did.

With this, the meeting went on to discuss other matters. But there wasn't much interest in them; the staff had heard about a wedding, and weddings of their students always touched them deeply. It was always so lovely to see their students settling down.

And, more than one of them thought, especially lovely that Harry Potter would be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for suggestions for Dudley's University -- currently Birmingham and Swansea have been mooted. (UK only, please).
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. ruth_lily is indisposed at the moment, so positive vibes to her.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook.


	65. Returning to Devil's Crag

**65\. Returning to Devil's Crag**

_Friday 7 August_

Tombinias Barnes was severely pissed off. There really was no better way to describe it. For the whole day, that fusspot Rookwood had done nothing but gone over and over the preparations. The cauldron was scrubbed so clean that Barnes wondered that there was any metal left in it for all the scouring. The robes were hanging, pristine white. At least for this ritual, they had to be white, he thought with some satisfaction; the ghastly pink ones that Umbridge had selected before were now a distant, bad, incendioed memory.

Meanwhile, that witch herself was getting on his nerves. She demanded tea and toast about every half an hour; it did not seem to have sunk in that she was their prisoner, so was supposed to do what they said. No, she just lounged on the bed she was stuck to with a Sticking spell, and whinged and demanded.

Even though he had expected it, the combination of Rookwood's obsessiveness and Umbridge's whining still drove Barnes mad; especially since the former meant he had to spend most of the day looking after Umbridge and enduring the latter. The memory spell certainly seemed to have worked; the witch was quite convinced that the two wizards had kidnapped her. But they were having a hard time convincing her that she had been framed for crimes she had committed. For some reason, she just seemed to switch off whenever they mentioned the Imperius charm.

And, to Barnes's dismay, that little problem did not help Rookwood's tendency to worry one little bit. If she didn't have the story perfect when they set the charm, the older wizard argued, who knew how Rosier would be able to spin things?

In total exasperation, at midday Barnes decided that the best way to convince the witch might be to actually make the story true, at least a little; he put Dolores Umbridge under the Imperius curse, using the techniques he had learnt from the late, unlamented Yaxley to make the spell difficult to detect. This appeared to work a treat; he was reasonably confident that the memory charm would make the actual curse look as though it had been around for a lot longer than it had.

But now it was mid-afternoon, and Barnes had had enough. He grabbed the other wizard and practically flung him into the room with Umbridge.

"You watch her," he snarled. "I'm making dinner."

Begrudgingly, Rookwood accepted that they did need to eat, and Barnes was the better cook of the two of them. In fact, the best of the three; Umbridge had turned out to be completely incompetent in the kitchen, having apparently relied on house-elves her whole life. _It figures,_ he thought, as he sat down and listened to her drivel on about their inhumanity to her at the top of her voice.

He lasted three minutes before putting a Silencio spell on her. _How did Barnes put up with this all day?_ he wondered. Any more of this and he would be seriously considering using Avada Kedavra and being done with it.

But he kept reminding himself that he had been promised immunity and a new life if he fulfilled his part of the bargain; and he still counted on being the only person who knew the pass-phrase to unlock Umbridge's memories. After tomorrow, life would get better, he told himself, over and over again, willing himself to be calm as he watched the witch do her little trick of holding her breath until they removed the spell, then shouting again.

-#-

"Heard something interesting today," one of the latest recruits said to Toby Proudfoot as the two waited in the lunch line at the Ministry canteen. Proudfoot eyed the man critically. He was part of the newly-arrived batch of trainees from Durmstrang, roped in to try and get numbers up after they had lost so many Aurors during the war: some killed, some exposed as double agents and now resident in Azkaban. Proudfoot schooled his face to impassivity. Years of experience meant he could tell immediately that the man, Josephus Rennet if the name tag was to be believed, was the type who was always trying to impress everyone around him; but it was, generally, a harmless vice, and Proudfoot could understand the nervousness that drove it.

"And what might that be?" he asked, putting just a hint of 'the older man humouring the younger one' in his voice to make it clear that the answer had better be to the point.

"About mind magic," the other replied. "Seems it's very dangerous to interrupt a ritual, or stop the second one of a series of two or more, if the first is complete. Did you know that, Mr Proudfoot?"

"Now that is interesting," Toby replied, not even having to fake the interest in his voice. He didn't mind letting the other man think he had told Toby something he didn't know; Proudfoot knew a great deal about mind magic, and had read around it when the first ritual had been performed, so he knew well that the subject could be driven mad if the process was interrupted. But he also knew perfectly well how the rumour mill worked. It was, he was certain, no accident that the subject had come up the day before Rookwood and Barnes were going to complete the ritual with Umbridge; it seemed that someone was concerned to make sure that that ritual went ahead without interference.

But who? That was the question. And Proudfoot, patient, obsessive Auror that he was, knew that finding that out was a work of carefully crafted questioning.

Mind you, Rennet didn't need particularly deft handling, he thought.

"So how did the subject come up?" he asked.

"Oh, Vissides, Johnson and I were just discussing different branches of magic, and Vissides asked if we knew much about mind magic, and Johnson said of course he did, he'd studied it for extra credit at Durmstrang, and mentioned some rituals. Then Vissides asked about what happens if you can't finish the ritual all at once, and Johnson told us all about multi-stage rituals. Apparently there are quite a few. Um, do you know where I could find out more? It sounds interesting."

Toby smiled at him, and suggested a couple of books to him. The other man, his eyes showing awe that he was being helped by such a senior figure, hastily scribbled down the names of the books and thanked him profusely as his turn to be served came up.

The lad, Toby could see, was something of an innocent, and easy to fool; he certainly hadn't noticed what to Proudfoot was obviously a staged performance. The main rule of spreading rumours was never to be suspected as the source, he knew; he would bet Galleons to Knuts that Angelo Vissides knew perfectly well that Tade Johnson had studied mind magic, and moreover knew that Rennet was something of a blabbermouth.

For Toby Proudfoot was not at all easy to fool. He had had his eye on Vissides for some time. Something not quite right about the man; and this little episode hardened a vague suspicion into a near certainty. There was a connection between Angelo Vissides and Anton Rosier, he was sure of it. He'd just have to work out what.

-#-

_Saturday 8 August_

Neville had stayed the night with George at the flat over the shop, and was now languidly running his hands over his husband's body and thinking it was about time for the two of them to get up when the door opened half-way and an all too awake and grinning head peeked in.

"Morning sleepyheads!" Fred said with a smirk, as the delicious smell of bacon wafted in. "Mail for you! Breakfast in ten!"

"Eh? Wassat?" George said sleepily, as Fred threw a letter onto the end of the bed and quickly shut the door. George might be his twin, and before now they had lived in each other's pockets and shared every moment; but now that they were married, he and Neville deserved their privacy.

Neville wondered idly if it was the noise or the bacon that had roused him; probably both, he decided as he scooted over to the end of the bed and picked up the envelope.

"Wassit say?" George demanded, still sleepy, and Neville's heart melted as he looked over at his husband. George was all too adorable. But they needed to get on, if breakfast was so nearly ready.

He quickly opened the very formal-looking envelope. Inside was a very stiff (and, Neville guessed, very expensive) piece of parchment, engraved in crimson ink, and he knew at once that it must be an invitation to Harry and Draco's wedding. Accordingly, as George seemed to have put his head back down and to be nodding off, he read it out loud.

 

> _Mr and Mrs Peter Granger,_   
> _Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy,_   
> _And_   
> _Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley_
> 
> _Have great delight in requesting_   
> _the pleasure of the company of_   
> _their friends, cousins-in-blood and companions-in-magic_
> 
> _Neville Francis Longbottom_   
> _And_   
> _George Fabian Weasley_
> 
> _At the wedding of their daughter and sons by blood and by adoption,_
> 
> _Ronald Bilius Weasley Dragonrider Goblinfriend_
> 
> _To_
> 
> _Hermione Jean Granger Dragonrider Goblinfriend_
> 
> _And_
> 
> _Draco Lucius Malfoy_
> 
> _To_
> 
> _Harry James Potter Dragonrider Goblinfriend,_   
> _the Destroyer of Voldemort,_   
> _Lord Black_
> 
> _3pm, Saturday, 26 September 1998, at The Malfoy Manor,_   
> _and afterwards._

"Bloody hell," George said as he sat bolt upright. "It's really happening then."

"Yup," Neville answered. "I bet Harry's not happy about his full title being shown off though."

"Of course he won't be," George replied. "But at least the three of them all have 'Dragonrider Goblinfriend' to put up with."

"Hey, you two love birds," Fred yelled, "are you coming, or do I have to eat all this bacon myself?"

In the event, Fred had plenty of help eating the bacon.

-#-

When the mail arrived at the Hogwarts breakfast table, Hermione, Harry and Draco were rather astonished to find that, as well as the cream parchment envelopes that their schoolmates were receiving, they had letters too, in white envelopes and delivered, Harry realised at once, by school owls. They took the envelopes and the owls, as was usual for school owls, stole some bacon from the chafing dish in the middle of the table and flew off.

The envelopes were stiff and formal, and nowhere near the quality of the other parchments; but as he turned it over Harry noticed the Ministry seal. _Oh no,_ he thought. Letters from the Ministry were rarely good; his thoughts flew unbidden back to the letter from Mafalda Hopkirk that had announced his pending trial for underage magic, and he gave an involuntary shudder.

By this time, Draco, who did not have the same unhappy memories, had opened his letter, and was sitting there staring at it, his mouth gaping open in a most uncharacteristic pose that Harry found adorable.

"Trying to catch pixies, there, Malfoy?" Seamus asked, and Draco looked up at him, closing his mouth as he realised what the Irishman was saying.

"This is unbelievable," he said. "Harry, open yours."

Harry, bemused, picked up a butter knife and slit the envelope open, a habit he picked up from his fiancé, and then opened up the parchment within.

 

 

> _Dear Mr Potter,_ he read,
> 
> _I write to inform you that an application has been made by the teaching staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on your behalf for special consideration for N.E.W.T.s. This application demonstrates that your teachers regard you as already having sufficient knowledge to pass your examinations, and should be considered as a signal honour._
> 
> _Accordingly, an offer is extended to you to attend special Aptitude tests to be held during the week of the fourteenth to the eighteenth of September. Hogwarts staff have recommended that you sit for the following examinations:_
> 
>   * _Ancient Runes_
>   * _Charms_
>   * _Defense Against the Dark Arts_
>   * _Herbology_
>   * _Potions_
>   * _Transfiguration_
> 

> 
> _* Note that, by special arrangement for this year only, Muggle Studies is to be completed by project rather than examination, and for this reason an examination is not offered in this subject._
> 
> _These examinations are designed to provide a moderated indication of your level of achievement in comparison to that required for N.E.W.T.s. As such, should you achieve grades of A or better, you will be entitled to convert them directly to N.E.W.T. grades without undergoing any further examination. However, you will be offered the opportunity to sit an N.E.W.T. examination in any subject or subjects you see fit, should you wish to improve any grade you receive._
> 
> _Yours faithfully,_
> 
> _Matilda Hopkirk,_
> 
> _For Madam Professor Griselda Marchbanks, CDMG, APMO, fdBB,  
>  Governor,  
>  Wizarding Examination Authority_
> 
> _Cc: Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall_

"Phew," Harry whistled. "Did you get the same?" he asked, and looked over at Draco's parchment. It was indeed the same, except that Defense was missing and Arithmancy had been added.

"Hermione, did you get one of these, too?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, her eyes shining with delight. "We get to take the exams early!"

And then the enormity of that fact struck her, and she let out an 'eep!'

"I have to study!" she shrieked. "We all have to study! Ron, did you—"

"No, Hermione," the red-head replied, "I didn't get a letter. I guess the Professors don't think I'm ready yet; and they're probably right. Which means that they do think you are ready. So, calm down, deep breaths, you can do it."

As he said this, Ron rubbed his fiancée's back; and to Harry's great surprise, it actually worked.

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, visibly calming in front of them. "You're right. We can do this. OK. Right. Um, I'm just going to go and set up a study schedule," she said, starting to rise from the table.

"No you're not," Ron replied, rising with her. "You are going to come for a walk with me and forget about study for the morning. You know what Poppy said."

"Yes, all right," Hermione said meekly, allowing herself to be guided out of the Great Hall.

Harry looked dumbfounded. What had Poppy said, he wondered. But he was interrupted by Mandy Brocklehurst coming up to him with something in her hand. So as not to appear rude, he stood to meet her advance.

"Is this for real?" she asked bluntly, holding out the piece of parchment she had received in the mail that morning.

Harry automatically took it and read it. It was, of course, an invitation to their wedding; he was not surprised that Narcissa had gone totally overboard with the titles, but he did blanch when he saw his own taking up three whole lines.

"Um, yes," he replied, realising that he and Mandy had never had much to do with one another. "I've always thought of Hogwarts as my home before now; that makes her students my family. And this wedding is kind of a big thing, so we agreed to invite the whole family."

Mandy squealed with delight, and hugged him.

"Oh, thank you!" she said, then looked at him suspiciously. "Wait, 'the whole family'? Corner as well?"

"What do you think, Brocklehurst?" Draco said to her, his face stern. "He could have killed Harry! There's no way he's getting an invitation."

"Oh," Mandy replied, abashed. Then her face set into a fierce grin. "Good. At last that bastard can't claim to be better than me!"

And with that surprisingly vicious outburst, she took back her invitation and resumed her seat.

Harry sat back down, and Draco turned to him immediately.

"Are you all right? You went white a moment ago."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, mate, I'm fine. It's just – Seamus," he said, turning to the Irishman, "can I borrow your invitation for a moment?"

Seamus happily passed him the parchment, and Harry gave it to Draco to read.

"She's really gone all out, hasn't she?" he said idly as he read it. And then his eyebrows marched up his face; and Harry knew he had reached the point that had bothered him.

But there was still plenty of Slytherin in the blond. He folded the letter and passed it back to Harry, who mechanically returned it to Seamus.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"I'd say," Draco said, his tone carefully measured, "that, given the number of people we invited to the wedding, it won't be long before everyone knows that the Prophet's article is indeed factual."

Harry snorted, but Draco was having none of it, and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him close.

"Raven," he said softly into his ear, "you deserve it. You are special. It's a good thing. I know those Muggles called you freak, because they hated that you were different – but when we say you're special, it's the opposite. We love that you're different. That you're so loving, so forgiving, so powerful, so strong."

Harry gave up the fight he was having to restrain tears, and let his Dragon comfort him. Yes, it was in the middle of the Great Hall, and he should have been embarrassed; but somehow, the words he had said to Mandy were sinking in along with Draco's words. These people were his family. It would be all right.

He took a moment to calm his breathing, then wiped his eyes as they came apart from their unexpected cuddle. He found that the Headmistress and Hagrid had come over, their faces filled with concern, evidently meaning to make sure all was well.

"Hi," he said to them, then picked up his letter. "Um, Headmistress, this is quite an honour. Are you sure we're ready?"

"Harry," McGonagall retorted, doing her best to look affronted, "of course we are sure. All the staff are united in this opinion. There is no way we would make any such suggestion to the W.E.A. otherwise."

The words were in the stern tone he knew well from this strict witch; but somehow they were blunted by the slight twinkle in her eye; McGonagall, he suddenly knew, was actually amused.

He smiled at her in return.

"Thanks, Headmistress," he said.

"All right, Harry?" Hagrid asked, and Harry nodded in reply. "Thanks for the invite. Ah, wondered if yer'd both like to come for morning tea tomorrow."

"We'd love to," Harry heard Draco say. It seemed they really were a family.

-#-

Rookwood consulted the almanac for one last time. Moon rise in London was at 8:49pm; he calculated that it should be visible at Devil's Crag by nine o'clock. And that was good enough for him. Sunset was scheduled for 8:37pm but there should be twilight for at least forty minutes after that. For this ritual, light was important, in the same way that darkness had been important two weeks before. He double-checked; yes, these were local times, taking in to account the use of Summer Time.

Then he checked all the ritual elements. Umbridge had finally completely exhausted the patience of the two wizards and was in a full body-bind. Rookwood wondered why they hadn't done it before; it made putting the white robes and circlet on her so much easier that it would have been otherwise.

He checked the books again. Yes, he knew the steps. Yes, he knew the words to the incantation. And moreover, he didn't need to distract Barnes again like he had had to last time; the tiny addition to the ritual, the specific words needed to release Umbridge from the mind-lock, did not need to be used this time. Rookwood was pleased about that; it would remain, he thought, his secret. His one bargaining chip with whoever Umbridge's Ministry contact was; the one thing that he could count on to keep him out of Azkaban.

And finally it was time. The group of three Apparated to Devil's Crag, arriving at a quarter to nine. Rookwood calculated that the set-up would take no more than ten minutes; he had managed, by using quite a quantity of magic, to Apparate in with the cauldron already set up and on the boil. A brief pause to set firewood and a quick Incendio charm, and five minutes later the cauldron had returned to the boil and was again bubbling away.

Nine o'clock came, and everything was ready. Rookwood placed Umbridge, bound, on the stone bench that she had sat on during the previous ritual, and intoned the requisite words, placing the circlet into the potion as required, and then placing it on Umbridge's stupefied head, noting with immense satisfaction that, exactly as the book had said, it glowed orange as he removed it from the cauldron and a murky green as he placed it on Umbridge.

Barnes was on high alert, watching the shadows, when he heard Rookwood intone what sounded like a great deal of nonsense in Latin, followed by words he recognised, words he had been told to listen out for, as the conclusion needed both of them to intone it.

"It is," Rookwood was saying, "it is established now, and it shall remain so."

That was the cue; and Barnes joined with the other wizard in saying, "so mote it be."

That was it; the ritual was over. Before Barnes could move, or respond, or even think, there was a clap of lightning, and suddenly the small clearing was swamped by Aurors. He raised his wand, but it was already too late; Stunning spells hit him from three sides, and he fell to the ground as consciousness faded.

Rookwood, who had been standing behind Umbridge, was a little quicker to react; but he was not able to make any use of it. For, running through his head were words of sheer disbelief: they had been sold out. The Ministry contact had betrayed them. But how? Only he, only Rookwood, knew the passphrase; surely the contact would need it?

He also was hit by a Stunner. As he fell to the ground, the last conscious thought was that perhaps, just perhaps, the man was an Auror, and would sort things out in the cells. It was probably his last hope.

-#-

_Sunday 9 August_

Robin and Toby were invited to question the prisoners; and Toby suggested that they might like to get the new recruits involved so they could see what working at the coal-face was like. Robards considered this for a moment, then asked, "who did you have in mind?"

Toby, mildly, suggested that he had heard things about Tade Johnson and Angelo Vissides that suggested they might benefit from the experience. Robards looked at him critically; the Head Auror was no fool, and he could see that Proudfoot was up to something. But he had learnt long ago who could be trusted with his own counsel, and Toby Proudfoot was definitely in that camp.

"Very well," he said, detailing a junior Auror to fetch the two youths in question.

-#-

"'Arry!" Hagrid said as Draco and he arrived at the half-giant's cottage. "'Ow are ye? Ye're looking well!"

"I'm great, thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, a huge smile on his face.

"I see that," Hagrid replied. "What's made you so 'appy today?"

"Oh," Harry said, blushing to be so easily read. "Um, I got an owl from Robin Banks at breakfast time. It seems that Umbridge, Rookwood and Barnes were captured last night and are in secure custody at the Ministry."

"That's great!" Hagrid rejoined.

"Isn't it?" Draco said. "I thought it might call for something a little stronger than tea, to celebrate." And so saying, the blond produced three bottles of butterbeer.

Hagrid thought for a second, muttered, "oh, it'll be alright" to himself, and invited them in.

They chatted for a little while; Hagrid decided that bread and cheese would go better than rock scones, and given that he was a half-giant and didn't do small portions, they had what amounted to an early lunch. When the bread and cheese and butterbeers were finished and there was a lull in the conversation, Hagrid spoke up.

"Now," he said, "I've got sommat to show you. Come along, Fang."

With that, he rose and went out the back door, the over-sized boarhound lolloping behind him, and the two bemused boys following the dog.

Hagrid led them out into a clearing, and gave a loud whistle.

"Winterwind!" he called. "Come on, you and your friend!"

They heard a crashing noise, and through the undergrowth came two hippogriffs.

"Ah, there y'are!" Hagrid said. "Come and meet the lads. Boys, this hippogriff 'ere is Winderwind, and I daresay 'Arry you remember the other one?"

Harry had indeed recognised one of the hippogriffs at once: he had grown quite fond of Buckbeak. And from the way the second hippogriff was eyeing him, and bowing to him, it seemed that Buckbeak remembered him fondly too.

"Now, Draco," Hagrid said. "I remember ye didn't get off on the right foot with these creatures, so thought ye might like another crack. This one 'ere, Winterwind, she's a bit smaller 'n more docile than Buckbeak, see, so I thought she might be a good ride for you."

Draco looked at him, stunned, then broke into a smile. "Yes, I would like that," he replied, showing perfect Malfoy manners. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Stuff and nonsense," Hagrid replied. "Yer 'Arry's intended, yer don't 'ave to be all formal with me. Yeh remember what to do?"

"I think so," Draco replied, and slowly approached the large creature. "I remember you taught us they are easily offended, and not to insult one."

So saying, Draco stopped while still a safe distance from the beast, and bowed to her, and waited. After a few seconds, Winterwind, having surveyed him closely, took a few steps towards him, coming close enough that Draco could touch her, and bowed in her turn. Draco reached out his hand and stroked her cheek. At this, the hippogriff evidently had decided he was trustworthy, and knelt down.

"There y'are, lad," Hagrid said, beaming. "She likes you, and she'll let you fly on her."

"Wicked," Draco replied, and, with only slight hesitation, mounted the beast. As soon as he was settled properly, she spread her wings, and seconds later they were soaring high over the Quidditch pitch.

"BRILLIANT!" Draco yelled, as the hippogriff beneath him soared, and banked, and looped, while taking care never to let him fall.

"Isn't it!" he heard a familiar voice, and looked over to see Harry riding Buckbeak, the two of them zooming up to meet Draco and Winterwind.

"Hello!" Draco called to him, and the two beasts flew happily together. "Merlin, I was a prat in third year, wasn't I?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "It's not important any more. Is it?"

"Nope," Draco replied, then spoke softly to his steed, "let's race them back."

At first he wasn't sure whether the proud creature would understand him; but then she suddenly turned and swooped back down at a rush.

"Beat you back, Potter!" he called, and Harry laughed. He had begun to notice that Draco called him Potter, no doubt unthinkingly, whenever he was feeling competitive; but at some point as they grew together it had changed from an insult to an endearment, and he loved it.

"Come on, Buckbeak!" he yelled to the hippogriff beneath him. "We're not going to get beaten, are we?"

Not, it seemed, if the hippogriff had anything to do with it; he sped into a turn so fast that Harry, now holding on for dear life, was at first afraid he would fall. And then the feeling that he had every time he rode his broom came over him, and he could no longer be afraid of anything. The wind rushed past him and caught his robes, and all there was in the world was him and the hippogriff and the target, now up ahead. And now Buckbeak was closing fast on Winterwind, and now Buckbeak's superior size and strength started to tell, and the two beasts were drawing level.

And then, all at once, they were there; and the hippogriffs both landed in front of Hagrid at the same moment.

"If that was a race," the half-giant boomed, "it's a tie!"

-#-

Tombinias Barnes refused to say anything except that he'd been set up, which he'd said over and over again, so the Aurors simply cut short the interview.

"Not much to be done there," Proudfoot observed to the two trainees. "He's already been convicted, so he'll probably get shipped back to Azkaban."

"Will he get an increased sentence?" Johnson asked, slightly breathlessly; he was still finding it hard to believe that he had been invited along to these interviews.

"It probably doesn't matter," Robin replied, candidly. "his current sentence is fifteen years; but given his previous crimes, and Death Eater status, there has to be a review at the end of that period, and the Minister has to be convinced he's no threat before he's released. I don't actually see that happening, to be honest."

Neither of the Aurors failed to notice that, while Johnson seemed quite pleased with this reply, Vissides had gone a few shades paler.

_I wonder._ Proudfoot thought. _I bet there's a Death Eater in his family. Father, perhaps? If Rosier's hanging that over him, he'd make an excellent conduit for rumours and information; those young trainees get everywhere and hear everything._

But Proudfoot kept his own counsel, and they proceeded to the next interview.

-#-

Rookwood said much the same thing, although admittedly with more erudition.

"Surely you can see that we have been coerced into this," he demanded. Both Aurors raised their eyebrows, quite sure that they could see no such thing.

"I've been framed!" he wailed eventually. "I demand to see my legal counsel!"

"Fair enough," Robin replied, equably; "and who might that be?"

"Prometheus Parturvithic," the prisoner replied sullenly. Robin smirked. It figured that he would go for the counsel who had defended Dolores Umbridge. Not, perhaps, the smartest of moves, given that he had failed to get her off.

"I see," he said. "You do appreciate that it is now Sunday afternoon and that lawyers typically do not take kindly to being interrupted at such times? I think you can wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, I suppose you won't tell us any more?"

Rookwood shook his head sullenly, and with that, the interview was over.

-#-

Umbridge was rather different, and frustrating for an entirely different reason. She seemed perfectly willing to talk; the only problem was that she couldn't seem to remember a thing. She knew that 'those two bastards', as she most uncharacteristically called them, had kidnapped her; but from where, or why, or what they hoped to obtain, or what purpose they had with her, she could not say.

It was all very unsatisfactory.

"Well, I'm sorry, boys," Proudfoot said as they left the interview rooms. "That wasn't very exciting."

"Oh, no!" Johnson gushed. "Thank you for the opportunity to watch a real interrogation! It was very interesting. I learnt a lot."

"Good," Robin said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps you should go and share it with your fellows?"

"Sure thing," the trainee replied, getting the hint and walking away.

As Vissides made to follow him, he found his arm caught in a firm grip.

"Not you," Toby said. "We'd like a bit of a word, if you don't mind."

Angelo Vissides looked like a rat caught in a trap. It was clear that he did mind; but there was no way he was going to say so, as Robin led them back into an empty interview room.

-#-

Angelo took a seat, very straight backed, and braced himself. _Here it comes,_ he thought, _what they call the 'third degree'._ He looked at the Aurors, expecting an attack; but, to his very great surprise, their eyes showed nothing but compassion and concern.

"You went very pale when I mentioned the sentence for former Death Eaters," Robin said quietly. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

"Er … no?" the lad replied, very tentatively.

"Well then," Proudfoot replied, "perhaps we'll tell you instead. I'd say that there's someone in your family that you're shielding, yes? A Death Eater?"

_They know!_ Vissides thought. He managed to blank his face a split second after the shock of the realisation hit; but he was already too late.

"Thought so," Toby continued. "Who? Father? Uncle?"

Vissides sat still in silence.

"Come on," Robin said, his tone that of a gentle reprimand. "You know that we'll find them, now that we know to go looking. If you tell us now, we may be able to help; if you don't, we definitely won't be."

The trainee sat still for a moment, considering this. Eventually, the logic seemed to convince him: if he told, things might still be bad, but if he didn't, they definitely would be.

"It's my father," he said, eventually, miserably. "He was forced to be a Death Eater by Voldemort. He said my mother would die otherwise."

"I see," Proudfoot said quietly. "Well, if he was coerced, he should get off. We don't lock up innocent people, Angelo."

The lad raised his head and looked him in the eye; for the first time in the whole conversation, there was a tiny glimmer of hope. But there was also still suspicion and fear.

"Really?" he said. "But you—" here he looked at Robin, "—you said fifteen years! And not be a threat! How could we prove that!"

"Fifteen years for Barnes, yes, but not for all Death Eaters," Robin replied. "And I assure you, Auror Proudfoot is quite correct. If he was coerced, he should get off."

"But he said—" Vissides began, then stopped.

"Go on," Proudfoot replied. "Who said what?"

The trainee hung his head in his hands. This, he realised, was it. And he suddenly found that he wanted to tell them everything. He had seen these two; they were honest men, he could sense that. Not like the other.

"His name is something like Roseeya, I think. He told me I had to do what he said, or my father would be rounded up and sent to Azkaban. He said having the dark mark was enough to put him in Azkaban forever."

"I see," Proudfoot replied, a little sterner. Not that he was angry with the lad in front of him; no, Anton Rosier was going to pay for this. Browbeating new recruits was not a big addition to the long list of things they had on the man; but it was one Proudfoot felt strongly about. Moreover, if he had done it once, he had almost certainly done it before. How many more Aurors were hidden away, under threat from the man?

Robin could see Vissides getting anxious, and realised that he was interpreting Toby's response as antagonistic towards him.

"It's all right," he said, reassuring him. "We already know that Anton Rosier is not trustworthy. He is implicated in the whole business that we are investigating." He turned to his partner. "We're going to have to keep him away from the trainees, though."

"Point," Toby replied. "Perhaps we could suggest to Head Auror Robards that it might be time for some fieldwork?" he asked, with a grin.

Robin grinned back. "I like your style," he replied.

-#-

Anton Rosier was a most unhappy man when he went to bed that night.

He had heard about the raid, of course; and he had quietly snuck into the Ministry under a glamour to find out what was going on with the prisoners. Barnes had been a dead loss, he had had to tell the man he would look after him, and promise him a new identity, and even then he had only got a promise of silence.

Rookwood had shown a little more intelligence, and he had been able to reassure him that the two wizard escapees might have return to Azkaban for a short while, but they would be out when Umbridge's full memories needed to be returned. Of course, Rosier had no intention of doing any such thing; but lying came easily to him, and the man wanted to believe it.

Umbridge had been a different thing altogether. She was, in a word, useless. She was supposed to have enough of her memories to start working her charms on the Wizengamot. But this prisoner knew nothing. She might stay out of Azkaban, not because she was seen to be innocent but because she was seen to be completely incompetent. She was, in short, no threat to anyone. And that made her no use to Rosier.

The second major blow came half an hour later, when he heard that Robards had ordered all the new trainees on a fortnight's training in the field. Suddenly, Angelo, his most useful pair of eyes and ears, was gone. He would have to rely more on other spies; spies who would demand more from him, spies who had less to lose than the boy. Angelo had been a gift. And even worse, the boy had been invited to the interrogations, but now could not give him a report. He would dearly love to know what had been asked, and more importantly what hadn't.

Was it, he wondered, suspicious that the Aurors involved were that young upstart, Banks, and his decrepit sidekick, Proudfoot? Surely not. He couldn't look for conspiracies everywhere. No, it had to be co-incidence.

It had to be.

But his sleep was troubled that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for suggestions for Dudley's University -- currently Birmingham and Swansea have been mooted. (UK only, please).
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. ruth_lily is indisposed at the moment, so positive vibes to her.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook.


	66. The Return of Sneaky Tactics

**66 The Return of Sneaky Tactics**

_Monday 10 August_

Rosier got to the office on Monday morning to find that his visits to Barnes and Rookwood the previous day had only just been in time. On his desk was what looked like an innocuous report of Auror responses to wizarding transits between the United Kingdom and continental Europe; but the report was in fact written by one of his best contacts in the Auror department. He cast Revelio on the document, and the real report, charmed to only be visible to him, appeared.

He sat back in his dragon-hide chair, one of the few things in the office he had kept from Anofeles' days, and read the report carefully. There had been an emergency hearing late on Sunday night and both Barnes and Rookwood were now safely back in Azkaban, he learnt. Good. They couldn't interfere from there. However, medical testimony had been brought to show that Umbridge was not up to it. Her mental state was still fragile; she would need healing, and a comprehensive review of her case, given that it now appeared that she might have been yet another victim of a Yaxley-style Imperius.

The Acting Head of DIMC smiled. It was not a nice smile. These developments played into his hands nicely, he felt. Umbridge would be near to hand, and if he used his contacts wisely he should be able to spend time with her without suspicion; while the other two were out of the picture entirely. The only problem was that the witch had been moved to St Mungo's – inevitable, he supposed, but somewhat inconvenient.

Unless … Unless his old mother's lumbago got suddenly worse. The healers had said to bring her in if there was discomfort, as she had taken pain-relieving potions for so long that the only ones that really helped her were so strong that they had to be administered by hospital staff. Which would necessitate a few days' residence in St Mungo's; and then, of course, her dutiful son would be honour-bound to visit her. And as a senior person at the Ministry, he would naturally enquire after persons of interest to the Ministry.

What a happy thing that he knew undetectable charms that would inflame just the tissues he chose. At this thought, his smile grew even more unpleasant.

* * *

 

Robin Banks was a man with a mission. The situation was a little delicate. Now that the ritual was over, he knew that Rosier would cut all ties with Eva Thillin. But word of events in Hogwarts could still get back to him. They needed to keep him in the dark about the fact that they knew about the conspiracy, at least until they had identified everyone who was part of the plot.

At the same time, Eva Thillin running around loose at Hogwarts could still make mischief; and he could not justify that. Nor would he accept it. They needed to weed out all of Rosier's agents at the Ministry; but the safety of the student body was paramount. Better to miss ten stooges than have one more student harmed, as far as he was concerned.

Accordingly, after breakfast on Monday he approached the Beauxbatons contingent, all smiles, and asked Madame Dubois if he might possibly have a private word in his office with Eva. The chaperone looked at him sniffily; but she could not really refuse the request of a Professor to see one of his students.

Eva, for her part, was looking exceedingly glum. The Thibaults were still having nothing to do with her, and while the other girls were not being particularly unfriendly, they had never been buddies either; so the girl was feeling very alone and unloved. A feeling which was not helped by the smiling face of her Defense Professor inviting her to his office. The man was, after all, an Auror; and she had an instinctive distrust of authority of any kind.

Ten minutes later, Eva, looking rather shaken, was sitting in the young Professor's office.

"Now, Mademoiselle Thillin," the Auror began, fixing quite a stern look on her. "I think you can guess why I have called you in today?"

"Non, monsieur," she replied.

Robin grimaced. Well, he hadn't expected her to break down easily.

"Then," he said, "perhaps I should remind you of a conversation that you had recently."

He took out a crystal from the small bag on his desk, and cast _Repetitatas_ _, and what was recognisably Thillin's voice started up._

_"I tell you, eet is getting too 'ard to do anything, That Auror—"_

At this point, the girl in front of him had gone white as a sheet, and Robin, not a cruel man, stopped the recording.

"You know!" she hissed.

"Yes, Mademoiselle," he replied. "We know Rosier is your contact inside the Ministry. We know he supplied you with the candle and the coins. We know you used Corner's antipathy to Harry and Draco to convince the Ravenclaws to go all out, and gave Corner the coin that should have burnt Harry Potter to death. We know that you placed the candle in Hermione Granger's room, and cast the charm to provoke her jealousy."

"Zo," Eva replied, looking down at the floor. "Eez zis where you arrest me and put me in – what is it called – Az-kah-barn?"

"By rights," Robin replied, "that is exactly what I should do. However, we still want to find out more about exactly what your Ministry contact is up to; and if we brought you to trial he would know immediately that we were on to him. But I can't really leave you free to wreak havoc here at Hogwarts. Accordingly, I have been authorised to make you an offer. We will continue the tracking spells on you; you will agree to co-operate with our investigation, refrain from contacting Mr Rosier, or indeed anyone else outside Hogwarts without my permission, and you will swear on your magic not to deliberately harm any person at Hogwarts other than in necessary self-defense. In return, instead of sending you straight to Azkaban, which we certainly could do given that the attack on Mr Potter amounted to attempted murder, we will allow you to complete your studies here."

"You mean I would not be tried?" Thillin said sharply.

"That I cannot guarantee," Robin replied. "Mr Potter and Miss Granger remain free to bring the matters formally to the Auror Department's attention, in which case we would have to proceed. But we would certainly explain at any trial that you agreed to assist us in our investigation, and so were materially involved in apprehending the imposters in the Ministry."

Thillin considered the offer carefully. But really, if she was honest with herself, there wasn't much choice. A certain prison-cell immediately compared to at least a temporary reprieve?

"Very well," she said. "What do I 'ave to do?"

Robin blew out a breath. The main sticking point was over, it seemed.

"Repeat after me," he said, and led the young witch through an oath on her magic exactly as he had outlined before.

"Very well," he said, once the oath was complete. "You may go."

"Really?" she said. "Um, what about classes? The students, they still do not trust me, I think."

"That is true, Mademoiselle. Frankly, I suggest that you seek an interview with Mr Potter and Miss Granger, explain to them that we have had this little chat, and give them a full apology."

"But – it was, you say, attempted murder? Will zey not 'ex me out of ze castle?"

"I don't believe so," Robin said, a little twinkle in his eye. "You will find that Mr Potter is a very forgiving man, Mademoiselle. As for Miss Granger, I think she may agree to follow his lead."

At this point, the Auror's face became very stern. "But do not abuse any offered forgiveness," he said forcefully. "We will still be watching you."

* * *

At lunchtime, Ron made a point to sit between Hermione and Harry.

"So, mate," he said to his best friend, "have the three of you decided whether you're going to do these exams?"

Harry looked a little divided. Of course, he wanted to do the exams; but after so many summers spent by himself at the Dursleys', while his friends were having fun with their families, he could quite see things from Ron's point of view and how that would leave him stuck all by himself.

"I kind of think we have to," he replied. "It's such an amazing opportunity. But it will leave you in classes without Hermione or me."

"Yeah," Ron said. "I was hoping – maybe you could tutor me? And we could see if the Headmistress would let me try too?"

Harry and Hermione both thought about this for a few seconds, so, surprisingly enough, it was Draco who spoke first.

"I think that is an excellent idea," the blond replied.

"You do?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco continued. "We have to revise the courses; what better way than by tutoring other people doing it? And maybe even mentoring in class. That way, we'd be sure to keep up with the practical work we actually need to know by September."

"That's brilliant," Hermione chipped in. "We could certainly do it in Potions, say, and Charms; do you think DADA?"

"Well, I kind of already do," Harry pointed out, "so yeah, I don't see why not. Maybe we could get a proposal together for the Headmistress? I mean, if they have to give exams, surely they don't mind if there are a few more taking them?"

"All right," Draco said, taking out a piece of parchment, "shall we ask her if we can discuss it after Potions?"

The others agreed, and Draco wrote a quick note, and, remembering that his father told him that the Ministry used paper aeroplanes for internal correspondence, decided to go one better and charmed the parchment into an appropriate form, which he then launched and watched with delight as it flew over to the staff table.

A moment later, the Headmistress was very surprised by the arrival of a paper dragonfly in front of her lunch. She unfolded it, read the note written on it, and smiled over at Draco and Harry; then wrote a short reply and Charmed it into a crane for the return journey.

Draco smiled at the innocent one-upmanship as he opened the letter.

"We're on," he said.

* * *

Professor Slughorn and Potions Master Borage were immediately taken with the idea of having their better students mentor the weaker ones. But, in order to avoid conflicts of interest, they insisted that the affianced people were not allowed to mentor their fiancés. As a result, new pairings were established immediately.

Along the front row, Ron, now that he could not be Hermione's partner, was partnered with Harry, while Draco was now Neville's partner. The teachers insisted that Harry and Draco remain in close proximity, though they did not explain their reasons to the class. Harry could see perfectly well why they needed to be close: that way, they would be able to activate the Shield if there was any further trouble. But he appreciated the fact that this was not spelled out; there was really no reason to tell the students that they were relying on this extra level of defence, especially as that would point out that they were still chary of trusting everyone. Constant vigilance was a good watch-word, but it was important to have at least the appearance of mutual good faith.

Meanwhile, Hermione, having lost Ron, her previous Potions partner, to Harry, was invited to choose who to mentor. To everyone's evident surprise, she picked Susan Bones. Harry grinned at her; Susan, like him, was an orphan, her whole family apart from her Aunt Amelia having been killed by Voldemort in the First Wizarding War, and Amelia having been killed in the second; with no family connections, and belonging to Hufflepuff, she tended to get overlooked a lot by the other students, but she must have some potential to have made it into sixth year potions.

By the end of the class, they had managed to successfully brew three of the NEWT level potions that also happened to be useful for Madam Pomfrey. Slughorn was delighted to notice that both Ron Weasley and Susan Bones had been taking careful note of their new partners, and had managed to brew the potions perfectly. He was especially impressed by Susan Bones; her aunt had been the Head of the important Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and feared and respected by all, before Voldemort had killed her. He was quietly convinced that, with her name, she would go places. He did not have the same opinion of Ron; he really only cared about people of influence, or people with potential, and the Weasleys didn't really strike him as the Right Sort, even if, by some strange quirk of history, Ron's father had managed to become Deputy Minister for Magic. Slughorn privately considered that this was simply Kingsley being nice, and wouldn't last. Nonetheless, Ron Weasley was a good friend of Harry Potter, and Harry Potter definitely was a person of influence. Perhaps even, at the moment, **the** person of influence. And so far, Harry Potter had resisted all of Horace Slughorn's attempts to cultivate him. No matter; Slughorn was patient; he would work through Ron Weasley. A little judicious flattery might well do the trick.

"Well done, Mr Weasley," he gushed, holding the phial that contained Ron's potion sample next to Harry's. "You may have the makings of an unsuspected potions prodigy yet! As you can see, your potion is the same colour as Mr Potter's; perhaps just a touch lighter, but well on the way to greatness."

"Thank you, sir," Ron replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Of course!" Slughorn said with a twinkle in his eye as he put all the potion samples into the stasis bag that was used to hold submitted phials. "Nothing you don't deserve!" he continued, as he waved them good-bye and went through the connecting door into the Potion Professor's office.

By this time, the usual six fast friends – Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Pansy – had regrouped and they left the class together. Once they were safely away from the room, Ron fell against one of the walls doubled-up in laughter.

"It wasn't that funny," Draco observed.

"No," Ron said through gales of laughter, speaking in short bursts as he exhaled, "it's just – pompous ass - he never took – any notice of me – in sixth year…"

"And?" Pansy asked, bemused.

"And he's only doing it now to get to me," Harry said, his face frowning. "It's pretty rich, really."

"Yeah, but," Ron replied, slowly getting himself back under control, "we all know – he's not going to get you – and compared to the drama of the year so far, he's pretty harmless."

Harry grinned at that, "Yeah," he replied, "mostly harmless."

* * *

The group made their way to the Headmistress's office, where they found McGonagall and Professor Flitwick waiting for them.

"Come in! Come in!" the Charms professor twittered, conjuring chairs for all of them. Once they were all seated, the Headmistress Summoned tea for them all, and fixed them with a wry smile.

"Well, Mr Malfoy," she began, "I understand you have a proposal for me?"

"Well, Headmistress," Draco replied, putting on his best Malfoy manners, "Harry and Hermione and I are very grateful for the great honour you have given us in putting our names forward for the Aptitude tests; we were just wondering if there might be a possibility of examining other students at the same time?"

McGonagall's smile widened just a fraction. "Other students, such as Mr Weasley, Miss Parkinson and Mr Zabini?"

Blaise looked nonplussed. "Actually, Headmistress," he said, "we were just thinking of Ron. After all, if these three pass their exams, presumably they won't be here for the last five months of the programme? And while we would miss Draco – and Harry – Pansy and I would have each other, while Mr Weasley would not have any close friends."

"There'd still be Neville," Ron replied.

McGonagall's eyes twinkled and Harry suddenly noticed how much like Professor Dumbledore she was becoming. Not that she was likely to dress in his garish robes any time soon; just that she was growing into the role, rather magnificently.

"I quite understand your concerns, Mr Zabini, and I can tell you that we share them, to some extent," she replied. "Though the three students, should they pass the exams, will still be required to complete their Muggle Studies projects before they can matriculate. But they will have much more free time, and will probably spend much of it away from the Castle to complete their projects, so there will be a lot less social interaction between them and the other students. Of course, these concerns cannot be the determining factor in academic matters; but equally, now that the exams have to be set, and sat, and marked, it is not a great matter if there are three students or ten actually sitting them.

"On the other hand, I do feel it would be unfair to offer the exams to Mr Weasley alone. I believe you have instituted a mentoring system?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, and explained the tutoring and mentoring that they had discussed at breakfast. The Headmistress maintained her stoic demeanor, but Professor Flitwick became more and more excited as the explanation went on.

"This is wonderful!" he said. "It makes me very happy as a Ravenclaw to find people prepared to share their knowledge!"

"I agree," the Headmistress remarked drily, "even though I am not a Ravenclaw. What was the notice period, Filius?"

"Three weeks," he replied.

"So we have until the twenty-fourth of August?"

"Yes."

The Headmistress doodled for a moment on the blotter in front of her.

"All right," she said eventually. "I think we can do it this way. Set up your tutoring and mentoring. The staff will watch you over the next two weeks. We will also have you sit the NEWTS Assessment Test, which we have devised internally here at Hogwarts, on Saturday the twenty-second. Any student whose grades improve sufficiently in our estimation and who performs at final seventh year level on the test will have their name put forward with a recommendation to the Wizarding Examinations Board that Aptitude Tests be offered. Is that acceptable?"

"That's brilliant!" Ron replied.

"Should we tell the other students?" Pansy asked.

Minerva smiled at her. "There's no need," she replied. "I shall announce it at dinner tonight."

"Right!" Hermione said, jumping to her feet, suddenly all business-like. "Ron, Blaise, Pansy, you have a lot of work to do. Draco, Harry, we have a lot of tutoring to do. We need to get onto it! Thank you, Headmistress, Professor."

She strode out of the office at a cracking pace and the others were half-way down the staircase before they really clocked what was happening. As the door shut on them, Flitwick and McGonagall dissolved into very uncharacteristic fits of giggles.

"That girl will go far," Flitwick said, once he had got himself back under control.

"Indeed," McGonagall agreed. "A natural leader in her way. I think Arthur's got it right; she will definitely turn the Ministry on its head and give it a good shake-up when she gets there. More tea?"

Meanwhile, as the students reached the bottom of the stairs, Ron had finally managed to catch up to Hermione, and gently touched her on her arm.

"Er, all right, Hermione," Ron said placatingly. "But don't forget Saturday."

"What's happening on Saturday?" Harry asked.

"Oh blimey!" Ron said. "I was supposed to tell you – it's Ginny's birthday tomorrow, and Mum wants everyone there on Saturday evening to celebrate."

Harry looked questioningly at Draco, who nodded. "Of course we'll be there," the blond said. "Any ideas for a present?"

"Well, actually," Ron said, dropping his voice, "we were kind of thinking …"

* * *

Eva Thillin came up to Harry that evening as the group was studying together in the library. The six who had been in McGonagall's office were close together; but, given McGonagall's announcement at dinner regarding the planned testing, many other students had joined them, hoping that they could indeed bring their work up to the standard to allow them to be examined early.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Pottair," Eva began. "Could I 'ave a word?"

Harry looked up at her carefully. He had had word from Robin that he was going to confront the girl, but did not know whether he had already done so. As he did so, he felt the others shifting around him, and knew that Draco and Ron were watching the girl with suspicion too. But, given that they said nothing, Harry gathered that they would leave the choice whether or not to speak with her in his hands.

"Of course," he said, determined not to be impolite. He stood up and led her to a desk a couple of steps away, but still within close reach of Draco and the other students. "How about we take a seat over here?"

She looked at him appraisingly for a second.

"I 'ad 'oped for somewhere a leetle more private," she admitted sadly, as she took the seat he had pulled out for her, "but I understand if you are not 'appy with that. Monsieur Potter—"

"Please, call me Harry," he interrupted, taking a seat across from her.

She smiled at him; but it was still a sad smile. "Zank you, 'Arry. I do not feel I deserve it. I zink you know, yes?"

Harry arched his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"I zink you know that I was the one with ze coins, and ze candle," she said, looking at her clasped hands in front of her, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Why?" Harry asked softly.

"I do not think I can make you understand," she said, her voice also softening and becoming wistful. She sat silently for a few seconds, then gathered her courage together and looked at him.

"I am poor, Monsieur. My parents were Muggles and died soon after I was born, and I was taken into an orphanage. When it was discovered I was magical, ze 'Eadmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime, she took me in. But all ze girls knew I was a – what is the word? 'Charity case'?"

Harry nodded in answer.

"So I was never popular. Maybe zey thought my poverty would infect zem. Certainly, zey thought I was not a proper lady, and many of them treated me like dirt. I did not 'ave ze right clothes, ze right make-up, ze right bearing, ze right deportment," she continued, hissing as she said each of the right things she did not have.

Harry sighed. "I understand," he said, and something in his voice attracted her attention as, for the first time, she looked into his eyes. After a few seconds of staring, she came to herself.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I think perhaps you do."

They sat together in silent reverie for a few seconds, before the moment was broken.

"And do you think that excuses your behaviour?" Draco, who had watched the whole exchange closely, demanded. He knew that Harry was likely to forgive the witch too easily; she needed to know what the others thought as well.

"Non, Monsieur Malfoy," she replied softly. "I tell you these things so you will understand. Understand how, when a pure-blood wizard gave me attention and promised me money for doing what he said were 'a few little jobs for 'im', I could not refuse. Why would I? He promised me position and wealth; and all he asked was for me to bring zum objects into the Castle for 'im. 'E said the idea was to surprise the 'onoured students with some special presents. Zo I gave the coin to Monsieur Corner; I thought 'e would give him to you, zen 'e cursed it and tried to 'urt you! And zen ze candle to 'Ermione; I did not know the charm would make 'er jealous, I swear. And ze man, 'e was not so nice, zen. 'E told me I would go to Azkaban if I told anyone. And today, Monsieur Banks, 'e said I would go to Azkaban if I did not tell! Alors, I told 'im. And 'e said to stay away from ze man, and to ask your forgiveness. Zo, I 'ave come to ask you monsieur, and—" here she looked over at Hermione – "you mademoiselle, to forgive me. I am so sorry. I 'ad to do what 'e said once the coin was thrown. Please, I beg you, please forgive me."

Harry looked at her coolly. It was all very pretty, and beautifully done; but somehow he just wasn't quite sure. Something didn't ring true.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I will have to think about it. In the meantime, Miss Thillin, perhaps we should not interact. If Robin is leaving you alone, I will too, and so will my friends," and here Harry glared at the others, who meekly nodded assent, "but I suggest you leave us alone. Do we have a deal?"

Eva took a deep breath. She had hoped for a better outcome; but at least they weren't enemies, and there was still a chance to convince him she had changed.

"OK," she replied with a sigh. "Zank you."

With that, she rose, turned, and left the library with perfect poise.

"Blimey," Seamus said to Dean, "she can carry herself like that, and those other girls criticised her deportment?"

Dean giggled. It seemed the Irishman was smitten. Again. He wasn't particularly worried; Seamus seemed to fall in and out of love fairly frequently, but he always came back to Dean in the end.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right there, mother?" Rosier asked.

"Yes, thank you, dear," the elderly lady said from her sick-bed as the medi-witches fussed around her, checking that she was resting properly, that her spine was supported, and that the inflammation-reducing potion was doing its job.

"Forgive me, sir," her healer said, walking up to him, "thank you for staying, so many people just dump their relatives in our care and leave us to settle them; but I think now she needs rest, and the sleeping potion will kick in soon."

"What?" Rosier said, looking for all the world like the dutiful son who was focused only on his mother. "Oh, oh, yes, I understand. I'll be off then. Mother," he said, turning back to the bed, "I'm very busy tomorrow, but I'll try and pop in tomorrow night. Is there anything you need?"

"No, thank you, my lovely boy," she replied, but her eyelids were already drooping and Rosier could see she would be fast asleep very soon. He lovingly tucked her arm under the covers, kissed her on the cheek, mouthed 'thank you' to the healer and medi-witches, and walked out of the room.

As soon as he was away from the ward, his features relaxed into a predatory smirk. Thank goodness that charade was over! No-one had questioned a thing; they all believed he was the distraught son hoping they could cure his beloved mother, instead of the person who had caused the old harpy's present discomfort. He made his way quietly and efficiently to the secure ward where Umbridge was being kept.

Unfortunately, the Auror on duty was not one of his protégés; so he identified himself, and asked if he could see Umbridge. When asked, why, he trotted out the rigmarole he had decided on that, as the witch had been at Hogwarts for a year and was know to have a personal vendetta against Harry Potter, the Department of International Magical Co-operation had a considerable interest in the case as her actions would be monitored closely by the international community lest she pose a threat to him or to the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students currently at Hogwarts.

Happily, the man bought the story, and he entered the ward, and Umbridge's room without any further difficulty. But this caused the next unpleasant discovery of the evening as he recognised the Auror on duty: Glinda Dalben-Chun, the woman who had been chaperoning the three Beauxbatons students the last time he had talked to Eva. His eyes narrowed. The woman was a senior Auror; what was she doing here?

"Good evening, Mr Rosier," the Auror said politely. "As you can see, I have been asked to assist Madam Umbridge; a female Auror was asked for, and most of them are on active duty. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Oh," said Rosier, collecting himself. It didn't _sound_ like the woman was a plant, then. "Um, I had hoped to have a private word with Madam Umbridge. Just to reassure myself that she was being treated correctly."

"I understand," the Auror replied, and Rosier found himself wondering just how much she did understand. "But unfortunately, the patient herself seems terrified of men and will not allow them to be with her unless a woman is present."

"Surely not," Rosier said in his smarmiest tones, and turned to address Umbridge herself. "May I have a word with you? In private?"

Umbridge perked up a bit at being addressed, but her eyes narrowed.

"Will the nice lady be there?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I think better not," Rosier replied carefully.

"No! No! No talking to the nasty man without the nice lady!" Umbridge shrieked, and then pulled the covers over her head.

"I see,' Rosier said, much more calmly than he felt. He turned to address the Auror. "I had hoped that you were exaggerating; but as it is …"

His voice trailed off, and Glinda gave him a warm smile.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We will let you know when she is more herself."

"Thank you," Rosier said, and, there really being nothing else to do, made his exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks to Bicky Monster for her help.
> 
> Thanks to all who subscribe and comment. I'm sorry for the wait, RL got in the way.
> 
> Note that, now the first of May has slipped by, RtS is a year old! [throws confetti, blows silly whistle]


	67. Returning to the Table

**67 Returning to the Table**

_Tuesday 11 August_

The Clerk to the Court stood up and began the inevitable legal rigmarole.

"A judicial hearing regarding the matter of Dolores Umbridge's escape from Azkaban and issues arising, held at eleven o'clock in the morning in Courtroom Four. Present, his Honour the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt; his Honour the Chief Warlock, Elphias Doge; her Honour Madam Dalmatea Merrythought, Deputy Chief Warlock; his Honour Lord Roderick Restarick, Wizengamot member; Gawain Robards, Chief Auror; Glinda Dalben-Chun, Senior Auror; Robin Banks, Auror and Deputy Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts; Lord Lucius Malfoy, special adviser to the Minister; Anton Rosier, Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation.

"By agreement between the parties and by personal request of the Minister, his Honour the Chief Warlock presiding.

"Percy Weasley, Clerk to the Court."

Kingsley managed – just – to hide the smirk that threatened to spread across his face at the way Percy had handled the introductory nonsense as though born to it. It had, he decided, been a stroke of genius to move Percy over to the Judicial department. True, there had been many complaints about his officiousness, and the fact that he was busy reorganizing the paperwork along completely new lines; but Kingsley knew the DMLE paperwork very well, and it could certainly do with a reorganization. And if Percy was getting up people's noses, that only meant that they were being shaken out of their complacency. Accordingly, he had simply dismissed the claims, telling the complainants that if they came to him with substantial complaints, he would investigate, but in the meantime, they needed to get along.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Doge was saying, and Kingsley could not help but notice the slight blush that came on Percy's face that his boss had actually managed to remember his name. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I should tell you at the outset that we have had a request from the Daily Prophet to be allowed to cover these proceedings; I thought, with your indulgence, that perhaps we might get all the procedural matters out of the way this morning, and invite them to send a reporter along after lunch?"

Doge turned to the other members to gauge the response. The message was clear: anything they didn't want to be made public should be dealt with before lunch. Kingsley nodded his assent. The more that he watched Doge in action, the more he appreciated the man's willingness to step into the role his former friend and mentor, Albus Dumbledore, had held for so long. The last few weeks had shown that he was admirably suited for the job: like Albus, Elphias was polite to a fault; but he was more directive in his politeness, and seemed to effortlessly keep Wizengamot deliberations from running in all directions, which had happened a bit too much under Albus Dumbledore, if the reports Kingsley had heard were to be believed.

"Very good," Doge was saying. "Now, as you know, it has been suggested that, in her present state of mind, sending Madam Umbridge back to Azkaban would not be an appropriate course of action. I wonder if Miss Dalben-Chun could give us a very quick summary of the medical evidence?"

"Thank you," the Auror replied, all brisk and business-like. "As you may be aware, I have been asked to maintain oversight of Madam Umbridge during the process of this enquiry. As such, I have collated all the various opinions of the healers. To date, Madam Umbridge has been seen by three Mind Healers, who all concur that there is significant evidence of an Imperius curse having been used on her."

"Thank you," Doge replied, effortlessly forestalling any discussion on the point. "We can go into the details of their findings after lunch. For the moment, is Madam Umbridge secure?"

"Yes. I have left her in the care of two junior Aurors, Elspeth Macmillan and Daniel Tolipan. They have been briefed to ensure that she does not leave the room, and she is in the care ward where only trusted healers and medi-wizards and –witches can enter. So, for the moment at least, no-one should be able to get to her, and she is not able to leave the ward."

"Thank you, that's admirably clear," Doge replied.

"Have there been any visitors to date?" Kingsley asked.

"Acting Department Head Rosier visited yesterday evening," Glinda replied. "Apart from that, no-one."

"My mother is in hospital," Anton added by way of explanation, as the Minister looked at him for one. "As I was there, I thought I would check up on the prisoner to make sure all was well. Naturally the Department is interested in the case, given the possible international repercussions."

"Yes, of course," Kingsley nodded, looking quite content with the answer. In fact, he had heard that Rosier's mother had been admitted to St Mungo's, and had his suspicions about that. It was all too convenient that their main – their only – suspect had a built-in excuse to visit whenever he could. An excuse that now did not need to become public – as it surely would if the Prophet got hold of it. It was just the human-interest angle that Rita Skeeter, and more importantly her readers, loved.

The rest of the morning was taken up with discussions as to exactly how the investigation was to proceed; though much of that would depend on exactly what they learnt when they managed to interview Umbridge. It was generally agreed that the Daily Prophet should be present for the afternoon; the previous policy of keeping things under wraps had only kept people ignorant and fomented suspicion and discord. Accordingly, at lunchtime, Percy Weasley was asked to send an owl inviting the Prophet to send Rita Skeeter along for the afternoon session.

* * *

Barnabus Cuffe was not a happy wizard. On his desk in front of him was the newly-arrived letter from the Wizengamot. The delivery owl had dropped it and had the good sense to fly off before he could react at all. The Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet thought morosely that his reporters should show such sense. He did not appreciate being told which reporter to send on a story. But the letter, though politely phrased – he could even hear Doge's dry, soft voice in his head as he read it – really brooked no argument: he was to send Skeeter, or not bother.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought, as he reached for the firewhisky. If it was Skeeter or no-one, he'd send Skeeter. But at the same time, he was going to be unhappy about it. At least she didn't need to know she'd been asked for by name.

"Lindsey!" he called to his assistant. "Pull Skeeter out from whatever rock she's under and send her in here! At the double!"

Lesley, Cuffe's assistant, sighed. She'd given up trying to have him use the right name years ago; as far as courtesy in the office was concerned, since she'd given up hope she felt a whole lot better. He treated her like dirt; but then, she knew perfectly well it wasn't personal; he treated all the staff like dirt. She got results, so he paid well, and she could put up with the rest. As long as he kept his hands to himself, she could cope with his bad manners.

At the moment she knew perfectly well that Rita was in The Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade. A quick Floo-call to Aberforth Dumbledore elicited a promise that he would send Rita through as soon as possible; and barely three minutes later the lady herself arrived. Lesley looked at her distastefully. Drinking again. On the firm's money, no doubt. Still, it didn't really matter much – Cuffe did it too, without leaving his office; at least Skeeter might possibly actually have been pursuing a story.

"Boss wants you," she said, as the reporter dusted herself off. "Yesterday."

"Thanks, Lesley darling," Skeeter replied. "Any idea what's up?"

Mollified that the woman had actually got her name right, Lesley gave her a half smile, but shook her head. "He did get an owl just before he hollered for you. But he seemed to be in a right old strop."

"No change there, then," the seasoned reporter replied, and stumbled rather unsteadily to the Editor's office.

"SKEETER!" Cuffe roared, and Lesley winced before getting back to her work. "Where the hell have you been? I have a little assignment, and I've decided, out of the goodness of my heart, and the lack of anyone else with a pulse, to give it to you."

"All right," Skeeter replied, coolly, not fooled for a moment. "And just who is it, exactly, who asked for me by name?"

Cuffe looked a little sheepish. "Didn't think I was that transparent," he said softly, then added in a normal voice, "the assignment is at the Courts. There's a hearing into Dolores Umbridge and whether she should go back to Azkaban. Be there at two. Got it?"

"On it, Chief," she replied. A quick Tempus cast as she left the office showed her she had fifteen minutes to sober up. First to find a potion, she thought; but before she even considered where to get one, Lesley had shoved a phial in her hand, and she recognised the standard Prophet hangover cure by colour immediately. No doubt Lesley kept a supply close to hand for Cuffe, she thought. Given his drinking habits, she probably needed to. Rita took the contents of the phial in one gulp – it tasted as vile as ever – and handed the empty container back to Cuffe's assistant.

"Thanks," she said, as she wandered into her own office to put her notes from the previous interview somewhere safe, together with her Quick Quotes Quill. The less the Ministry knew about what she'd been up to that morning, the better.

* * *

The afternoon session was really everything Skeeter could have asked for. The medical evidence was led; it took an hour of deposition and examination to decide that, by all appearances, Umbridge had been, for some considerable time, under an Imperius curse similar in type to the ones known to have been cast by Yaxley and Barnes. It seemed to be difficult to pin down exactly when the curse took root; but the medi-witches seemed to be agreed that it would most probably have been in place during the year that Umbridge was at Hogwarts.

Further evidence was given as to her current state. Here, the medical staff was much less guarded: Umbridge had been cruelly treated, they all agreed, and her current mental state was extremely fragile. When asked, they strongly opined that sending her to Azkaban would probably destroy that state altogether, leaving her a wreck within days.

This caused considerable debate as to the best way to proceed. She had been tried and found guilty; legally they could ship her back to Azkaban straight away. But given her current state, perhaps she should be pardoned and quietly sent to the Janus Thickey Ward, the ward at St Mungo's which housed residents whose minds had been permanently been affected by spells. Or, in order to ensure justice was seen to be done, should her previous conviction be quashed and a new trial be instituted? Rosier seemed to think so; not outwardly, but with a nod and a wink; but Skeeter was a little surprised that the urbane Acting Head of DIMC was prepared to show his hand even so far. And Doge, it seemed, was not going to let him stay in the shadows.

"You consider that we should have a second trial of Dolores Umbridge, Mr Rosier?" he asked, his voice polite as ever, but with an iron control barely hidden.

"Well," Rosier began, temporising just a little as he drew out the monosyllable, "I would think that the Potter Code would push us in that direction, would it not? A fair trial and all; if Madam Umbridge was in fact under Imperius, surely she should have the chance for that fact to be recognised openly, and any treatment then to proceed on the basis of helping a poor unfortunate, innocent woman, rather than a convicted felon, whether pardoned or not?"

This occasioned yet more discussion; at four o'clock, the prisoner herself was brought before the hearing, and it took only fifteen minutes for them all to convince themselves that the medical evidence about her current state was entirely accurate.

At five o'clock, Doge asked people for a show of hands; Rosier, it seemed, had been convincing as a slim majority of members agreed that there should be a fresh trial.

"Well," Doge said, "this body has been given letters by the full Wizengamot to investigate as it sees fit, so I think it is competent to try the case by itself. Accordingly, I propose we adjourn until Friday, and continue the hearing then. Will that give your department time to sort out its position on the evidence, and the case, Mr Robards?"

"Yes, I think so, thank you, sir," Gawain Robards replied.

"Very well. This hearing stands adjourned."

Rosier left with the rest, a bemused smile on his lips. He told anyone who asked that he was happy that the Potter Code would give the poor woman a decent trial. But privately, he was a little stunned by how easy it had been. And how quick; it was almost as though Doge had a dinner appointment he didn't want to be late for, or something.

Oh well, Rosier thought, dismissing his misgivings. Perhaps the man did indeed have a dinner engagement. He had to do something in his evenings, after all. And best not to look a gift Pegasus in the mouth; here was a chance to visit his mother, and possibly talk to Umbridge, before the evening was gone.

* * *

But it wasn't Elphias Doge who raced home to get ready for dinner, taking care to buy a bunch of red roses on the way. No, the man on tenterhooks for his important date, the man who checked and double-checked everything, his robes, his hair, the reservation at the restaurant, was Auror Robin Banks.

As Robin had been extremely busy preparing for the judicial hearing, and had been out of the house before she had even opened an eye, Ginny had spent her seventeenth birthday visiting her mother and playing Quidditch in the afternoon. She arrived home soon after six thirty, still rather hot and sweaty, to find her boyfriend looking exceptionally dapper.

"My word," she said, "what's up with you? Going somewhere nice?"

"Oh, I hope so," Robin replied teasingly. "Happy birthday, my love. You'll find your first present on the bed."

Ginny, excited at the thought of a present, and the hopes of more to come, bounced into her bedroom to find an exquisite set of robes laid out for her. An acromantula silk blend, by the feel. She had a quick shower and got dressed in a hurry, then went and found her boyfriend reading a rather dry looking book in their sitting room.

"Darling!" she said, as she plonked herself on top of him. "I love them! But however did you afford them?"

"Well," Robin said, a bit embarrassed, "it seems that Harry is very pleased with the work we've done to unearth the Hogwarts-Ministry-Azkaban connection, and insisted that Toby, Glinda and I be paid a bonus."

He kissed her, before continuing, "which turned out to be a very handsome bonus indeed."

Another kiss.

"And I must say, those robes look exquisite on you, and worth every knut. Now, we had best get a move on."

He eased her gently off his lap and stood up, brushing himself down. Once they had both straightened out their robes, it was already nearly quarter past seven.

"Right!" he said. "Time to go!"

"But you haven't said where?" Ginny replied petulantly.

"No, I haven't, have I?" Robin replied, embracing her in a hug.

There was the familiar sensation of being stretched through a very thin tube, and the world changed around them. When everything resolved, Ginny could see at once that they were in the receiving room of a very posh restaurant.

"Ah!" a deep voice said behind her. "Auror Banks, Miss Ginny Weasley, welcome to Le Jardin Magique."

* * *

While Robin was entertaining Ginny, Kingsley was doing some entertaining of his own. But, unlike a restaurant like Le Jardin Magique, where, given enough patience, anyone could get a reservation, the Merlin Club was a very exclusive, members-only venue. Kingsley knew that he would never have been offered membership had he not been Minister, and he had even considered turning it down when it was offered. A solitary man, he didn't go out much, and usually hated to do so; but he knew perfectly well that some socializing was inevitable, and he might as well do it in discreet and pleasant surroundings.

Tonight, he found that the company was both engaging and intelligent, and, to his very pleasant surprise, he was actually enjoying himself very much.

"Now, Minister," the other wizard said, once they were seated in a quiet corner with some delicious rare roast beef in front of them, "this is very pleasant indeed, and I appreciate the chance to have your ear privately; but I suspect there was something in particular you wished to discuss?"

The Minister steepled his fingers and surveyed his guest over them. The man's eyes had a twinkle to them that reminded him immediately of Albus Dumbledore; he suspected that getting one over Ambassador Banks wasn't going to be any easier than getting one over the former leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Isn't that a bit direct for a diplomat?" Kingsley asked sardonically.

"Quite possibly," the other replied, the twinkle seeming to brighten. "And on many occasions such as this we would dance around each other with words and say nothing of substance until the coffee. But unless I miss my guess, you are rather happier with plain speaking?"

"You're right," he said, his voice weary, "I have no patience for small talk. An attribute that was excellent for an Auror but is something of a liability in politics."

He paused for a moment. The ambassador remained silent, his face open, and Kingsley appreciated that he was being given the time he needed to frame things just so.

"You know about the trial – that is, the hearing?" he asked, by way of preamble.

"Robin has mentioned it," the other replied cautiously. "I rather gather that you have some agenda here, beyond the letter of the law? After all, if you only wanted justice, you could send her straight back to Azkaban."

"Indeed," said Kingsley, warming to the older man. He was sharp, but he didn't make Kingsley feel inferior, like Albus always had. "We believe that there is a conspiracy of some depth, and wish to have it all out."

"I see," the other replied, his brows knit together in thought. "And if you are telling me… Anton Rosier is part of the hearing, I understand?"

"Quite so," Kingsley replied.

"Ah," said Banks, calmly cutting himself some more beef. "Am I to take it that there may be a vacancy in the Department of International Magical Co-operation?"

"That is a very probable outcome," Kingsley replied, which got a smirk from the other wizard.

"Careful, Minister," Banks interjected, "you're learning diplomacy."

Kingsley laughed. "I don't think there's much chance of that," he replied. "But if there were such a vacancy, would you be interested?"

"Ah," the other replied, his fork pausing half-way to his mouth. "I might," he continued, cagily, the fork completing its journey.

"I see," Kingsley replied. The man was going to have conditions. Well, of course. Kingsley was asking him to give up what by all accounts was a pretty cushy life in Germany to come back to the hotbed of Ministry politics, after all. "What would it take?"

"Minister," he replied, his tone making the word say 'how could you doubt me?'. "Look," he said, deciding that the man could be trusted with a direct approach, "I really have no problem returning to England. I cleared out in the first place because Fudge was making his bid to be Minister and he was paranoid that I would put my hat in the ring. So when I suggested to the then Minister that I was interested in Germany, Fudge happily put his supporters behind the request. But frankly, I'm not interested in being Minister at all, and never was. Too many people sucking up to you for favours all the time. Though I guess you know that by now. So I want to play it as: I am reluctant to return from Germany but am doing so as a special favour to you, and would return at the first opportunity."

"Really?" Kingsley asked, somewhat surprised. "But Fudge has gone, you don't have to worry any more, surely?"

Ambassador Banks snorted, a very rare impropriety. "There are plenty of other people who want your job, Minister. I just want people to think that I'm not one of them. That way, I stand a chance of actually getting things done without lots of people trying to get in the way and make me look bad."

"Alright," Kingsley replied softly, feeling relieved that the discussion had gone so smoothly. "Dessert?"

* * *

It had only been two days, and Hermione was already driving the rest of the group to distraction. Somehow, despite having classes all day, and her own study, she had managed to produce timetables for each of them, carefully colour-coded by subject, and designed so each subject got equal study time. And now here they were, sitting in the library, revising charms, having been all but frog-marched from the dinner table as soon as they had finished eating.

"Is she always like this?" Draco whispered to Harry.

"Er, a bit," Harry replied. "But this time is worse than ever."

Ron leaned over to them, having heard Harry's remark.

"Pomfrey says she's still stressed from the jealousy spell," he whispered. "It will take another week for it to be fully out of her system."

"Is that why you took her out for a walk the other day?" Neville asked.

By this time, the whispering was no longer discreet; and Hermione finally noticed.

"What are you lot talking about?" she demanded. "Why aren't you studying? The timetable says study charms, not talk!"

"Actually, Granger," Draco replied, with his best frosty Malfoy countenance, "we were discussing you. Specifically how you seem to have decided that your word is law all of a sudden."

"Respect!" Ron muttered, acknowledging the bravery Draco was displaying.

"What?" Hermione expostulated. "Don't you want to do well on these tests?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "But I also want to be sane at the end of them. Look, it's nine o'clock already, and we're all tired and stressed. We're all very grateful for the work you've put in to the timetables, but I don't believe that spending another hour revising charms is going to help anyone much. How about we relax, play games for an hour, and go to bed, so we're all fresh for the morning."

The only reason that Draco had got away with saying so much was that Hermione was in shock, her mouth opening and closing but her brain not supplying any coherent words. When he finished, thought seemed to kick in again.

"But…" Hermione spluttered, "the timetable! It won't be even!"

"It really doesn't matter, Hermione," Ron said soothingly. "Remember what Poppy said about not getting stressed?"

"Oh," Hermione said, sheepishly, as she seemed to suddenly snap out of her driven mindset. "Right. Sorry, guys."

"What **did** Poppy say?" Harry asked.

"Oh," Hermione said, her cheeks going red, "just that the jealousy thing needed to work its way out fully and I should be careful to rest and stay calm."

"And you were going to tell us this when?" Harry replied.

'Just now, I guess," she rejoined, looking down at the table. Then she forced herself to look him in the eye.

"Look, I'm sorry, right?" she said, with force; and then her voice became quiet as she continued, "I know how often I pressed you to tell us everything that was happening, and here I am trying to keep this a secret. I was wrong to do that. Please forgive me."

"Of course," Harry and Draco said together, and Hermione looked at the blond, stunned that he had replied as well.

Draco looked at her with twinkling eyes. "Now," he said, "about those games…"

* * *

Dinner really had been magical. The restaurant had produced a rustic and rural garden, with a backdrop suggesting a forest of trees reminiscent of the Black Forest. Ginny's eyes had nearly fallen out of her head when she saw it; she loved the stories Robin told her about camping in Germany, and now she could visualise what it would have been like.

And the food had been every bit as wonderful as the setting. But the best bit was what happened just as she finished off the delectable lemon syllabub she had chosen to finish the meal with. As she set the dish down, she found Robin had come round to kneel before her, holding a small open jewelry box in front of her.

"Will you marry…?" he began, but she didn't even let him finish.

"Of course I will!" she almost shrieked, as she took the ring out of the box. "Oh, Robin, it's exquisite!"

He took the ring from her and slipped the thin band of gold onto her finger. As he had foreseen, the purple amethyst and the two emeralds reflected her eyes and hair colour, and the whole effect took his breath away. He rose from his kneeling position, she rose as well from her seat at the table, and they embraced each other in the first of the night's many entirely unchaste kisses.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. Ruth_lily is currently indisposed; I hope she will be back on deck soon!
> 
>  **Thanks:** To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and custard tarts to those who reviewed chapter 66.
> 
>  **Nominated:** Returning To Sanity has been nominated for a naward at thenon-canonawards.blogspot.com.au! As has Fragmented Soul by StrawberryGirl87 and BickyMonster, and The Rise of the Drackens: The Scaled Bits by StarLight Massacre. Star also has an omination for The Royal Author Award. Very exciting.
> 
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	68. Judgements Returned

**68 Judgements Returned**

_Saturday 15 August_

The first week of extra study had gone very well, even by Hermione's ridiculously high standards. The six friends had been joined by Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones; the eight students seemed to have become inseparable during the week, and Flitwick noted rather grimly that the interactions between this group and the Beauxbatons girls seemed to have become considerably curtailed. He supposed, given the way they must all feel about Eva Thillin, that this was probably inevitable; but it saddened him nonetheless.

What did please him, though, was the dramatic rise in the standard of work following the general announcement to the students on Monday evening that the NEWTS Assessment Test would be available for all students to sit if they wished on Saturday the twenty-second of August. This seemed to have galvanized most of the student body into action, and the concentration in classes during the week had been nothing short of remarkable.

As a result, he was almost glad that so many students had been invited to Ginny Weasley's seventeenth birthday party, and told them all to go and forget about schoolwork from Saturday afternoon until their return to the castle on Sunday evening. To no-one's surprise, Hermione Granger was the only person who seemed upset about this; but Flitwick assured her that the full day off from study would actually be beneficial; the chance to enjoy themselves and feel a bit refreshed would far outweigh the lost study time.

Accordingly, the gang Flooed to the Burrow at six o'clock to find that all the Weasleys except Ron had already arrived, so the party was practically in full swing already. Everyone seemed to be hugely excited, and Draco wondered if something was up; Molly seemed to be even more distracted than usual. The first hour was spent playing games laid on by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes; then they sat down to an enormous three-course dinner, which lived up to Molly's formidable reputation.

Once the main course was eaten, there was a half-hour break for conversation. At least, that's what it was supposed to be for; but the unwary soon discovered that the twins had set up several of their Bouncing Balloon Chairs. Draco groaned as he found himself trapped once again in Balloon Chair armour, and George handed him two Beefy Bouncy Beating Batons as Neville challenged him to an impromptu duel. The Gryffindor soon thought better of the idea; Draco pummeled him to the ground just as Molly announced that dessert was ready.

"I don't think I could eat another bite," Draco protested, as Harry helped him out of the armour. But then his eyes lit up as he noticed the dishes that had been strategically placed in front of Harry and him: treacle tart, Spotted Dick, and Pavlova. Harry grinned to see his fiancé drooling over the desserts, and cut a large slice of Pavlova for him.

It was twenty minutes later, when a birthday cake appeared, that Ginny got up to spill the beans.

"I'm really glad that you could all come tonight to celebrate my coming of age," she began, "especially as Robin made my actual birthday so very special by ASKING ME TO MARRY HIM!"

As she shrieked the last words, she held aloft her left hand, now clearly wearing the beautiful engagement ring. The whole table erupted in to shouts of congratulations, and the noise was deafening. It only quieted down when there were some loud bangs, and a few seconds later fireworks appeared in the air, drawing a love-heart, with the words 'Congratulations Ginny and Robin'. The twins, it seemed, had not been caught unprepared.

"Told you, mate!" Ron mouthed across the table to Harry, who nodded in reply. Draco, feeling a little miffed that he had been left out of the loop, turned to Harry.

"Did you know?" he asked.

"Er, yeah," Harry replied sheepishly. "Lucius had his suspicions so we sorted out a booking for them for Ginny's birthday."

"At Le Jardin Magique?" Draco asked, and Harry reddened as it suddenly occurred to him that that might not have been the smartest of moves. What if Draco felt it was the wrong thing to have done? That giving Robin and Ginny dinner at the same restaurant that they had their engagement dinner at might somehow cheapen it in his eyes?

"Um, yes," he admitted.

But Draco smiled at him reassuringly. "You are such an incorrigible do-gooding romantic, Potter," he said, in the familiar snarky tones Harry knew he only now adopted to tease him.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, Malfoy," he replied in kind.

And before Draco could think of a witty come-back, he found his lips engulfed in a kiss. He looked round frantically, worried that they would be watched; he loved Harry deeply, but he was still a Malfoy and open displays of affection were still embarrassing. But no-one noticed; for, at the same time, Robin had had the same idea, so everyone was now watching the newly engaged couple having a very deep kiss. The twins, predictably, were making a huge ruckus, and Draco took advantage of the distraction to slip his arm around Harry.

It was true, he thought, as a sappy smile made its way onto his face. He wouldn't want Harry to be any other way.

-#-

_Sunday 16 August_

Anton Rosier breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the secure unit at St Mungo's. His contacts in the Auror department had managed to organize matters so that Dalben-Chun was off duty on the Sunday afternoon. Not only that, but, as he came in to the room in the secure ward where Umbridge was being held, he could see that the witch was being guarded by one of his people.

"Leave us until I come out," he instructed, and the Auror jumped to attention before leaving the room. Rosier cast privacy wards that would stop anyone but a medi-witch from entering, then leant over the patient.

"Who – who are you?" Umbridge said.

Rosier silently cursed again. What had gone wrong? The witch was supposed to remember him.

"My name," he said quietly, "is Anton Rosier."

As he had expected, the quiet voice drew the witch closer to him, the better to hear; and as she gazed at him, he expertly cast Legilimens and entered her mind.

Anton Rosier was steeped in the Dark Arts, and had quite a bit of experience entering other people's minds. He thought he had seen it all: brilliant minds, perfectly laid out, everything in order; ordinary minds, organized, but with stray thoughts wandering around; pedestrian minds, full of irrelevant thoughts seemingly crammed together. But nothing he had ever experienced prepared him for this mind. It was utter chaos. He poked and prodded, searching for some semblance of order; it took him a couple of minutes to find anything he could recognise. But he did; eventually, he found some memories of her time working for the Ministry, and managed to anchor a more-or-less accurate depiction of himself to them. He kept scrupulously to the facts; the inaccuracies were to do with her opinion of him. He decided against making it glowing and slavish, sticking to respectful. Even he, pompous ass that he was, could tell that making her practically worship him would not fly.

Half an hour later, he slipped out of the ward and made his way home. He was much happier now; indeed, he might even undo the spells on his mother and let her come home as well. But not yet. A few days more peace without her would do him the world of good, he decided.

-#-

_Friday 21_ _st_ _August_

Rosier's good mood continued during the week. It had become very clear on the first Friday that Umbridge was in no fit state to be returned to Azkaban; indeed, the trial had been suspended to allow her to rest after only two hours. As a result, as they proceeded during the week, the little tweaks Rosier had made to her mind on the Sunday came into play, and the jurors were impressed that Rosier managed to gain her confidence early on.

As a result, he was able to lead them into discussing the ritual, in particular Circe's circlet, which had been recovered from the full moon ritual. Looking back, Rosier thought he had been particularly loquacious and convincing.

"Here," he had said, "we find that Madam Umbridge had been the victim of a ritual involving a Dark artefact. How many more such artefacts remain out there, undiscovered? Is the Minister taking steps to find them?"

Aurors were questioned; it became clear that the Ministry had not yet taken any steps in place to locate any Dark artefacts, largely because they were still concerned with finding any further stray Death Eaters and other hangers-on. At which point Rosier produced his secret weapon: three Aurors who knew about certain artefacts, and who had already informed the Ministry as to their whereabouts. Of course, the three were hand-picked, each of them owing Anton sizable favours; they knew where the artefacts were largely because they had put them there; and they had taken great care to report the artefacts' locations at times when the Ministry was overrun with the workload of following up Death Eaters, so that there was no manpower spare to seek them out. But the jurors knew none of this; they were simply presented with a picture of a Department failing to follow up leads, and the suggestion of entrenched incompetence throughout the Ministry. It was no surprise then that they started to argue among themselves as to whether further steps should be taken. Rosier smirked to himself inwardly even as his face maintained a neutral expression: the dissent, discord and doubt that he wanted had clearly been sown and would, he felt sure, bear fruit in time.

And now, here they were, at the last session of the week. Rosier rather hoped that this would be the end of the trial. Surely by now the panel had decided that it would be unconscionable to send the poor witch to Azkaban in her present state; with luck, they would decide to acquit her entirely, but he could work with even a partial result. All he really cared about was looking good. And so far, the enquiry had thrown a great deal of mud at the Auror Department, while International Magical Co-operation was coming off as the elder statesmen of the Ministry. It was an unusual platform to make a bid for the Chief Warlock position from, to be sure; but Rosier had confidence that he could bring it off.

He entered the courtroom, to find the lights dimmed. This was nothing new; the room had been kept in low light for most of the time when Umbridge was being tried, as bright lights seemed to spook her. He sat there, in the gloom, for a couple of minutes, and then the Aurors brought Umbridge in.

-#-

Robin brought Umbridge in, and made sure she was sitting comfortably. He knew that, in the low light, in his Auror robes, there was almost no chance that Rosier would recognise him. At least, not in time. Everything was now in place; the three Aurors that had testified had been thoroughly investigated; each of them proved to have rather unsavory connections to Rosier. They were now all safely in custody, thanks to Rosier showing his hand by having them testify. The fool had simply not realized what they were up to: the whole point of the trial was really to identify the conspirators. And, now that that was done, it was time to end it.

Umbridge started fussing.

"Why is it so dark?" she asked. "I cannot see anything!"

"Hush," Robin said, and the room lightened, just a little, and mostly around Rosier. The Auror was now standing behind her, and leant over her left shoulder, as if to murmur reassuring words. As a result of where he had chosen to stand, she could not see him as he intoned quietly.

"Revertere ad teipsum; I must not tell lies; revertere ad teipsum."

Umbridge gave a snort as she seemed to suddenly wake up.

"Ah!" she said, seeing only Rosier in the room. "Is it all over then? It all worked? We tricked them! They've decided to keep me out of Azkaban? And you will be Chief Warlock?"

"No!" Rosier started, "shut up, you stupid bitch!"

But Robin had followed the trigger phrase with a small spell that stopped her hearing properly; and anyway, she was already off on a gloating tangent of her own.

"To think!" she said. "They think I'm innocent when I was the leader of the break-out! Ha!"

"I'm afraid, Madam Umbridge," Doge's deceptively mild voice spoke out as the lights came on, "that that is not at all the case."

Dolores Umbridge looked around the Courtroom, seeing the panel of jurors, the Aurors, and Rosier, who was now himself pinned between two Aurors.

"Oh bugger," she said.

-#-

The rest of the afternoon flowed smoothly. Rosier, having been caught in the act, and being presented with the evidence that he had been complicit in both the breakout from Azkaban and the events at Hogwarts, pleaded guilty and was immediately sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban. Two of the Aurors were found guilty of complicity; but the third was shown to have acted under duress, and Kingsley pardoned both him and Angelo's father, who had been a Death Eater only because Voldemort had threatened to kill his wife and children otherwise. This was, it was demonstrated, quite a credible threat; the man had refused to fight on one occasion and the Death Eaters decided to be lenient, and afford him the privilege of being allowed to bury his wife. Not much of a privilege; her face was hideously distorted after all the Crucios that had been cast on her, and he still had nightmares.

Umbridge was parked in a holding cell and left till last.

"I suppose," Doge said, "as you are already a sentenced criminal, we only really need to decide if time should be added to your sentence for your part in the break-out and subsequent events. But such a consideration is rather academic, given that the original sentence was life imprisonment."

At this point, the Minister leaned over, and whispered in Doge's ear.

"Well," Doge said, "that is irregular, but I have no objection. Ladies and gentlemen, it has been suggested that there may be a remedial option available. Would we be comfortable handing Umbridge over to the Ministry for further assessment?"

The panel looked at one another, but eventually agreed, after much conferring, that this would be acceptable. No-one, it seemed, had any concerns about the Ministry stepping in; after all, it managed Azkaban, and could have instituted the programme there if it had wanted to.

No-one, that is, except Dolores Umbridge. She objected, most vociferously. But, as Banks cast a Silencio on her very quickly, it hardly mattered.

-#-

When he found out that his staff were goading the students to attack Dursley, Johann Ries had hit the roof. While he could understand that no-one had any love for the man, that did not excuse bullying, doubly so now that Vernon seemed to have accepted his state. He called a general meeting of the whole orphanage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," he began, and then stopped.

"Mildred Maugham!" he said sternly. "Stand up!"

A red-haired, freckled girl stood up, her face colouring to match her hair.

"Just exactly what do you think you are doing, pulling Joanna's hair?"

"I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir," she said.

"Are you?" the Director asked, his voice like steel. "I'm not sure that you are. I think that there has been a good deal of bullying going on, and even that some of our staff, being over-worked and finding it convenient to do so, were ignoring it." At this point, he raised his voice from a deathly quiet, which had everyone straining to hear, to a full shout. "I WIL NOT STAND FOR IT! Bullying will not be tolerated, not students attacking students, not staff bullying staff or students and especially not students attacking any member of staff. Do you understand?"

The children were wide-eyed at this. The Director had always been cool, calm and collected; he treated everyone with kindness. This scary person in front of them was someone they hoped never to see again. They got the message all right: leave Vernon alone.

_Saturday 22_ _nd_ _August_

It was the following day that a new kindergarten assistant turned up. By lunchtime, the children had decided three things about her: they hated the hideous pink clothes she wore, they hated her horrid, high-pitched voice, and above all they hated her high-blown, condescending style.

Dolores Umbridge, for her part, sat at lunch feeling pleased with herself. True, she had to babysit orphaned brats; but the Director had given her a room of her own, and she could walk around the orphanage freely, and they were only going to have her with children for six hours a day. That couldn't be too bad, surely? Especially not compared to Azkaban. Dolores Umbridge was nothing if not a survivor, and a fighter; she was sure she could make this work for her.

True, there was that horrible Muggle to put up with; but she was sure she could ignore him. And she didn't have her wand; but she knew some wandless magic that she could employ on the brats. This might even be fun.

It was towards the end of the afternoon that things began to fall apart for her. The children had all had a nap, apart from little Elias, who wanted a story. Before now, every other helper had happily read him a story, and he had gone to sleep with no problem. But Dolores Umbridge was not any other helper.

"But that is not the rule," Umbridge explained to him, in her sing-song voice. "The rule is that everyone has to go down for a nap at two o'clock precisely. And you can see that all the other children are happily down for their nap."

"Don't wanna nap," Elias replied. "Wanna story."

"You want a story?" Umbridge said, her tone rapidly becoming menacing. "But I have told you, child, you are to have a nap. Now go to sleep!"

"No," Elias said, through tears, "always have story before nap."

"Not any more," Umbridge said softly, and fired a wandless sleeping charm at him.

-#-

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the teacher shrieked at her as she threw water in her face. "Sleeping on the job is not acceptable!"

"Wha-" Umbridge spluttered, coming suddenly awake and finding herself still in the room of children. "I didn't, I …"

"Cast a sleeping charm on poor Elias, didn't you?" the teacher said. "Get out of my class. Go and explain yourself to the Director. Violet," she said, turning to one of the older children, "please take Miss Umbridge to the Director's office, so she doesn't get lost."

"Very well, Miss Carson," the little girl said, and took Umbridge's hand, dragging her out of the room.

"I don't need any help!" the witch said, shaking the girl loose.

"Miss Umbridge!" Miss Carson hissed, disapproval coming off her in waves. "You will go with Violet! Now!"

And Dolores, finally wising up that she was not getting anywhere, did so, as Miss Carson gathered Elias into her lap, and started reading him a story.

Five minutes later, Elias was fast asleep, and the other children, who had, of course, been woken by the activity, and listened in to Elias's story, turned over and went back to sleep, much happier now that Miss Umbridge was out of the room.

-#-

When they arrived at the Director's office, to Umbridge's chagrin, Ries asked Violet what was going on before he said anything at all to her.

"Miss Umbridge fell asleep," the girl replied promptly. "Miss Carson said that she cast a sleeping charm on Elias, and it must have not worked or something."

"Ah, I see," he replied calmly. "Yes, thank you, my dear. You've done a good job bringing Miss Umbridge here, and explaining everything. Please return to your class, and thank Miss Carson for bringing this to my attention."

"Yes, sir!" the girl replied, her eyes shining at the praise as she skipped happily out of the office.

When she had gone, and the two of them were alone in the office, the Director fixed the witch with a beady eye.

"I confess, Umbridge, that I am quite disappointed. I thought I had made it quite clear to you that you were not to use magic?"

"Yes, but-"

"There are no 'but's here, Umbridge," the Director returned savagely. "You have been told the rules. You abide by them. Or, as you have discovered, there are unpleasant consequences. That's it. Now, I don't want you back in class today. Go and find Dursley and help him clean the washrooms on the second floor."

Umbridge stood there, stunned. _Clean washrooms?_ That was a job for house-elves! Not for former Undersecretaries to Ministers! Not for former Hogwarts High Inquisitors! Not for …

Ries looked up. "Why are you still here?" he asked, sternly. "Get going!"

Umbridge still didn't move. Not until the stinging hex hit her. Then, completely forgetting all the justifications she had just told herself, she ran out screaming in search of the Muggle caretaker. Anything, she rationalized, was better than spending a moment longer with a man who so disrespected her!

-#-

An hour later, she wasn't so sure about this Muggle. He was, at least, properly respectful; he didn't say very much to her, but accepted her help, and gave her the better mop and bucket, and seemed not to mind when she told him she expected him to clean the toilets. At least, he didn't complain.

But of course, her mind told her. He was a filthy Muggle; she was a pure-blood witch. There was no comparison between them. Oh, she knew that he had been given a room, next to hers; and the Director had told her that she was no better than him; but she didn't believe that. It would have been a betrayal of her ideals.

At ten o'clock, their work finished, they made their way to the storage cupboard to put the mops and buckets away. She handed her equipment over without a word, and turned to go up to her room. She expected him to follow her, and was mildly surprised when he simply shut the door with himself on the inside of the cupboard. Normally, such an activity would have been way beneath her interest; but it was a mystery, and her curiosity was roused. She knocked on the door.

"Aren't you going to your room?" she asked when he opened it to her.

"No," he said softly. "I sleep here. The room won't let me in."

"Oh," said Umbridge, and, not being able to think of anything to say, turned on her heel and left.

She was halfway up the stairs before it dawned on her that here again was proof of her superior status: he was a Muggle sleeping in a cupboard, she was a pure-blood given a proper room. All was as it should be, she thought, as a smug grin formed on her face.

She opened the door to her room, turned on the light. Then she stepped inside, and turned back to the door to close it. As she turned round to see her room again she found, to her horror, that it had suddenly shrunk to a very small size indeed.

The size of a cupboard…

When Vernon woke the following morning, he, in his turn, was very surprised to find himself back in the room in which he had spent his first night at the orphanage. He got up and washed, finding, to his delight, that the twinges in his back that seemed to have become his constant companion had disappeared entirely. He made his way to breakfast, feeling more rested than he had for weeks. And, to his very great surprise, when he entered the kitchen he was given a plate of food and told to go and sit and eat it.

He sat quietly at the staff table and gingerly ate his breakfast, wondering when the pain in his stomach would start. To his continuing delight, there was no evidence of the malady that had afflicted him for months. He smiled inwardly. Perhaps, just perhaps, his life was getting a little better. Not that he was under any illusions that it would be as it had been before the orphanage; but he had come a long way since that day at Malfoy Manor, and suffered a lot, and he now greeted any little thing that improved it with a sense of gratitude at a bonus being given.

He watched the students and staff carefully, as always. They were treating him better recently; but it would not do to be complacent about it. Things were looking up, but they could, he felt sure, go back down again if he didn't look out; so he kept quiet, and watched and listened. Even when that new, and in his view awful, staff member sat next to him, he refrained from making any comment on her appearance. She was not so lucky with other members of staff.

"Hey, honey," Miss Carson said, in a voice dripping with entirely faked fellow feeling, "you look awful. Did you have a bad night last night?"

"Yeah," another teacher remarked, sitting down next to Miss Carson, "and it looks like you must have a dicky tummy, by the looks of that breakfast. Best go to sick bay, level two, and get the medi-witch to have a look at you."

Umbridge looked daggers at her, but only said "thanks", very quietly. Perhaps, Vernon thought, she was learning to behave sensibly. He doubted it, though. Time would tell.

-#-

The NEWTS Assessment Test took the whole day, and by five o'clock, when the examinees were finally dismissed, the students who had elected to take it were feeling exhausted. Flitwick had insisted that they take the rest of the weekend off to recharge, preferably away from the Castle. Accordingly, Ron and Hermione Flooed to the Burrow, and Harry and Draco left for the Manor.

When they arrived in the impressive reception room, Harry and Draco found themselves being greeted by Narcissa alone.

"Hello, darlings!" she said happily, taking each of them into an embrace separately and kissing each on the cheek, something Harry was still getting his head around. He was only just getting used to this openly affectionate side of the Malfoys.

"Hello mother," Draco replied. "Is father around?"

"Oh yes," she replied, "he and Dudley are in his study. Apparently there was some paperwork about Dudley's university entrance. Dippy!"

The house-elf appeared with a pop.

"How can Dippy be serving Mistress?" she said.

"Please ask Master Lucius if he and Dudley are ready to join us for a late afternoon tea in the green drawing room."

"Yes, Mistress!" the elf replied, vanishing again.

"Come," Narcissa said, leading them to the drawing room. "Leave your trunks there, Mappy will take them up."

Five minutes later they were seated in the drawing room, relaxing with tea, when Lucius and Dudley entered.

"Hello, my dear!" Lucius said, bending down to kiss his wife on the cheek and then sitting next to her. Noticing that the boy looked unsure of his welcome, he indicated a comfortable armchair and said, "Dudley, do sit, please."

"Thank you," Dudley said with a smile as he sat down.

"So, do you have news about your results, Dudders?" Harry asked.

"Um, yeah," his adopted brother replied. "Um, I got an A and two B's."

"Is that good?" Draco asked, being unsure of the Muggle grading system.

"It's fantastic!" Harry replied. "Petunia would be so proud of you! You said before you'd probably get in with two B's and a C, so you got a place?"

"Yeah," Dudley said, breaking into a grin, and Harry, realizing all at once that Dudley had desperately wanted Harry to be happy for him, gave a matching one. "I'm in to Civil Engineering at Swansea. You're right, Petunia would be proud; but Vernon would be absolutely disgusted."

"Let's not talk about him. That's great!" Harry said, with quite genuine enthusiasm. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"We have got an offer of a place in a Hall," Lucius replied. "I thought that would be the best to start with; then if Dudley is happy after first term we can look at buying a place for him to stay."

"Well!" said Narcissa, "I think this calls for celebration, and something a bit stronger than tea! Mappy! Champagne!"

The tea-set in front of them vanished, to be replaced with a bottle of Dom Perignon in an ice-bucket, together with five very elegant champagne flutes. Lucius picked up the white napkin next to the bucket, took the bottle, and expertly opened it, the cork sliding out into his hand as he finished. He filled the glasses and handed them round.

"Well then," he said when this ritual was finished and everyone was holding a glass. "Congratulations, Dudley Potter, and here is to a very successful University career!"

They all responded in kind, and Dudley went bright red with embarrassment to be so singled out for praise. His parents had always praised him whatever he did, which meant of course that their praise had never meant anything. Vernon and Petunia, he realized suddenly, praised him not for himself but only because it made them feel good as parents. Their whole focus was on looking good; and his achievements had been celebrated because they could bask in reflected glory. But the Malfoys had no connection to his success; they were simply glad for him, without receiving anything themselves. This, from his new family, this was real appreciation, and he found the sense of belonging it gave him was causing him to tear up.

"Thank you!" he said, almost choking on the words with emotion; and then he completely lost it as Harry reached his arm around him in reassurance. Draco, having set his own glass down, quietly took theirs as Harry pulled Dudley in to a proper hug, and then, after putting them down on the table as well, joined in to the hug.

After about twenty seconds, they broke apart.

"Thank you," Dudley said hoarsely. "I'm sorry to make such a show of myself. I just – it was so overwhelming."

"Don't worry, I felt about the same when they first accepted me as part of the family," Harry confessed, remembering how much he had been affected by Narcissa riding to his rescue when he was sick at Grimmauld Place. "Still am sometimes," he added, remembering how he had felt when Narcissa had embraced him and kissed his cheek only minutes ago.

"You really are part of this family now, Dudley," Draco replied, bowing his head at his fiancé in agreement with Harry's sentiment. "It's OK. You're OK."

And, to Dudley's surprise, and relief, he really was. With Vernon and Petunia, he had always felt judged by their standards, and expected to follow in Vernon's footsteps. Vernon would have judged his results, his entry to University, and been harshly critical. But here, his results, and his welcome to Harry's family, were like a verdict passed on him; a verdict of freedom. At Privet Drive, he would have been expected to be just like Vernon; at Malfoy Manor, he was free to be himself.

He smiled, a smile that lit up his eyes and, if he but knew it, made his face ten times more handsome than Vernon had ever been, as he lifted his glass again.

"Thank you," he said, from the bottom of his heart. "Here's to us! To being the best that we can!"

The others, having picked up their glasses again, joined in the toast; and, to Dudley's surprise, Lucius saluted him. Not a big action; just a little nod of the head that said that the head of the Malfoy family, of Harry's family now, agreed, accepted him, and wished him the best.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. Ruth_lily is currently indisposed; I hope she will be back on deck soon!
> 
> Thanks: To all who are subscribing and commenting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and treacle tart to those who reviewed chapter 66.
> 
> Awards: Voting is now open in The Non-canon Awards; visit thenon-canonawards.blogspot.com.au/p/ to vote for Returning to Sanity (or any other story that takes your fancy!
> 
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	69. Returning to the Matter of Animagus Forms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lemon below; I've marked it so you can skip it if you wish.

**69 Returning to the Matter of Animagus Forms**

_Sunday 23 August_

Harry gave a low moan as he woke up. He had that strange feeling of dislocation followed by near panic that comes with waking up in a strange bed: the room just had a different sort of feel about it, the sheets felt much finer than usual. And, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could see that these sheets were dark green, not the white of Hogwarts sheets. For a few moments, he wondered where he was; then it came back to him: after the testing yesterday, and meeting up with Dudley, they had stayed at the Manor and slept in Draco's bed. His heart, which had started racing, calmed down a little as he reached out and found Draco lying just inches away from him. As soon as Harry's fingertips brushed him, and without waking up, the blond scooted over to him unconsciously and wrapped his arms around him. Harry sighed happily. He might complain about Draco's octopus tendencies, but they did make him feel secure and loved. He'd never admit it, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry looked around. The room was still shrouded in darkness, and all he could hear were the quiet breathing of his beloved lying next to him and the sound of rain softly drumming on the windows. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room, wondering what time it was; still quite early, to be so dark. A quick Tempus revealed that it was nearly half-past six; the sun must have been up for half an hour or so, but the clouds must be quite effectively blocking its rays given how gloomy the room was. There was nothing they needed to get up for, and he decided that he could do with some more sleep, so he snuggled happily into the still-sleeping blond, placing his head on Draco's chest. It was not long before the rhythm of Draco's heart, together with the beat of the rain, had lulled him back to sleep.

It was just over an hour later that Draco woke up, finding himself being cuddled tightly by his fiancé. He smiled as he remembered how often Harry had complained about Draco using him as his own personal teddy bear; now he knew how it felt. While he found that he didn't really mind at all, his arms were getting a bit numb, so he carefully rubbed Harry, loosening Harry's hold a little before Draco wrapped his arms around his sleeping Raven.

"Mmm," Harry said, coming awake slowly to find himself being massaged. "That's nice."

"Good," Draco answered, his hands raking down the naked body of his lover, kneading the knots that were still there even after a night's sleep.

"Ooh," Harry murmured, his body turning into a pile of goo under the onslaught of Draco's tender ministrations. This **was** good! So good!

It was twenty minutes before Harry spoke again.

"Draco?" he asked, a little hesitantly. "Make love to me?"

**-lemon—**

Draco smiled, enchanted that Harry had asked and more than happy to comply, and wordlessly cast their usual preparation spells.

"You're getting really good at that wordless magi-IC!" Harry said, his voice rising in pitch and volume at the end of his compliment as the lubricant that Draco had conjured filled him with an unexpected heat. Usually it was cool and soothing, but Draco had evidently decided that, given that Harry was so relaxed, something different was required.

"You like that?" Draco asked, a wicked note of wild pleasure in his voice, evidently enjoying Harry's reaction.

"Very much," Harry replied. He reached around to stretch himself, but Draco swatted him away, inserting his own finger.

"You just relax, love," Draco murmured, stretching and massaging, as he looked closely at Harry's eyes, delighting in the expression of pure pleasure his actions were bringing to fiancé's face. He could not stop himself from adding a second finger; neither of them seeming to have the patience to take things slow. Harry's moans grew louder, and by the time Draco had inserted three fingers the noises he was making were driving Draco wild; the blond was grateful for the permanent silencing spells that he had set up in this room during Voldemort's occupation and which were still going strong.

He pulled out his fingers and summoned some more lubricant, liberally slathering it over his rock-hard cock, before gently pushing Harry with his hands. The raven-haired lad got the message immediately and scooted back up the bed until he was lying on his back with his head on Draco's pillow. As he did so, Harry pulled his knees up towards his chest to allow Draco access, looking up at the blond with an intense love and no small degree of arousal.

"Mine," Draco murmured in appreciation as he grabbed Harry's ankles and lifted his legs up over Draco's shoulders as he lined up ready to make love to his fiancé.

"Yours," Harry agreed, his eyes filled with an intensity of feeling that quite took Draco's breath away.

"Ready?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes! Please! Get on with it!" Harry replied, his own cock as hard as Draco's and desire written all over his face.

Draco smirked. There were times when their lovemaking was drawn out and gentle; and then there was now. In a single, swift move, Draco plunged into his lover, loving the ecstatic cries Harry gave out.

"More!" his Raven yelled, and he pulled almost all the way out before reaming Harry again.

"Harder!"

Draco smirked. He loved how in-sync the two of them seemed to be, and he ploughed into Harry over and over again. Almost every stroke hit Harry's prostate dead on, and elicited moans and groans and shouts of ecstasy.

It quickly became a race to see if they could climax before Draco's stamina gave out. For a moment, Draco thought he might lose; but he was a Slytherin, he wasn't about to fight fair, and he reached over and pulled hard on Harry's magnificent erection.

"FUCK!" Harry screamed.

"Yes, I kind of am," the blond replied; but Harry didn't hear it, as his body took over and he started coming, a stream of semen being released from his cock as a huge wave of pleasure washed over him. The muscles of his sphincter tightened around Draco's straining erection and the blond only lasted another stroke before he too was coming.

It had been electrifying and amazing, and now Draco, exhausted and spent, collapsed on top of Harry, not even having the energy to avoid squashing his lover. But Harry didn't seem to mind at all; as Draco slipped out of him, he just wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him close.

After a few moments, Harry got his breath back. He cast a Tergeo to banish the mess; Draco gasped in amazement as he always did at the feeling, so gentle, so unlike anyone else's cleaning spells. Everyone else's spells gave him the feeling of being cleansed with a loofah; with Harry, it was like being wiped with silk.

**-/lemon—**

Harry cuddled him tight and started kissing every part of Draco he could reach as the blond simply moaned in post-orgasmic bliss.

"That was sensational," he said.

Draco kissed him on his forehead. "Of course," he said, his face haughty, but his eyes twinkling.

"Prat," Harry replied.

"Maybe," Draco concurred. "But I'm **your** prat."

"Agreed," Harry said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Draco replied. "Shall we shower?"

-#-

When the two young men finally made it down to breakfast, just after nine o'clock, they found Lucius and Narcissa were sitting at the breakfast table, together with two very familiar visitors.

"Ry! Co!" a little voice said, and a second later Teddy Lupin had managed to get down from his booster seat and was crawling full tilt to his godfather. Harry picked him up, overjoyed to see the little boy, and delighted that, as he did so, Teddy's hair darkened and his eyes changed to green.

"Teddy!" he said excitedly. "How are you?"

"He's been asking after you all weekend," Andromeda replied, and then, knowing how Harry's guilt-trip worked, continued, "but you're not to feel guilty. He needs to learn that he doesn't get everything he wants as soon as he wants it. Narcissa told me you had testing yesterday; come, sit down, and tell me all about it."

"Well, this was a school test to see if we get to sit our N.E.W.T.s early," Draco replied as he took his seat. "Harry, Hermione and I have already been recommended, so it's really just to give us an idea what we need to concentrate on. But it gives the other students a chance to get recommended for early exams as well."

"It's a good idea, as long as people really are ready," Lucius replied cautiously. "But, while we need people in the system, they do need to be competent. We need new Aurors, but there's no good putting a new class of Aurors together if they don't know enough to get through training."

"I'm sure that the examiners are well aware of that, dear," Narcissa replied. "Harry, put Teddy back in his seat and sit down and have some breakfast, please."

Harry happily complied, sitting down to a mountain of bacon and eggs; but he couldn't help feeling that there was some subtle undercurrent of conversation that he had missed.

-#-

After breakfast, given that it was raining, Harry suggested that he and Teddy could play in one of the manor's larger reception rooms. He had decided that he was finally going to do one of the things he had wanted to when young, but of course never got to: make a play-fort. For the next hour, he and Teddy piled together chairs, cushions and blankets, organizing them into walls and roof. Although this really meant that Harry made the fort, and Teddy giggled and gurgled and got in the way; but they both enjoyed each other's company immensely.

Andromeda was overjoyed to see how happy Teddy was. She found nothing to contradict the firm idea that had established itself in her mind every time the two of them interacted: Harry was a natural at parenting. At every turn, he took care to encourage Teddy, getting him involved, and showing amazing patience when the little boy knocked things over and generally got in the way. She and Narcissa started off watching the boys, but it wasn't long before her sister suggested they could leave them be and have morning tea together.

Meanwhile, Draco decided that he was quite happy for Harry and Teddy to spend some time bonding, and from his father's unusually cautious words at breakfast, he rather gathered that Lucius had more to say, but did not want to make it public; so was not at all surprised that, once they had made sure that Harry and Teddy were happily playing together, and that Narcissa and Andromeda were going off to spend time together, Lucius beckoned him out. Draco followed his father, and was overjoyed when his father led him into his study, carefully shutting the door behind them.

Lucius gestured towards the two leather chairs grouped around a table in the corner of the room. The ladies might have gone off for morning tea, but he wanted something stronger, so poured them each a finger of fire-whiskey.

"So, father," Draco said as he sat down and picked up his glass, rather stunned to notice the bottle; this was Lucius's best fire-whiskey. "Problems at the Ministry?"

"Indeed," the older Malfoy said with a sigh, putting his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of him, fixing his son with a piercing look.

"You understand this goes no further, of course," he began, and Draco nodded his agreement, his heart leaping within at the thought that his father trusted him with secrets. "It seems Rosier had a few Aurors under his thumb."

"Yes, but surely that's all sorted now?" Draco responded, a little confused that this seemed to bother his father.

"For the moment. Rosier may well appeal, of course; but you're right, we have cleaned up that mess. But who else? If one person has set up his own personal cohort of Aurors, how do we know someone else hasn't done the same?"

"True," Draco allowed, "but we always knew that was possible. What makes it so important right now?"

When Lucius didn't respond straight away, Draco thought for a moment, remembering their own troubles with Aurors before and during their trials. He could see from first-hand experience that it was imperative that the Aurors be trustworthy, and known to be so.

"This is personal, isn't it? It's about what that fucking Crockford did to us?"

"Partly," Lucius admitted, wincing at his son's language. Before, he would have issued a stern reprimand; but he had decided that, now that they were both of age as wizards and Muggles, it was time to treat his sons as adults. It was no longer his place to scold. "But there's something else. Tell me, Draco, how do you feel about Harry?"

"What?" Draco said, the question taking him so much by surprise that he actually sputtered out some of the precious fire-whiskey. "You're really asking me how I feel about my fiancé?"

Lucius laughed, which made Draco glare at him. "Sorry," Lucius said apologetically, "I didn't make myself clear. I really meant about the debt. If, that is, you feel able to distinguish your own natural feelings from those you have because of it?"

Draco looked at him suspiciously. Was his father subtly suggesting he wasn't a proper Malfoy? He had done that often in the past. But in the past, he would have said stern words about Draco swearing; and in the past, his words would have had an audible sarcastic edge. He detected none; his father must be asking a real question then. And it was an interesting question. Could he distinguish debt-driven feelings from his own?

"I think I can," he answered. "For years, I thought I hated Harry, because he refused my friendship. But now, that feeling is there, still strong, still intense. But it's changed. It's love now, not hate. And it's all mine. But there is another thing. A desire to protect him. As if he needed it. It's kind of separate; and yet the two have sort of merged together. It's hard to describe."

"I understand," Lucius replied. "I feel it too. Not that I loved Potter, or hated him, really; for most of the war I thought of him as a very inconvenient nuisance."

"Especially when he got you sent to Azkaban."

"Indeed," Lucius replied. "Thank you so much for reminding me. And then, of course, he destroyed our Lord, and it turns out it wasn't just luck, or other people's magic, as he had always maintained, but in fact Harry had been working actively to destroy the Dark Lord's horcruxes. "

"Horcruxes?" Draco asked. "I remember Bill Weasley said something about that; 'eggs of evil' he called them. Something to do with immortality? And Voldemort had more than one of them?"

"Yes," Lucius replied, passing over Draco's use of the Dark Lord's name. Even after all these weeks he still couldn't say it; but he was secretly pleased that his son seemed to have got over the inhibition that the Dark Lord had placed on all his followers. "Horcruxes enable you to anchor your soul to this world; you cannot actually die until they have all been destroyed. Harry explained the Dark Lord's actions to Arthur Weasley, Dempster Wiggleswade and me in a meeting here a few weeks ago."

"Wiggleswade?" Draco asked. "The Daily Prophet reporter?"

"Yes, but he is also a Ministry official, so Arthur leant on him. Anyway, to create a horcrux, you have to murder someone, and split your soul, leaving a piece in an object. The Dark Lord made seven, which probably explains a lot of his insanity. The Ministry has suppressed most of the details, but since you're with Harry, you need to know."

And with that, Lucius explained the whole history of Lord Voldemort and six of the horcruxes.

"Fascinating," Draco said, "but you said there were seven? Nagini only makes six? Or have I miscounted?"

"No, you're right," Lucius replied. "But I think you should ask Harry about the last horcrux. That was very personal; he didn't tell us much about it."

"What aren't you telling me?" Draco asked.

"Ask Harry. He may even tell you more than he has told us."

"Alright," Draco replied. "We've come a long way, haven't we?" he asked.

Lucius looked at him quizzically, arching an eyebrow.

"You and me," Draco explained. "I can't imagine us sitting down like this six months ago. Or you letting me get away with swearing."

"I guess I've mellowed a little," Lucius admitted. "But then, you are a man now, and I need to give you space. And perhaps I've been desensitized; we did have a rather impolite house guest six months ago," he continued drily.

Draco chuckled. "True," he replied. "And also I guess we've incurred the Debt since then. Can you say how has it affected you? And you haven't really explained why trained Aurors are so important, you know."

Lucius thought for a moment or two.

"When I sent Harry away after the trial, it made me feel awful; ever since then I've been feeling more and more protective of him. To begin with, I'm sure it was the Debt; but watching you two, I've realized what an incredible man he is. So I think it's no longer about the debt at all. I think I can say that he is my son, and I love him like I love you. That's the real reason for my concern about the Aurors: Harry's safety at Hogwarts and future happiness as an Auror himself, if he still wants to be one, are at stake."

"We haven't talked about that much," Draco admitted. "Too busy thinking about the present, I think."

"Malfoys should always have an eye on the future," Lucius replied. "Thinking of which, I must have another chat with Miss Granger."

"Hermione?" Draco asked, surprised. "About what."

"The future," Lucius replied. And he would not be drawn further.

-#-

The two of them returned to the reception room, to find a huge fort of cushions and blankets taking up nearly a quarter of the room. But there was no sign of life.

"Harry? Teddy?" Draco called.

In answer, they heard the last thing Lucius would have expected to hear in the Manor – the bark of a dog.

"What?" Lucius exclaimed. "Who let a dog in the house?"

Draco, however, smirked knowingly. "I think you'll like this dog," he replied, levitating the blankets to reveal Teddy curled around a black Labrador, happily petting it.

"Oof!" the little boy said. "Oof, oof!"

The dog barked joyfully in reply and stroked Teddy's hair very gently with his front paw.

"Where did you come from, fellow?" Lucius asked.

The dog looked up at them with sad, wet eyes, and Lucius couldn't help but agree with Draco's assessment – it was an adorable picture.

"Aww," a voice said behind them, and Draco and Lucius turned to see that Narcissa and Andromeda had entered the room. "Looks like Teddy has a new pet," Narcissa continued.

"Not that new," another voice said, and they all turned to see that Teddy was now being cuddled by a different dark-haired creature.

"Harry!" Andromeda said, aghast. "You're a –"

"An animagus, yes," Draco continued, a little petulantly. "And he transformed on his first go."

"Dragon!" Narcissa said, her voice sounding amused and rather knowing. "You're not jealous of our Raven, are you?"

"I am a bit," Draco confessed as Harry got up and passed Teddy to his grandmother.

"Well," said Harry, moving over to his fiancé, "perhaps this afternoon we can work on your animagus form?"

"I'd like that," Draco admitted.

-#-

Eva Thillin was bored out of her mind. She had adopted a strategy of keeping her head down, not saying very much and really just hoping that no-one paid her any attention. Unfortunately, the strategy was working a little too well: no-one had spoken more than a polite request to her for days, and it was starting to dawn on her that she needed these people. Unlike her classmates from Beauxbatons, she did not have parents with large reserves of cash to fall back on; she would have to make her own way in the world, with no-one to look out for her.

Well, she would overcome. She always did. Potter, she knew, had not quite forgiven her – or at least, he was still wary of her. It would have hurt her that he didn't trust her, except that she knew perfectly well that he was right to do so. The put-upon orphan she portrayed to the world was a mask to hide the hard-as-nails person she really was. Though sometimes, in her more honest moments, she wondered who the mask was designed to fool.

The world? Or herself?

-#-

After lunch, the rain stopped and the sun came out, though it was still cloudy and a little chilly. Teddy went down for a nap, and Andromeda assured Draco and Harry that it would be a long one as he had been so active in the morning; so they took advantage of the change in the weather and sat outside in Draco's garden.

To begin with, they just sat together, enjoying one another's presence, and a comfortable silence grew between them as they watched the clouds travelling across the sky and the strange shadows that the stones in Draco's garden made.

"Father and I had a good talk this morning," Draco said eventually.

"Oh?" Harry replied non-commitally, knowing that Draco would continue in his own time and not wanting to pry.

"Yes. He told me some more about the horcruxes that Bill Weasley mentioned."

"Eh?" Harry said.

"Yes. Father discussed how the Dark Lord made six of them deliberately. But apparently there was a seventh; he said you would be able to tell me more about it?"

"I?" Harry asked.

"You," Draco replied.

"Ah," Harry said, lapsing into silence. He thought for a moment. He really didn't want to talk about this again; on the other hand, Draco deserved to know all about his past, and he couldn't really be anything bit grateful that Lucius had left it up to him to tell the blond.

"It was the night he died for the first time," Harry said eventually.

Draco placed a hand on Harry, but did not respond otherwise; Harry was grateful for the warmth of the touch, and the surrounding intimacy of the silence.

"Somehow, no-one really knows how, he managed to leave behind a piece of his soul when he died that night. And it lodged in me," he said eventually.

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "So you were a living horcrux?"

"Yep. That's why I could see into his mind; we were connected by it for all my years at Hogwarts."

Harry grew silent again, and then decided he needed to tell the whole story, and began to talk about the night he walked into the Forest expecting to die. This time, he left out nothing: he told Draco about the Resurrection Stone, about his parents and Sirius and Remus being with him till the end. He told about the Avada Kedavra curse that Voldemort cast, and how he had gone to a strange place, and met Albus Dumbledore and the homunculus form of the horcrux that had actually been killed by the curse. He told how he was given the choice to go on, or come back; and how he had chosen to come back, horcrux-free, knowing that once Nagini was killed, Voldemort would be completely mortal.

And Draco listened in silence, not daring to say a word; and his heart, which he had thought was as full of love for Harry as anyone's heart could be, seemed to grow twice the size and twice as full. There were no words to say, no sounds that could truly convey his sense of the depth of the debt of gratitude and love that they all owed to this man, this incredible, impossibly good man, who had gone willingly to his death and then, even knowing that the shades of his parents and godfather were waiting for him, willingly came back to finish the job.

And, Draco thought as his arms circled Harry in a tight grip, because Harry came back, he and his father had been set free from the Binding that Voldemort had placed on their magic. Saved from dying horribly and swiftly. And saved to know the love of this incredible man, as husband and son. He loosened his grip for a moment, but only so he could move; and all at once Harry was very surprised to find his lap suddenly full of a weeping Draco.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and, to his great consternation, the concern in his voice seemed only to upset Draco further. He wrapped his arms around his fiancé and started smoothing his hands reassuringly over his back as he murmured to him.

"I'm sorry, Dragon, I didn't mean to upset you, please forgive me…" he said softly, repeating the sentiments over and over again.

It was a few moments later that Draco regained composure enough to trust himself to speak. When he did, Harry had no trouble detecting the Black blood in him, as he sat up and looked Harry straight in the eye.

"Harry James Potter," he said, "you have nothing to be sorry for. I am awed, and amazed, and humbled at how much you have done for the Wizarding world. And rather ashamed at how little recognition you have for it."

"Well," Harry replied, feeling rather intimidated by such a strong outburst from Draco, "um, the Wizengamot does listen to me…"

"Yes," Draco said, "but the Ministry hasn't given you any honours, and the general populace still seems to mob you; and half of them seem to think they should curse you for being with me, or try to pull us apart."

"The Ministry did give me the title 'Destroyer of Voldemort'," Harry said, feeling torn as he recognised the truth of Draco's words but also wanted to stick up for his friend Kingsley.

"Oh, right," Draco replied sarcastically. "And that really helps, doesn't it. Just what you wanted really."

"What I really want is to be left alone," Harry replied. "And that's never going to happen. So I'll take what I can get. At the moment, that's you. Which makes me very happy. Now, about that animagus form…"

Draco decided to accept the blatant change of subject; if he really did make Harry happy – and there was no reason to think he was lying about that – then that was good enough. For now, at any rate. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on the magic at the centre of his soul, as McGonagall had suggested at one of their sessions. He felt it swirling and circling around him, and suddenly had a strange new feeling as he seemed to catch hold of it and pull it around himself.

The first indication that something had happened was a gasp from Harry; as he heard it, he realized he felt quite different; there was a tingle of magic around him, and his muscles felt very different. There was a lot of power in them. He opened his eyes, to find himself too large to sit on Harry's lap any more, so he slipped off and stood on all fours next to his Raven.

_All fours? What?_

"Wow," Harry said, and then giggled a little. "Trust you, though, Malfoy. You couldn't be anything common could you?"

Draco looked down himself and discovered his animagus form. He let out a sly smile and found, to his considerable consternation, that he was purring; but he couldn't be upset about it when Harry wrapped his arms around him.

"You're gorgeous," he said. "But please forgive me if I don't play with you; I don't think a Labrador makes such a good playmate for a white tiger …"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and subscrbing! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and treacle tart to those who comment.
> 
> Awards: **Returning to Sanity** won Silver in the Harry/Draco section of The Non-canon Awards! Thanks to all who voted. 
> 
> Please please comment; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	70. Returning to Study and to Schemes

**70 Returning to Study and to Schemes**

Anton Rosier was still in shock.

He thought back, trying to work out just how it had happened. He had broken down in front of the panel he was supposed to be part of; he had confessed his guilt, and been sentenced before he even realized what was going on.

Hang on, that couldn't be right, could it? A sentence of twenty years handed down to him by a judicial hearing about Dolores Umbridge's escape? Surely it required the full Wizengamot to sentence a pure-blood wizard? And surely sentencing him for his actions went beyond the hearing's remit?

As he mulled over these matters, he found himself being frustrated by his lack of knowledge of the intricacies of Wizarding Law. He really needed a good lawyer, a fact which he found rather galling; he hated lawyers in general, seeing them mostly as parasites who obstructed people from getting things done. Of course, by 'people' he had always meant himself, and now that 'getting things done' involved him being in Azkaban he found he wasn't so keen on the idea after all.

This was all very well, but there was really only one lawyer who was likely to agree to help him: Prometheus Parturvithic. And in recent times, Parturvithic seemed to have rather gone to ground. At least, Rosier had not managed to find him for Umbridge's hearing; he did not have the resources to hunt for him now.

Still, he couldn't change that, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Much better to spend his time and energies concentrating on what he could do to get himself out of this mess. The only problem was that that was practically nothing.

How could this be? Couldn't they see that they needed him? Who else was going to run the Department of International Magical Co-operation? They wouldn't bring Anofeles back, surely; the man was an idiot, he was sure the Minister was aware of that, and the Press would have a field day if he got back. And there really wasn't anyone else in the Department who would suit: his own deputy, Appleby, was too ambitious by half and would come a cropper soon enough; and no-one would dream of giving Pontefract any role more responsible than counting paperclips. No-one sensible, anyway. And, while he did not like the man, considering him to be a crashing bore, Anton Rosier had a deal of respect for Kingsley Shacklebolt's intelligence. The man knew what was what, and he got things done. In other circumstances Rosier would have approved, or at least found some way to manipulate the Minister to his own ends; but that was a mite difficult at the moment as he was clearly on the wrong side of things.

Still, the man was sensible. He would see reason. Rosier just had to find a way to convince the authorities that he deserved a full trial in front of the Wizengamot, not being imprisoned as the result of what was really nothing more than a low-down trick. And then he needed to get Shacklebolt to accept that he was the only sensible man for the job of Head of DIMC, and his troubles were over.

Anton Rosier was good at fooling himself. A lesser man, contemplating the size of the job in front of him, might have given up. But not Rosier. No, he just needed to work out how to put his plan into practice.

He needed one of his contacts. That was all. There must still be some Aurors in his thrall; he would just have to wait for one of them to turn up.

Just wait. He could do that. He did not, after all, have very many alternatives …

* * *

When they returned to the Castle on Sunday evening, the students discovered that the results of the tests were now in. Harry, Hermione and Draco were confirmed as students sitting all of the NEWT exams, with the necessary exception of Muggle Studies. For the other students there was a series of small interviews after dinner to discuss their results. These were held in the Headmistress's office, each student being called individually while their friends waited anxiously in the library. It came as no surprise to Draco when Blaise and then Pansy returned with great grins on their faces: they had been recommended for all of their subjects. Ron's interview was next, and seemed to take longer than either of the Slytherin's had. When he returned to the library, his face was white with shock, and Hermione looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

"Oh Ron," she said, "I'm sure you'll be fine without us."

Ron looked at her, a little flummoxed, then broke into a grin.

"No, 'Mione," he said, "I'm fine. I'm shocked because I PASSED EVERYTHING! Even Potions, thanks to Harry's brilliant mentoring!"

There was a moment's stunned silence, then Harry and Hermione jumped up and crushed Ron in a hug.

"Thanks guys," he said rather hoarsely, "but I need to breathe…"

The two released him from their death grip, and they took their seats as a smiling Neville Longbottom joined them.

"I got through!" he said, smiling his thanks at Draco, own mentor, and there were more whoops of excitement.

In the end, it turned out that all of Hermione's organization and badgering, and all the extra effort they had put into studying and mentoring lately, had really paid off: for not only had Ron, Pansy, Blaise and Neville got through the tests, so also had Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin. Professor Flitwick was understandably very excited that the two Ravenclaw girls had managed to get in, and their Charms class on Monday morning was almost incomprehensible as a result, the diminutive Professor being even more squeaky and excitable than usual.

The only down side was that Hermione's mentoring partner, Susan Bones, had not been recommended.

"It's all right," Susan assured her, a large smile on her face. "McGonagall told me that Potions was up to scratch, which is all thanks to you. I could sit that if I wanted, but my Charms and Transfiguration still need a good deal of work."

"Oh," Hermione said, pleased that her work had some reward, but disappointed for Susan that she wouldn't get to sit exams early.

"Silly!" the Hufflepuff said, guessing what was going through Hermione's mind. "I don't mind, after all, it means I don't have exams in three weeks."

"Eep!" Hermione said. "We have to study!"

* * *

After that beginning, the week settled down into a grind of classwork, homework, and extra study, the last being overseen by a merciless Hermione Granger, who kept the whole group up to the mark with study sessions and quizzes, roping in the other students to search out curly questions to ask them, and getting past papers from the Professors.

Of course this new dedication to study did not go unnoticed by the rest of the student body. There was a variety of reactions to it: some students were drawn in to study mode, taking advantage of the chance to sit with excellent students and observe, and absorb, their study habits; some happily helped those who were taking NEWTs early by asking questions, which for once seemed to be encouraged; while some made sure that the group remembered minor things like meals and going to bed, which Hermione, they suspected, would have clean forgotten about if the Hufflepuffs hadn't taken it upon themselves to mother the group.

But not all the reactions were positive. Dean and Seamus, in particular, rather regretted the sense of seriousness that had descended, and wrote to the twins for advice on how best to prank the students and bring back the levity that they preferred. Still others, the Durmstrang students in particular, while not thinking of pranking the study group, were watchful; Hermione and co meant business, and it was a good idea to stay out of their way.

And then there was one student who welcomed, not the studiousness, but the fact that everyone noticed it and commented on it. For Eva Thillin, this concentration on studies was a god-send; she was able to quietly insinuate herself back into conversations without drawing attention to herself. This was particularly important as the rather delicate topic of Rosier and Umbridge came up; it was inevitable that the students would discuss it, so she needed to steer the discussion out of dangerous territory. She was glad to see that there was very limited reporting in the Daily Prophet of what had happened at Hogwarts; if the truth wasn't reported, she reasoned, it would give her a chance to get her version of it out there, and she suggested that there must be some Ministry conspiracy to keep everything quiet. This rumour was taken up eagerly; it was much nicer to bad-mouth the Ministry than to remember that there might yet be a miscreant on the grounds, after all, and Eva found that it was quite easy to steer the talk in directions that were very profitable to her. By Tuesday lunch-time, by dint of careful prodding and hints, she had learnt a great deal about certain people at the Ministry who might be very useful to her indeed, and so she quietly stole away early from lunch. She needed to strike now, while the iron was hot; from what she had heard, a couple of owls would easily net her some useful allies.

* * *

Wednesday morning was a definite highlight of the week for the Transfiguration students. To begin with, Professor Dreyfuss discussed some theory with them, which occasioned a lively discussion on whether changing someone into a person from a different country would count as Transfiguration or a Charm. Halfway through the class, the Headmistress came in to find that they were now talking about the difference between an animagus form and a Transfigured one, which made a perfect segue into asking whether anyone else had mastered an animagus form.

"Now remember," she said, "there's no shame if you don't have one, and even those of you who do have an animagus form may take a lot of practice before you can change into it. Many very powerful witches and wizards have tried to become animagi and failed; and it's really quite astonishing that Mr Potter…"

But whatever Minerva had been about to say about Harry was lost to posterity as she gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. It wasn't every day that you had a white Bengal tiger in your classroom, after all.

"Isn't he gorgeous?" Harry said, beaming with pride.

"Yeah, but how do you and he get on together?" Seamus asked. "I mean, you don't really suit each other, do you? Fight like cat and dog?"

"Let's see," said Harry, transforming to his own animagus form.

Perhaps, with hindsight, no-one should have been surprised that Harry Potter was the first wizard in recorded history to have two animagus forms; but certainly it was a great shock when he transformed, not into the black Labrador they had all seen before, but into a rarer creature even than Draco's animagus: a powerful, sleek, black tiger, who let out a roar and then circled around the white tiger.

"Wow!" the students exclaimed, Hannah Abbott and Lisa Turpin jumping up and down with excitement.

"They're so beautiful together!"

And indeed, as they circled each other, the contrast between the two was stunning. Draco let out a very contented chuff and the two of them curled up together.

"Well!" said McGonagall. "It seems, Mr Finnegan, that the point is rather moot, as Mr Potter has once again done the impossible."

Hermione's head snapped around to the teacher, and Ron groaned as he recognised the glint in her eye, the one that meant she now had a new research project and was going to be spending even more time in the library.

"Really?" she asked. "Has no one else ever had two animagus forms?"

The Headmistress nodded. "I am unaware of it happening before," she replied. "Though I have not made a particular study of the matter."

"Wow!" Hermione replied. "I'll have to research how this could happen. I need to …"

"Go to the library!" almost the entire class chorused, dissolving into laughter, with the two tigers joining I, letting out happy chuffing noises as well.

* * *

It was Wednesday morning before Rosier got his wish. To his very great surprise, he was told that he had a visitor from the Ministry, no less. The guard did not tell him who his visitor was, but that was no very great surprise; he had learnt very quickly that the guards did not consider it their business to inform the prisoners about anything that they did not have to.

So he was rendered quite speechless when he was ushered into the Azkaban interview room that had been set aside for the meeting. For there, opposite him, separated from him by a table that ran the length of the room, was about the last person he had expected to see, except perhaps the Minister himself: the former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah! Rosier," Fudge said, then pointed to the rather uncomfortable looking chair on his side of the table. "Do sit down."

As Rosier did so, he considered the situation. Fudge's voice had sounded bored, the tone of a man given a duty that he found rather distasteful, but who was determined to discharge it to the best of his ability. He wasn't particularly surprised at this; going to Azkaban had always been considered very demeaning by everyone at the Ministry, so no-one would want to do it; while on the other hand, Fudge's name was mud, so perhaps this was an opportunity to suck up a bit and maybe get into someone's good books. Privately, Rosier didn't think that would happen; but perhaps Fudge was enough of a fool to imagine that it might. Fudge had, after all, been something of an idiot, at least in Rosier's view. Though he must have had something going for him to get elected Minister and to keep the position as long as he had.

"Now," Fudge was saying, sounding rather uncomfortable, "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

Rosier gave him the slightest of wry smiles, but remained silent. He wasn't about to try to make the man feel comfortable; he could stew in his own juice as far as Rosier was concerned.

"The Minister is concerned to make sure everything is – ah – above board," Fudge continued. "He's sent me to see if there's any evidence you feel might have been overlooked, or not given its proper due weight."

 _A guilty conscience,_ Rosier thought at first. Though it was odd; Kingsley Shacklebolt did not strike him as the sort of wizard to have a guilty conscience, at least when things were as cut and dried as they had made them out to be. _Ah_ , he thought. That was it. Not a guilty conscience so much as a concern that there were no loose ends to cause the whole thing to unravel. They'd stitched him up good and proper; clearly they wanted things to stay that way.

He grinned. If that was the way things were, it gave him some power. And he knew just how to use it. It was, in fact, fortunate that they'd sent the fool Fudge to him; he was so easy to manipulate.

"I see," he answered. "Above board, eh? All done properly?"

Fudge nodded.

"Tell me," Rosier said abruptly. "How is International Co-operation doing under Appleby?"

Fudge looked confused. "It isn't," he replied. "Banks is in charge now."

 _Banks?_ Rosier thought. And then he remembered. That blasted Auror Robin Banks had a father, who had been in Germany as Ambassador for a long while. What **was** his name?

"Ah … Viridis Banks? I bet you love that."

"That's him," Fudge said, tight-lipped. He and Banks had a history that went back quite a way; Fudge had always thought him something of a threat, which was why he had been happy to have him as the representative British Wizard in Germany. Now, of course, the man was back in Britain, and head of a Department, while Fudge was a mere dog's-body. In fact, Banks had been nothing but gracious to him; but of course it rankled with Fudge that the man had ended up so much better off than he had. Still, he had wound up better off than Rosier, so it wasn't all bad. "Doing an excellent job, by all accounts," he continued, enjoying the look of discomfort on the prisoner's face. "And I might also tell you that the Auror Department has instituted quite a clean-up; several Aurors have been discovered to have been coerced by third parties of low repute."

Rosier sat there fuming inwardly. Of course Fudge meant "by you", but trust him to find such an outright offensive way to say so. Then he spotted an opening.

"And will they be joining me here soon?" he asked smoothly.

"Oh, I doubt it," Fudge continued blithely. "Most of them have had their cases reviewed, and it has been accepted that their actions, while not entirely blame-free, were under duress, and have been pardoned."

Rosier arched back as though he had been slapped. This was something he had not foreseen, and which could easily destroy his power-base altogether. What influence could he exert if the fear of discovery was removed?

"And I imagine that very few of them will hesitate to testify against those who coerced them," Fudge continued, reveling in Rosier's discomfort.

Rosier looked daggers at the former Minister. _All right,_ he thought, _the gloves are off._

"Well now," he said. "This is all very interesting, but we have strayed somewhat from your brief, don't you think? You were talking about things being above board. Well, a pure-blood wizard was sentenced by a mere hearing. Surely it is at the very least a breach of etiquette, if not of Wizarding Law, to send a pure-blood to this place without giving him a chance to plead his case in front of the entire Wizengamot?"

Fudge looked thoughtful.

"If that is your answer," he said slowly, "I shall relay it to the Minister."

He stood up.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, and for your time," he said, and there was no mistaking the malice in the comment; after all, an inmate of Azkaban had no choice about either. But the other wizard was determined to have the last word.

"Oh," Rosier said airily, "of course. Do call again; I shall instruct the footman to give you admittance."

And with that, his head held high, he walked out of the room and was escorted back to his cell.

Fudge smirked. The outcome was exactly what the Minister had predicted; Rosier had played the Wizengamot card. Well, if he wanted a full trial, he would have one, and be damned for all the Wizarding world to see.

* * *

_Thursday 27 August_

The owl post that came on Thursday morning brought some rather unusual mail.

Dean was quite surprised to receive not only the usual parcel from his mother, who clearly didn't believe that the school fed him properly as she sent him a fruit-cake every week, but a couple of other letters in very plain envelopes. He turned them over to find that one of them had 'Seamus to open this one' written on it, so, rather intrigued by the strange notion of someone sending him a letter for Seamus to open, rather than sending it to Seamus directly, handed it to his friend.

The mystery was solved when they both opened the letters; it was obviously a ploy to make sure they opened them together, rather than one at a time, when they might have been forewarned. For, as they opened the letter, they were each engulfed in coloured smoke. When it cleared, Dean's dark skin was a vibrant pink, clashing rather horribly with his bright yellow hair. And Seamus's pale complexion was now an emerald green, while his forehead was still pasty white and his hair was a hideous orange.

The rest of the student body collapsed into laughter as Seamus pulled a small piece of parchment out of his envelope. ' _Hope your Irish eyes are smiling',_ it said in George's untidy script which Seamus recognised from his time helping at the shop, ' _but we're not going to prank my husband, thanks!'_ Seamus huffed, then conjured a mirror to see just what the twins had done. He had to admit that it was a brilliant job: the green, white and orange were indeed very reminiscent of the Irish flag.

Dean, meanwhile, had found a small sachet inside his envelope, together with a note of his own. ' _Sorry,'_ it said, in Fred's hand, ' _George couldn't let Neville's honour be impeached. But we have no qualms about you using the enclosed on Ron.'_ Dean grinned. This would be fun.

Eva Thillin was very glad of the distraction caused by the explosions, and the ensuing laughter, as she read her own letter. Her instincts had been right, and she had managed to hit pay-dirt. Her contact was indeed very angry at the treatment he was receiving from the Ministry, and clearly believed he was worthy of a much better job; but he was also in a position to be useful. It seemed that the current Minister was not above sending a former one as an errand boy, and that Cornelius Fudge resented it very much. Good. That meant he was unlikely to mention her modest request for an autograph 'from such a distinguished member of the British Establishment' to anyone. And wonder of wonders, he had told her about his trip to Azkaban. The man was clearly lonely and happy to have someone to pour out his feelings to.

Yes, this Fudge would be very useful indeed, she decided. It was fortunate that everyone was still gawking at Dean and Seamus; had anyone seen the look on her face at that moment, they would have been deeply suspicious…

* * *

By the end of the week, the whole group was exhausted; which wasn't helped by a grueling Saturday afternoon study session where Hermione had roped in Robin Banks and Filius Flitwick to give them mock orals in Defense and Charms. It was hardly surprising, then, that, as a group, they rebelled against Hermione's slave-driving and spent the evening playing cards. Hermione, seeing that they were getting tired of study, graciously consented to let them have the Sunday afternoon and evening off as well.

Some of the group used the time off as an opportunity to visit Hogsmeade. Ron took Hermione out to a new café that had opened there after the war. It had a reputation for serving very delicious continental food, and he had wanted to go there for a few weeks, but had not managed to convince Hermione she needed the time out from study. Neville had managed to get George to come out too, and the four of them had a very pleasant afternoon in which George only pranked Ron twice. And really, as he said, the second one was hardly a prank; the dark purple eyebrows actually matched both Ron's complexion and the bottle-green hair he had sported since Saturday morning when Dean had made use of the powder that the twins had supplied. Matched in a very loose sense. In a dark light. If you squinted.

Blaise and Pansy went a little further afield; they had decided to visit Theo, who was doing well, but still spending a lot of time at St Mungo's undergoing various physical therapies as well as advanced magic to rebuild his co-ordination. When they arrived at the ward, Pansy was a little surprised to find that Theo had a visitor already; but Blaise just smirked, and said he didn't want to feel like a pimple on a pumpkin, so had invited his own date along too. Pansy's jaw dropped; and then she pulled herself together, kissed the newcomer, and looped her arm through Luna Lovegood's as though they had been friends forever. Luna, for her part, just smiled knowingly at Pansy, then brilliantly at Blaise as she took his arm with her free one, and the four of them made their way to Diagon Alley for lunch followed by shopping and ice-cream.

Harry and Draco, however, elected to stay in the castle, spending the afternoon in each other's arms in their bedroom. It seemed to Harry that they had spent the whole week being so busy studying that they had hardly said a word to each other; and felt it was time to do something about that.

"That Hermione is something else," Draco said halfway through the afternoon.

Harry groaned. "Do we have to talk about study?"

Draco turned and propped himself up on his elbow, studying his fiancé carefully. "I wasn't," he replied simply. "I was talking about Hermione. I think there's something going on, Harry. Something more than just getting stressed about the jealousy curse."

"Do you think so?" Harry asked dubiously. He couldn't imagine that Hermione would keep a secret from him; but then, on the other hand, Draco's instincts were pretty remarkable; after all, he had spotted that Hermione was in trouble before, when it was the jealousy curse.

"I do think so," Draco said, but then decided that he wasn't going to get much further with that topic, so drew Harry in for a kiss.

"Mmm," Harry said appreciatively as they separated, needing air. "I love your kisses."

"Of course," Draco said archly. "You love everything about me."

"I do," Harry replied, kissing his lover again. "Although…" he began wistfully, then stopped.

"What?" Draco asked, a touch of worry coming into his otherwise self-assured tones.

"I was just wondering about Saturday night," Harry confessed. "And how you felt about it."

"Having sex with you, you mean?" Draco asked.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied. "Um, but especially you making love to me. Instead of the other way around."

"I see," Draco said, growing thoughtful. He lay down in silence for so long that Harry was beginning to be afraid that his words had inadvertently somehow hurt his lover. Without either of them noticing, his breathing started to become a little shallow at the thought.

"I think," Draco said eventually, "that I do prefer it the other way around."

Harry let out his breath slowly, and then his breathing began to return to normal. "I think so too," he replied. "Do you think it's the debt?"

"Maybe," Draco replied. "Or maybe …"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I just really like having you inside me," he replied with a lascivious wink.

"Oh!" Harry said, cottoning on. "Like now, perhaps?"

"Mr Potter!" Draco said, in mock astonishment. "You are such a romantic!"

"And you love it," Harry replied.

"I do," Draco replied, handing him the bottle of lubricant from the bedside cabinet.

And he did. He loved it so much that they only just made it to the Great Hall in time for dinner. And even then Draco was very glad for the cushioning charm that Harry wordlessly cast as he sat down on the bench.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.  
>  **Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook and AO3. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.  
>  **Thanks:** To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and custard buns to those who comment, and to those who leave kudos.  
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	71. Returning to Hogwarts

**71 Returning to Hogwarts**

_Tuesday 1 September_

Ginny Weasley grumbled sleepily as she heard the door open.

"Here you are, lovely," the voice she loved so much said, as Robin Banks handed her a steaming hot mug of coffee. Drinking coffee first thing in the morning was a habit she had picked up from him – her family took tea-and-toast first thing in the morning – and she had got to the point where she could hardly start the day without it.

"Mrrg – what time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Half-past seven," Robin replied.

"Too early," Ginny said petulantly.

Robin chuckled as he sat on the bed. "I agree," he said, "but I have to be at the Ministry by eight, and your mother has already Floo-called twice to make sure you'll be there soon."

"What? But the train doesn't leave till eleven!" Ginny said.

"I thought you told me your family always runs late?" Robin said blandly. "Perhaps she's trying to avoid it."

"Humph," Ginny replied. "Are you sure you can't come?"

"Positive," Robin replied. "I have duty this morning, and I have to teach the Eighth Years this afternoon. You know this, we discussed it."

"Yeah, but can't that other witch take the class?"

"Sorry," Robin said with a grin. "She'll be busy all day I suspect. Big trial today."

And with that, he got up to go and get ready for the day, leaving Ginny to collect herself together. He wasn't particularly happy to think of her travelling by herself; but duty called.

* * *

Anton Rosier sat in his cell in eager anticipation. He had been told that today was the day; the Wizengamot was meeting this morning, and he would be called to present his case. He was a bit surprised that he was still at Azkaban, though; they were cutting it a bit fine, surely? In his experience, prisoners were moved into the Ministry holding cells the night before, unless they were judged to be a flight risk; and he found it hard to believe that they would think that of him.

Still, whatever they thought or didn't think, it was quarter past nine, and here he was, still in his cell at Azkaban. He tried not to get excited, or worried; he went over his arguments in his head one more time. To him, they sounded quite unanswerable; after today he should be free.

If only they would get on with it.

* * *

Once again the gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express stood proudly at Platform Nine and Three Quarters of King's Cross Station, waiting for the magical hour of eleven when it would leave for Hogsmeade Station. But, unlike the day two months earlier, when only the eighth year students had been travelling, the station was filled with people and the noise of seven years of Hogwarts students and their parents standing on the platform was deafening.

Standing in the middle of the swirling mass of people was the unmistakable group of the Weasleys; their red hair would have been enough to mark them, without Molly's exuberant voice, which seemed effortlessly to carry over the general hubbub. At times like this Ginny Weasley wondered whether her mother had a permanent Sonorus cast on her voice; the older woman never had trouble being heard. And at the moment, Ginny would actually rather that her mother wasn't heard; for this was, of course, the last time that any of her children would travel to a new school year on the Hogwarts Express, and the gravity of the moment was bringing out a storm of emotion from the Weasley matriarch. Not to mention a display of her bossiness that had every family member (except for Charlie, who was in Romania) standing on the platform to farewell Ginny.

A storm of emotions, and a storm of questions. Molly seemed determined to quiz Ginny about every possible detail of the trip and the upcoming term, and Ginny felt it was like she was going to be gone for years, not months.

"You will write, won't you, dear?" Molly asked for the fifth time.

Ginny nodded. Short answers, she had discovered long ago, were best; non-verbal ones best of all. While the series of motherly platitudes was extremely boring, the important thing was to let Molly just get on with it, to let the whole thing just flow away, and to not commit yourself to anything. Above all, don't interrupt, and don't suggest that you weren't listening to every word. She knew very well that the worst thing she could do was to suggest that she wasn't taking her mother seriously; that would earn a sharp rebuke. And being of age was no defense against a scolding from Molly.

The twins were standing behind their mother, making funny faces at Ginny. They knew, from a lot of first-hand experience, just how their mother would react if they could only get Ginny to crack up; but their sister was made of stern stuff, and wasn't playing ball.

"Now, you're sure you've got everything, dear?" she asked for the tenth time.

"Especially your nice new shiny PREFECT'S BADGE!" the twins chorused together, causing many heads to turn around and see what was going on.

"Shush, you two!" Molly replied, swatting them; but her heart wasn't in it and it was easy to see how proud she was to have another prefect in the family again.

"It's so sad that Robin can't be here," Molly was saying now.

Ginny nodded her head; then, sensing that her mother was calming down a little and that an answer might be a good idea at this point, responded, "yes, well he has to teach this afternoon's class."

Molly looked puzzled. "Really? I thought that they had some other teacher who could do it?"

"Professor Merrythought," Ginny replied. "But she's busy today – something about a trial at the Wizengamot?"

"Ah," said Molly. Arthur had mentioned that something was happening, but he hadn't been particularly forthcoming with detail, and Molly had been a bit preoccupied at the time, thinking only of getting to the station. She would have turned to Arthur and demanded details, but just at that point the train let out a shrill whistle, and she immediately jumped into action.

"Ginny!" she said, a trifle breathlessly, "the train! You have to get on! Now!"

There was an outbreak of laughter behind her, and Molly turned around to fix the twins with a furious glare.

"Sorry, mum!" they said together, "but just look! / The crush is enormous! / There's no way Gin'll get on the train for ten minutes at least!"

In the end, it was eight minutes later, and tearful farewells and more promises to write demanded and given (and then instantly forgotten), that Ginny was safely on the train, trundling her trunk down the aisle and all but elbowing bright-eyed first year students out of the way.

"Excuse me," one of the bolder new students said, "but do you know Harry Potter? Can you introduce me to him? Or at least get me his autograph?"

Ginny turned and glowered at the young boy. "Yes, no, and no," she replied, and then she adopted an entirely faked sweet tone as she continued, "I could introduce you to the Bat Bogey Hex if you would like?"

"Er … Um … That's all right, thanks," the now terrified boy stammered out as he disappeared into one of the compartments.

"Ginny! Stop terrorizing first years and come over here!" a friendly voice rang out, and she was relieved to see Luna Lovegood poking her head out of a compartment about halfway down the gangway.

"Luna!" Ginny cried out in delight, and made her way to the compartment, just managing to find a seat as the final whistle sounded and then the train slowly began to make its way out of the station.

"Phew!" Ginny said as she sat down. "That was even closer than usual!"

And for one passenger, it was even closer than that, as a young man swung himself onto the train just before it started going in earnest.

* * *

"Right, you, get ready," a gruff voice said, and Rosier stood to his feet. He had been given no notice, but then he hadn't expected any, so he had been ready for the last half an hour or so.

"Are we Apparating or Flooing?" he asked; but the guard remained silent as he led him down winding corridors and up into the more public section of Azkaban. They took the turn towards the interview rooms, which meant they weren't going to Floo, as that was in a different direction; so, Apparation, then, Rosier thought to himself.

He was brought up suddenly as the guard stopped in front of one of the rooms.

"In here," he said, pointing for Rosier to enter. _Not a very chatty lot, these guards,_ Rosier thought to himself. But then they hadn't been hired for their conversation skills, he decided; and they obviously despised their charges.

Rosier entered the room to find the usual uncomfortable chair for him to sit on, and the table running the length of the room; but on top of the table was the largest mirror that Rosier had ever seen. He sat on the chair, wondering what this could possibly mean.

" _Coagmento_!" the guard hissed from the corridor, then shut the door with a clang.

As Rosier watched, the glass in front of him no longer showed him his own face; in it, he could now make out rows of wizards seated in a rough quarter circle. It was with a shock that he realized that he was looking at the Wizengamot assembled in Courtroom Ten.

It was neither Apparition nor Floo; he wasn't going to leave Azkaban at all. And something told him that, despite his hopes and schemes, that wasn't going to change any time soon …

* * *

"Well," Doge said as he sat down at a table in the morning tea room at twenty to eleven, "I think that went very well. Brilliant idea, Libatius."

The others around the table all nodded their agreement. It was the usual senior crowd: Kingsley, who had been at the trial as a spectator, was sitting between Libatius Borage and Dalmatea Merrythought. Completing the group, Doge was rather pleased to see that Robin Banks was sitting on Dalmatea's left. The young Auror was definitely going places, he thought; but then, he did come from a very bright and powerful family. It had come as no surprise to Doge that Viridis Banks was now the head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. It was about time the man got the recognition he deserved from the British Magical Establishment.

"Thank you," said the elderly Potions Master, who had suggested the use of the mirror, and researched the necessary spells. "Though I suspect that Rosier might not agree with you."

Doge chuckled. "He did rather go to pieces when he realized he wasn't going to be let out of Azkaban for the trial."

"Do you really think he still has agents in the Aurors?" Merrythought enquired.

'Hard to say," the Minister replied. "But whether he does or not, they won't do him any good for the next twenty years at least."

"Quite," Borage agreed. "And that really is for the Greater Good."

The others all laughed. Rosier had had quite a bit to say about the Greater Good during the trial, and probably would have said a lot more if Borage hadn't drily pointed out that defeating Voldemort was definitely for the Greater Good of the Wizarding world, while putting Harry Potter at risk could only serve the Greater Good of Anton Rosier. That shut him up good and proper, and pretty much derailed the prisoner's arguments altogether.

In the midst of the laughter, Dalmatea Merrythought fixed her beady eye on Robin Banks.

"Tell me, young man," she said imperiously, though there was a twinkle in her eye, "don't you have a train to catch?"

Robin looked at her, lost for a moment, then broke into a grin.

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied, and excused himself, bolting for the door.

* * *

Ginny got a bit of a shock as she entered the carriage and sat next to the blonde Ravenclaw. Seated opposite her were three Ravenclaws she had rather hoped never to see again: Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot. It made sense, she supposed; of course they would want to return to Hogwarts, they were never going to make it in the Wizarding world without their N.E.W.T.s, especially as they were Ravenclaws. And, since they were Ravenclaws, it made sense for them to sit with Luna, their housemate.

It might make sense; but she still didn't like it and she sat across from them, glowering, as she tried to think of something other than the words of the Bat Bogey Hex to say. She had heard all about their attack on Harry, and how they had managed to escape expulsion; in her view, McGonagall had been far too lenient there.

"Look, we're sorry," Corner said, unexpectedly.

"What?" Ginny replied.

"We're sorry," Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein echoed.

Michael Corner took a deep breath. "What I did was cowardly and wrong, and I've been punished for it, and I accept that. I hope we can all put the whole thing behind us and move on as – maybe not friends, but at least politely accepting one another?"

Ginny looked at him sternly.

"You do realize it's not me you have to apologies to?" she said at last.

"Of course," Boot replied. "But then, surely that means it's not you who should be offended?"

Ginny thought for a bit. There was a definite logic to the argument, she had to agree, however much she still felt like hexing the trio.

"All right," she said, "we'll have a truce. But if Harry doesn't accept your apology, it's off."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Corner replied, grinning, as the mood in the compartment brightened appreciably.

Ginny now turned to the other person in the compartment. She remembered the face very well, and the fair complexion and brown hair; the name didn't come at once, but a little concentration brought it readily enough. It ought to, she realized; the girl was a fellow Gryffindor, after all.

"You're Rionach, aren't you?" she asked. "Rionach O'Neal?"

"That's right," the other girl said brightly. "And you're Ginny Weasley, everyone knows you, you used to be Harry Potter's girlfriend!"

"Yeah," Ginny replied with a lop-sided smile. "Weren't you in his year? But you're not with the Eighth Years? How come?"

"Yes," Rionach replied, laughing at the barrage of questions, "but I learnt so little last year due to the teachers and the detentions that my parents wanted me to have a full year at Hogwarts rather than the Eighth Year programme."

"Oh," Ginny said, "that sucks!"

The other girl laughed. "Not really," she said. "There's going to be a lot of pressure on those students. Everyone's going to have their eye on the first graduates after the War. Which will be good if you're a top student; not so good if you're a bit weak, and I didn't want to chance it. I'm not the strongest of witches; and actually, I'm rather glad I'm not coming up against Hermione Granger. Though I will have you to contend with!"

This last was said disarmingly and with a chuckle, and Ginny found herself becoming fast friends with the gentle Irish girl. It wasn't long before the three girls, Rionach, Ginny and Luna were sitting chatting to one another about the holidays, and who was hot, and how sad it was that Harry, Draco, and Neville all batted for the wrong side. Anthony Goldstein was blushing furiously at this; despite his reputation for being something of a playboy, it was all for show, and he was actually quite straight-laced. Michael and Terry rather timidly asked what they thought of the girls and were rather stunned to receive a full run-down of practically all the girls in the school. It seemed that between them, the three girls knew pretty much every student at Hogwarts (apart from the first-years, of course; but they hardly mattered), and were not shy of expressing opinions.

* * *

It had been touch-and-go whether he was going to make the Hogwarts Express, and after he had swung onto it at the very last second, Robin Banks had taken half an hour to calm down and groom himself before he ventured along the train. He had no problem locating Ginny's compartment; the sound of her voice, and the group of students laughing together, hit him as soon as he entered the corridor of their carriage. He smiled; the voice still made his heart beat faster, and he thought once again how incredibly lucky he was to have managed to get such a wonderful girl to agree to marry him.

He came up to the door, knocked, and went in without waiting for permission; he was, after all, a Professor at Hogwarts, so he had a perfect right to enter any compartment. As he entered, he noticed at once that Ginny was sitting with three rather disgraced Ravenclaws whom he knew rather well; another Ravenclaw he knew by sight to be Luna Lovegood; and one other girl he did not recognise. Michael Corner was in the middle of some involved anecdote and did not notice him for the first second or two; but when he did, he became all at once rather tongue-tied.

"Er," Corner said, very awkwardly, "hello, Professor!"

But no-one really heard it over Ginny's scream.

"ROBIN!" the red-head shrieked as she barreled into his arms. "You made it!"

"Oof!" he said as he caught hold of her. "Yes I did!"

He maneuvered the two of them into seats and then looked at the Ravenclaw lads.

"Michael, Terry, Anthony" he said in acknowledgement. "Welcome back to Hogwarts. I trust that you will be very careful not to be led astray this time round?"

The three lads went very red indeed.

"Yes, sir," Corner said, his voice embarrassingly squeaky.

"And you will make things up with Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Corner agreed wholeheartedly. "Um, Miss Weasley has agreed to a truce at least until I apologize to Harry."

"Good," Robin said firmly. "Then I look forward to having you in Defense. Now, what were we talking about?"

And just like that, Anthony, Michael and Terry found themselves being accepted back into the Hogwarts community. As Terry said later, it was a really strange situation: sitting talking with the three girls and the Professor about the other students; it turned out that Robin was just as interested in gossip as the rest of them.

Of course they demanded to know what Robin had been doing all morning. To begin with he was a little cagey; after all, he didn't really want to discuss something that the three lads might find highly embarrassing, given their part in it. But eventually he was persuaded to, and the students were stunned to learn the depths of intrigue that had surrounded Hogwarts.

"Wow," Corner said, once they had heard all about Rosier, and Umbridge, and Thillin. "That's really intense! I'm so ashamed that I got taken in by that French cow!"

"Now, now, Mr Corner," Robin cautioned him. "I can't have you slandering students, especially exchange ones."

"What?" Corner expostulated. "She's not still a student?"

"Yes," Banks replied, then answered the chorus of indignation by pointing out that this way they knew exactly where she was.

"Putting her on trial would be very difficult politically," he pointed out, "since she is a guest of the Ministry. It would ruffle all sorts of feathers. Much better to let her go home in disgrace once the exams are over."

"But she'll get off scot-free!" Rionach said, her Gryffindor sense of fair play feeling the outrage dreadfully.

"Maybe," Robin said, "but I doubt it. The French Ministry is very likely to want to make an example of her. They're a bit more, ah, direct in their methods than our Ministry."

And at that point, further conversation was interrupted as the familiar cry of "anything from the Honeyduke's Express?" was heard as the tea trolley arrived. Ten minutes later they were all nibbling on Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties, and no more was said for a while.

* * *

There was a huge buzz of anticipation amongst the eighth year students during classes on Tuesday; the other students would be joining them that evening, and the prospect was making it difficult for them to concentrate at all, even given the approaching exams for many of the students. Even so, they lasted in Herbology until about twenty minutes into the second half of the double period, at which point Professor Sprout, seeing that even Neville was having trouble keeping his mind on things, told them all very directly that they were no use for anything today, and they were to get out of her greenhouse before they did some damage, and come back next week with their heads straight.

Defense was a little better, if only because Professor Merrythought turned up. They had been expecting Robin, who would put up with their antics; but Dalmatea Merrythought, however nice she was outside it, was an absolute dragon inside the classroom and they never got any lee-way with her.

It was only when she was quite certain they were all well up to scratch about pixies, doxies, boggarts and other magical nuisances that they managed to draw her on to the subject of the morning's trial.

"Well," she said, unbending a little, "I suppose you do have a right to know about Rosier's trial, given that the man's machinations had quite an effect on the school."

Here she looked rather pointedly at Eva Thillin, who had the grace to blush and look down. Merrythought looked back to the class; _no sense embarrassing the girl too much, I suppose,_ she thought, not taking into account the fact that she probably already had.

"'Scuse me," Seamus said, putting his hand up because Merrythought was an old-school teacher and tended to insist on that, "but shouldn't you call him 'Mr Rosier'?"

"Not at all," the witch replied. "You should all know that imprisonment in Azkaban always entails the forfeiture of titles while there. Rosier is just 'Prisoner Rosier' now. As you are aware, he was sent to Azkaban for a good long while, and this morning …"

And with that she continued on, telling them about Borage's idea with the mirror. It wasn't hard for the class to keep her talking until the bell rang to signal the end of class.

"Well!" she finished. "As you know, tonight is the Opening Feast, so you had all better be ready in the Great Hall at six o'clock. Class dismissed!"

* * *

At half-past five, it suddenly hit Harry that he was going to be mobbed by all the returning students, and it made him feel rather ill. The whole being-a-celebrity thing still freaked him out, and he hated that people loved him (or loathed him) because of the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice tag. Because he was famous, not because he was Harry. He decided that he'd really rather not have anything to do with it, and very nearly skipped the feast altogether.

But, thanks to Draco Malfoy, he not only turned up, but turned up on time, properly dressed. To Draco Malfoy, he was just Harry; and the blond had not stood for any nonsense, and propelled him into and out of the shower in record time. Harry grumbled the whole time; but secretly, he loved the fact that Draco had his back.

So at six o'clock, Harry and Draco were sitting with the other Eighth Year students, waiting for the arrival of the passengers from the Hogwarts Express. There were some desultory attempts at conversation; but most of the students were too keyed up to talk about very much, thinking about Rosier's trial and what might come of that, and the impending invasion of the other students.

And then all of a sudden the invasion was no longer impending; the Great Hall filled with noise and laughter as the second year through seventh year students came crowding in. Of course, the older students all wanted to meet up with the eighth years; some because they were friends; some weren't really friends, but wanted to be; and some blatantly just wanted to shake Harry Potter's hand in the hope that some of his glory might reflect on them.

Harry was glad to see his friends again, but the sycophants sickened him. Fortunately, Draco seemed to have an excellent nose for sniffing out who was coming up to Harry Potter with genuine good will, and who was coming up to the Boy Who Lived Twice, or the Destroyer of Voldemort, hoping to get something from him. The friends got a moment with Harry; the others were gently, and sometimes not so gently, sent straight to their house tables.

After perhaps ten minutes of this, the Headmistress decided that enough was enough, and stood up, casting a Sonorus charm on herself.

"All right, all right," she said. "Please take your seats at your house tables immediately. I understand that you're excited to see the eighth year students again, but they'll still be there after the Feast, and we have students to be sorted. Take your places, please. Quickly, now."

And with that, the Housemasters came up and herded all their errant charges to their house tables.

* * *

The Sorting had come and gone, and Draco had been pleased to see that Slytherin was well-represented in the new student intake; and, frankly, amazed at the support that they had been given. In previous years, the other houses would usually maintain a stony silence when a student was sorted into Slytherin, if not jeer and heckle; the best had been cool, polite clapping of the kind you reserve for people you don't like. But this year, each Slytherin student was given just as much enthusiastic applause as the other houses got. Draco was under no illusions as to how this happened; the first student sorted into Slytherin was Alice Abertomom, and as soon as the Sorting Hat had named her house, Harry was on his feet, applauding. The other students, though a little taken aback, took his lead, and from then on, there were no further problems during the Sorting.

After the Sorting, McGonagall had risen and made the traditional opening speech; though, in a bold departure from Dumbledore's traditions, her speech both actually made sense, and managed to hold the interest of the whole student body. She announced the new members of staff, and the fact that as she was now Headmistress, Professor Sinistra would take over her role as Head of Gryffindor, while Professor Dreyfuss would be teaching a good many of the Transfiguration classes. There was, of course, the usual admonition that the Forbidden Forest was forbidden to any student without the express permission of, and accompaniment by, a Professor; and somehow, Harry thought, she really meant it. There was to be no repetition of the events of his first year, when Draco and he had come across a menacing figure (who had turned out to be Professor Quirinus Quirrell, possessed by Voldemort) and a dying unicorn while on detention in the forest; nor those of his second year, where Ron and he had followed the spiders deep into the forest and met Aragog, the giant acromantula, and came close to being eaten by his offspring.

The Feast had come and gone as well; and Draco had to admit that it had been magnificent. The house elves had even produced a truly exquisite dish of quail with black truffle which was the best version of it that Draco had ever tasted. He did notice, with a sly Slytherin grin, that that particular dish only made it onto the teachers' table and the eighth years'; there were some perks to being part of a select group!

The desserts had not let them down, either. A pile of profiteroles had appeared in front of him, the pastry beautifully crisp and the custard chilled and silky-smooth. He had enjoyed every mouthful. In a fit of selflessness, he offered one to Harry; and even his Harry, who was not a great lover of choux pastry, declared them to be delicious. Draco smirked; his lover had only taken one bite, and then returned to the huge treacle tart that had been placed in front of him.

"Is that good?" he had asked, mischievously, just as Harry had taken a large mouthful.

"Id's berry goob," Harry had replied, much to Draco's amusement.

And now the other years were leaving the Great Hall, off to get to know the newest members of their houses, and settle back into their dormitories. Despite the teachers' best efforts, there were of course a few who came up to the eighth years before they headed to their own dormitories, and Draco found he had his hands full again trying to deflect well-wishers, and not-so-well-wishers, from Harry. But he was not entirely without problems of his own.

"Draco!" he heard a voice cry out sharply, and he turned to see Daphne Greengrass coming over to him, with her sister Astoria in tow. "Is it true?" she said, her tone hard.

"Is what true?" he replied.

"You and Potter are together. Say it isn't so. You were promised to Astoria."

Draco refrained himself from rolling his eyes; that was too much of a cliché for a Malfoy.

"It is true that **Harry** and I are getting married," he replied calmly, stressing his use of Harry's last name. "I'm surprised that you were unaware of it; it has been public knowledge for a while."

"Our parents took us out of Britain before the Battle," Daphne replied, her Slytherin sensibilities stung by the accusation of ignorance. "They thought our family was above such violence and that we should not be troubled by it. We've been holidaying in the French countryside ever since, and had not heard any English news until a month ago when the Hogwarts letters came."

"I see," Draco replied tonelessly, chalking their discreet withdrawal from the country up to outright cowardice more than pure-blood squeamishness. And the same cowardice could easily explain her failure to return for the Eighth Year programme, he thought somewhat uncharitably; though, to be fair, he knew that the more remote countryside of France was not an easy place to get news of Wizarding Britain, and their so-called holiday there certainly would explain why Daphne had not heard about the programme and joined the other eighth year students upon their return to the school.

To give himself time to calm down, he looked the two sisters up and down, noting as he did so that they were no less vain than they had ever been; they might have been in the French countryside, but their clothes screamed of the Parisian catwalks.

"In that case, having been out of circulation," he continued, a touch spitefully, "you may be unaware that Harry and I are joined together by a Debt of Magical Emancipation that I owe him; and also by a very genuine love that has grown between us. And, while your family may have been under the impression that Astoria and I were betrothed, that was never more than an understanding between our families."

"You bastard!" Astoria spat venomously at him.

"Astoria…" Daphne said warningly, but her little sister was too far gone to heed the warning.

"You utter bastard! I see what this is! Your worthless family has hitched its star to Potter! You're an absolute disgrace! You should be—"

"MISS GREENGRASS!" the Headmistress roared from behind them. "Fifty points from Slytherin for such an outrageous verbal attack on a fellow student! Get to bed at once! And you and I will be discussing the apology you will be giving Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy during your detention at eight o'clock tomorrow night!"

Daphne visibly blanched at this. Their father had told them to keep their heads down and not attract criticism; they could hardly have had a worse start. She grabbed her sister and pulled her roughly out of the Great Hall, hissing at her under her breath that their father would hear of it and be very disappointed; which would mean weeks of kissing his arse before they saw any more money.

* * *

While Draco had been facing the two Greengrasses, Harry had been approached by the three Ravenclaw former eighth years. He watched them come up to him, his arms folded and his face like stone. He had known this moment had to happen; but he had been dreading it. What could he possibly say to a youth who had tried to kill him? The fact that he hadn't seen him since the attack only made things worse: the bad feeling had had time to fester, and he found it hard to summon up any kind feelings for Corner whatsoever.

Michael Corner, for his part, managed to keep his nerve, though he felt like he was walking to his own execution.

"Mr Potter," he began, "I would like to formally offer you a full apology for my part in the cowardly and despicable attack on your person perpetrated at this very school. The only defence I can offer is a poor one, even to my ears: I was told that the coin was nothing more than a prank, and I foolishly allowed myself to believe this lie, and to use it, even though the circumstances did not in any way lend themselves to pranking. I can only assure you that I am very sorry indeed, and I hope that we can continue a non-antagonistic acquaintance, at the very least. For my part, I consider that I owe you a huge debt, and will undertake to repay it in whatever form you deem appropriate."

Harry took a deep breath. A little voice inside him told him that, while this was a very pretty speech, words are cheap; and the formal wording did make it sound rather over-rehearsed. On the other hand, Corner had just given him a huge IOU without any catches on it. He let out his breath, and then took a couple more deep breaths, allowing the emotion of the moment to flow around him before considering, as dispassionately as he could, how to proceed.

"Alright," he said, eventually, "I don't know how that will play out; frankly, right now I'm feeling drained, and I'd rather not see any of the three of you again for a good long while. But maybe tomorrow I'll feel different. Anyway, I accept your apology; I don't want to hold a grudge against any of you. I don't know that I really want any more debts, but I'll think on that too."

"Thank you," Corner said, and there was no mistaking the feeling in his voice. Whether if the speech he had given was entirely sincere or not, Harry was sure that his thanks, at least, were genuine.

"Thank you," the other two chorused, and, sensing that they had probably reached the limit of Harry's patience, they left the hall.

Harry watched them go. He only hoped that it would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks: To all who subscribe! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and profiteroles to those who comment, and to those who leave kudos.  
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	72. A Hex Returned

**72 - A Hex Returned**

Horace Slughorn was fuming.

Fifty points! Slytherin House, **his** house, had lost fifty points! On the first evening!

Never in his time as Housemaster had they lost that many points in one day, even with multiple infractions; and it had taken Astoria Greengrass only a few hours, and one stupid action, to do it.

Once he had given his usual pep talk to the first years, about being a family together and looking out for one another, he quietly drew the sixth year Miss Greengrass aside. And tore strips off her.

"What did you think you were doing?" he demanded, his usual friendly demeanor turned quite frosty. "Even though the Eighth Years are not participating in Houses as such, Draco Malfoy is still a Slytherin! Which means that you openly attacked a fellow housemate in public!"

"I'm very sorry, sir," Astoria replied, her eyes cast down to the ground.

"I'm sure you are," Slughorn replied, softening just a little. "My concern is that you may be a lot sorrier than you are now before this is all over. The Headmistress is not going to tolerate any inter-house rivalries, and I am not going to tolerate any within the House either. Is that clear? This has to stop. Now. You have demonstrated an impulsiveness that has no place in our House. I do not want to see it again. I want to see you staying out of trouble and behaving as an exemplary student."

"That's very clear, sir," Astoria replied. "May I go now?"

Horace sighed. "Yes, very well," he said, hoping this was the end of the matter.

But his gut instinct told him that there was wounded pride here, and this was going to escalate.

He hoped that his gut instinct was wrong. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

* * *

_Wednesday 2 September_

Harry and Draco had not slept well. They were both more concerned about the discussions they had had the previous evening than realized. Sure, Harry had known that trouble would start when they got into a larger group of people, and he knew that being sequestered away at Hogwarts was still easier than being out and about in public would have been; but he was still shaken by all the adulation he was receiving, all the people who wanted to come and shake his hand and scrape an acquaintance with him so they could say they had been at school together with Harry Potter.

It worried him. The Death Eaters had feted Tom Riddle in exactly the same way. How was he going to get across the message that this was unhealthy if he was being mobbed already?

But Harry put these feelings to one side. Draco had told him all about the run-in with Astoria, and he could tell that the blond was hurting after her remarks. Even after they had gotten up in the morning, he could see that the memory was still running through his head. So he took special pains to pull Draco onto their sofa and cuddle him extra tight. For his part, Draco snuggled in to Harry's arms, lapping up the affection as they sat together in a comfortable silence.

"I can't believe how vindictive she was," Draco said eventually.

"Slytherin," Harry said.

"I guess so," Draco said, after a while. "Though I bet Slughorn was furious. He hates losing House points."

"Do you think she'll try anything?" Harry asked.

"Bound to," Draco replied, as he stood up. "Better get on with it."

It was like sitting on a powder keg, wondering when it was going to go off. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long to find out. With the extra time Harry devoted to Draco, it had taken them longer than usual to get up and ready for the day, so they were only just heading into the Great Hall to breakfast when Astoria Greengrass was coming out. She spotted them first, and hid behind a suit of armour in one of the alcoves near the Great Hall. Just as they came level with the armour, she jumped out and fired a hex straight at them from only a couple of feet away. They turned to face it, and, having no time to raise a shield of his own, Harry clapped Draco on the shoulder.

It was clear, by the look of astonishment on her face, that the witch had heard nothing about the Haussmann Shield. Indeed, for a brief moment she seemed to be transfixed by its beauty as it sprang into being in front of her, the colours bright and vibrant. Harry took the time to study it carefully: the silver and green were getting to be very strong colours now, and their hues had changed subtly so that they complemented each other perfectly, the strands of magic they represented interlocking and seeming to reinforce each other perfectly. Where they overlapped, there were still some ribbons of red, but they were much smaller and lighter than before.

The obvious interpretation was that the two of them were growing closer in their bond, and their magics were becoming more attuned to each other; he wondered if that meant that they soon would not need the mordant any more. He hoped so; it was a mystery that he rather felt he could do without, especially as they hadn't really found anything more about it in all the Parseltongue books at Malfoy Manor. He wondered again just exactly what that red light meant; but if it was diminishing, perhaps sometime soon it would not be there, and it wouldn't matter any more.

All of this thought only took Harry the couple of seconds that the shield was up. Astoria's spell hit the shield, a rather ugly mustard-yellow blob splattering on the green and silver. The shield quivered for a moment, as though it was going absorb the spell; and then it seemed that the spell was too strong for that, for it bounced off with perfect elasticity, rebounding straight back towards the witch. Astoria had clearly not expected anything like this, and Harry could see her wonder disappear and shock bloom on her face as the curse came right back at her, hitting her full in the face and she learned that the shield might be very beautiful, but it was also very powerful and effective against strong magic.

"NOOOOOOO!" she yelled, and ran away shrieking. Harry wondered just what the spell was; he would have to discuss the matter with someone. Professor Flitwick and Professor Slughorn, perhaps, as their supervising Professor and Astoria's Head of House. And after last night, no doubt the Headmistress would want to be informed. But first, they needed breakfast.

* * *

When they reached the table, they found Archimedes there, sitting on the table, looking very put out at having been made to wait and hissing at any student who was foolish enough to go near him.

"Hello, Archimedes," Draco said cheerily. "Have you a letter for me?"

The regal owl gave Draco a filthy look, as if to say 'and why else would I be here?'; but the blond was quite used to the owl's snooty behaviour and only chuckled and fed him some bacon as he removed the letter from the owl.

"'Ow can you do that?" Blaise asked.

"Do what?" Draco replied.

"Well, we tried to touch him, and he attacked. See?" Blaise said, holding up a pecked finger.

"Episkey," Draco said lazily, and the cut healed. "That's hardly an attack, Blaise. He would have taken your finger off if he was really pissed off."

"Remind me never to piss him off!" Blaise said. "Oh! I must go!"

And with that, he jumped up and walked off.

Draco followed with his eyes, and smirked when he saw Blaise 'accidentally' meet up with a certain blond. He knew, or thought he knew, who his friend had his sights set on; but Blaise needed a bit of help getting himself together with regards to the opposite sex, and Draco suspected that the girl he was walking with now was the best person to give it to him. Certainly, while watching everyone closely at the Welcoming Feast, Draco had noticed that Blaise's eyes had strayed often to the Ravenclaw table, looking for encouragement; and the young lady he was now escorting had returned the look.

Unfortunately, Draco wasn't the only one who noticed Blaise's behaviour.

"Hey!" Ron said. "I thought Blaise was going out with…"

"Shush," Draco hissed as he took his seat next to Harry, who was already serving out breakfast from the loaded plates in front of them. "And please keep your voice down. For all his bravado, Blaise doesn't like his love-life being discussed."

"Oh," said Ron sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Accepted," Draco said absent-mindedly as he opened the letter and scanned the contents.

"It's from mother," he said to Harry. "Oh, yes. Oh goodness!"

"What?" Harry said as he handed Draco a plate piled with pancakes, while fetching bacon and eggs for himself.

"Thanks," Draco said as he accepted the plate with his free hand. "She's reminded me we need to discuss bonding rituals. You'd better read it yourself."

Harry took the letter and read it while gobbling down his breakfast. It took considerable skill to avoid getting food on it, but he managed.

"Um, she says 'which ritual we want'. We have a choice?" he said, looking a bit left out of the discussion.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione said from across the table where she was seated next to Ron. "Honestly! Haven't you checked this out yet?"

"Nope," Harry replied, unrepentant. "Why would I, when I have you and Draco to do that sort of thing for me?"

Hermione sighed.

"It's all right," Draco said placatingly. "We can discuss them during our free period after Transfiguration. Hermione and Ronald, are you able to meet with the Headmistress and our mothers at four o'clock on Sunday? They want to make sure that everything is ironed out before we go mental with study."

"Yeah, I guess so," Ron replied. "Hey, say thanks to your mum for setting this up."

Draco gave him a smirk. "All right," he replied, "but I'm willing to bet that your mother has a hand in it too."

Ron laughed; but Harry still looked a little lost.

"Why the Headmistress?" he asked, a little tentatively.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione said, and Harry instinctively flinched. It was never good when anyone addressed him by all three names. "Have you paid attention to a single thing we have discussed about the bonding ceremony? The Headmistress has agreed to be the celebrant for us; so of course she needs to be consulted about what's going on."

"Um, actually, that's my fault," Draco admitted to Harry. "Mother set this up, and I hadn't got round to discussing it with you yet. I'm sorry."

"OK," said Harry, and thought for a second. Of course, he knew that there had to be a celebrant at a wedding, and they had pretty much given Narcissa a free hand. He could hardly complain; and he had to admit that McGonagall was an excellent choice.

"Yeah," he said, and gave a smile to match Ron's. "that's fine."

* * *

Luna turned around as the dark Italian came up to her.

"Are you going to walk me to class?" she asked in her simple way that made her so easy to talk to.

"May I?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "I think you should ask Headmistress McGonagall if you can have the room that Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot used to be in."

"Really?" Blaise asked, rather taken by surprise by the change of subject. "And why is that?"

"Well, since you wouldn't be sharing with Ron any more, you'd both have more room to study," she replied, then added enigmatically, "amongst other things."

"I like you, Luna," Blaise blurted out.

"I like you, too," she replied, quite equably. "And she does too, you know."

"Er—so, what class do you have now?" he asked.

"Charms," she said. "It's funny that Professor Flitwick is both my House Master and year co-ordinator for both of you. He must be very busy. You should get with her today, and let him know."

Blaise choked a bit. He simply wasn't used to such open, direct speech; but then, that was why Luna was so helpful.

"That would be good," he replied. "Thank you."

* * *

Transfiguration, being taught today by Professor Dreyfuss as the Headmistress had a lot of administrative work to do, was almost finished when there came a knock on the door.

"Entrez!" the French Professor said.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Dreyfuss," the Headmistress said, standing erect on the doorstep with an apologetic air, "but I wonder if I could have a word with Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy?"

"But of course," Dreyfuss replied with a smile, waving to indicate to the two students that they were free to leave with the Headmistress. "Cl ass is done anyway, so you may all leave," he said to the other students as Harry and Draco packed their books away and followed the Headmistress out of the room.

Minerva McGonagall might have been in her sixties, but she could still set a cracking pace through the corridors of Hogwarts, and it was all the two young men could do to keep up with her. They arrived at her office in record time, without having spoken a word since leaving Transfiguration.

"Now," she said briskly as they arrived, pointing at the chairs by the window, "take a seat, both of you. I'm going to have to get Madam Pomfrey here as well."

So saying, she Floo-called the infirmary, and a minute or so the medi-witch stepped through.

"Well, well, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy," she said archly. "Just what have you two been up to?"

* * *

Harry and Draco recounted the story of being attacked by Astoria that morning, and how the Shield had formed and sent the curse back at her.

"I see," Pomfrey said, tight-lipped. She looked at the Headmistress. "As we thought," she said.

Minerva nodded. "Difficult," she said.

"Oh, quite," Poppy replied. "Your job, though. I'd better get back."

Minerva nodded, and Poppy returned to the infirmary by Floo.

"What was that all about?" Harry said, mystified by the exchange he had just witnessed.

"As you can imagine, Miss Greengrass has told a different story," the Headmistress replied. "In her version, you attacked her. Which, given that her curse rebounded off your shield, has a tiny grain of truth to it, I suppose."

"And whose version do you believe?" Harry replied.

"I can't take sides," the Headmistress replied. "I have to uphold the rules; and there were no other witnesses, so it is a pretty problem you have set me. You really shouldn't be fighting in corridors or threatening students in any way."

"But we weren't!" Harry expostulated, beginning to stand up.

The Headmistress fixed her eye on him, her face an impassive mask, and the fight rather drained out of him as he retook his seat.

"Good," she said. "Have a biscuit, Potter."

* * *

The spell that Astoria had used was designed to attack Draco's vanity; it caused the victim's skin to turn blotchy and swell up with boils and pustules. As a result, Astoria spent the rest of the morning in the Infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey, very unimpressed, was able to at least reduce the itching and redness.

"I can't do any more for you," she said eventually, "and frankly, I'm not entirely sure that you deserve what I've done already. Anyway, run along with you. You'll be in time for lunch and afternoon classes."

On another occasion, Astoria might have argued; but even she could see that there was no point in getting the medi-witch on the wrong side any more than she was already, so she thanked her profusely, placed a veil over her face, and left for lunch. It was only as she neared the Great Hall that she realized, with a shudder, what classes she had that afternoon. Double Potions with Professor Slughorn was not going to be at all enjoyable.

It turned out that her anger had lent quite some power to her spell-work; she ended up wearing the veil for ten days.

* * *

Harry thanked the Headmistress for agreeing to be their celebrant, and he and Draco sat with the Headmistress drinking tea for another ten minutes when there came a knock on the door.

"Enter!" the Headmistress said, and Draco and Harry rose to their feet as the door opened to admit Blaise Zabini.

"Oh!" the Italian said as he saw them. " _Mille_ apologies! Shall I come back another time?"

"Actually, we should go," Draco said. "We were just discussing our wedding, and Harry and I have to choose the ritual, so we should go and discuss that."

He turned to the Headmistress. "Thank you for your time, Professor," he said.

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," she replied, and a moment later she and Blaise were alone. She directed him to the seat by the window and Summoned a fresh pot of tea.

"Now, Mr Zabini, what can I do for you?" she asked, with a small twinkle in her eye. She had not missed the little hunt he had embarked on just after breakfast, and had a pretty shrewd idea what was going on. "Something about changing rooms, I understand?"

* * *

Ginny flopped down at the Gryffindor table, exhausted after a hard morning's work. Other years, the teachers had started off easy on the first day, at least; but this year, they had hit the ground running. In Flitwick's Charms class, they had been given a lightning-fast review of what they should have learnt the previous year, and then spent half an hour doing a placement test to see whether they were ready for seventh year classes or needed to repeat sixth year. Ginny found much of the material familiar; it helped that she had pestered Fred and George quite a bit about their products, which involved a lot of sophisticated Charms work.

Defense had been more enjoyable; the fact that Robin had taken the class was a definite plus. Although he had been perfectly professional, of course, and studiously referred to her as 'Miss Weasley' throughout the class. She had responded by calling him 'Professor Banks', which sounded very strange, but did help to distance classwork from her relationship. They had not been given a formal test as such; Robin clearly wanted to get to know the students, so had asked lots of questions. And the combination of his winsome personality and the fact that he gave House points freely had practically everyone in the class clamouring to answer.

"He's a very good teacher, your fiancé," Luna said as she sat next to her friend, startling her.

"How do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"Did you notice that everyone in the class ended up getting a question?" Luna replied.

Ginny thought back. Yes, without making it obvious, Robin had managed to engage with every student, and they had all been asked questions they could answer.

"And he managed to ask questions people could answer," Rionach, sitting opposite them, chipped in, echoing Ginny's thoughts. "That made for a general feeling of good will," she continued. "Just look, it's hard getting back into the study groove, but all the seventh years are a bit excited. It's going to be a fun class."

"Mm," Ginny replied, helping herself to some pumpkin juice and then passing the pitcher to Luna.

"Hey!" one of the fifth-year boys shouted, having spotted Luna, "what's a Ravenclaw doing sitting at our table?"

"I believe," Ginny said calmly, looking at him as though she were a bug collector and he an interesting specimen she might add to her collection, "that she is having lunch."

"I can see that," the boy replied, testily, and Ginny wondered whether the lack of respect for someone famous for a fearsome Bat Bogey Hex should be put down to bravery or foolhardiness, "but she doesn't belong at our table!"

"Students are free to sit at any House table during ordinary meals," Professor Sinistra said from behind him. The Housemistress had clearly seen trouble brewing, and come over to forestall it. "And I'm delighted to see my House welcoming members of other Houses to their table. Five points to Gryffindor for Miss Weasley's hospitality."

That shut the obnoxious fifth year up quite nicely, Ginny thought.

* * *

At the evening meal, Ginny returned the favour, and sat with Luna at the Ravenclaw table. But that event was overshadowed by another: Blaise, having approached Professor Flitwick for permission, which had been cheerfully granted, was sitting on Luna's other side. At first, the Ravenclaws were wary, looking on and keeping watch on the eighth-year Slytherin in their midst; but Blaise was a perfect gentleman, and it did not take long for them to warm to him.

The sharper-eyed Ravenclaws noticed something else, too. Luna, who had always been a bit strange, blathering on about creatures that didn't exist, seemed to have toned it down a little. She was still the same wide-eyed gentle creature she had always been; but, whether because of the war, or her having matured with late adolescence, or because Blaise was bringing out a strand of seriousness that had been hidden before, she was definitely less flighty than before.

Draco watched the scene with amusement. He was glad that Blaise was finding his place at Hogwarts; he had never really been comfortable in Slytherin, probably because he was shy to speak, being afraid that his English was not up to the mark. But Luna seemed to have dispelled all that.

After dinner, a small paper butterfly floated over to Draco, and he opened it with interest. It proved to be a note from the Headmistress asking Harry and him to meet her in her office at seven o'clock that evening. Draco chuckled; the invitation – or, to be honest, order, for that is what it was, albeit dressed in polite language – was written in the most correct, formal style; but its arrival as a butterfly rather gave the lie to it.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Our Headmistress wants to see us at seven," Draco replied, then, to explain his amusement, continued, "she sent her note as a butterfly. I think she likes us."

Harry snorted. "Of course she does. She offered me a biscuit, remember? You only get one of them when she's pleased with you, whatever she says."

* * *

When they arrived at the Headmistress's office, they found that Poppy Pomfrey, Astoria Greengrass, and a rather corpulent man that Harry did not recognise but gathered must be Astoria's father.

"Ah! Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, do come in," the Headmistress said, her cordial tone balancing the petulant look on Mr Greengrass's face, as the four people in the room rose to greet them. "Mr Potter, you may not have met Adolphus Greengrass?"

Harry nodded his head at the man, refraining from offering his hand as the scowl on the man's face suggested he might bite it off.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," he said. It was a polite lie; but it did at least cause the man to relax a little. Clearly, though Mr Greengrass was angry, he was still going to observe the conventional niceties.

"Mr Potter," he replied, nodding his head in acknowledgement, but making no further statement. _Alright, not observing them very far,_ Harry thought.

"Mr Greengrass, nice to see you again," Draco said blandly. He didn't particularly like the Greengrass head of family, the man tended to be a bit of a boor; but he was feeling a little generous, having seen that Astoria was wearing a veil to hide the effects of the curse, so he did stick out his hand; but Adolphus Greengrass just looked at it.

"Hmph," he said. "What's this I hear about you and Astoria, boy? Reneging on a contract? And then hexing my daughter?"

"If that's what you've heard," Draco said, and the coldness of his voice sent shivers up his spine, "then I'm afraid you have been misled. There is not, and has never been, a contract of marriage between Astoria and myself; if you believe otherwise, by all means produce one, and we shall consider it. And your daughter sent the hex that she is complaining of; so she has only herself to blame."

Greengrass's eyes narrowed, and he turned to face his daughter.

"Is this true?" he said, his voice low and menacing.

Astoria looked wildly around her. She could deny it; but she knew that, of the people in the room, only her father would believe her.

"I—I cast a spell," she admitted eventually. "But they put up some Dark shield or something that magnified it and sent it back at me!"

Draco grinned inwardly, but his face remained impassive.

"The effect that you saw, Astoria, is called a Haussmann shield," he replied. Harry noticed that his voice had taking on the tone Hermione used when she was lecturing them, and he chuckled inwardly at another example of how similar the two were, something about which they would both no doubt be horrified if it was pointed out to them. While he was thinking this, he discovered that Draco had explained the Shield and the circumstances of its creation, and was moving smoothly on.

"So, it is not in any way Dark Magic," he concluded, "and it did not amplify your spell, merely reflect it."

"That's not true!" Astoria demanded, stamping her foot and reminding everyone that she was the youngest, and most childish, person in the room.

"Well, let's see," McGonagall said. "Poppy, I understand you took charge of Miss Greengrass's wand?"

Adolphus looked up. "What?" he spluttered. "You took her wand?"

"Of course," the Headmistress said primly. "By her own admission, she had used a curse in the corridors, which is expressly forbidden; and as she only had Potions this afternoon, we kept her wand safe so that no-one could accuse her of anything else."

"And did you take their wands as well?" he said, pointing to Harry and Draco, and there was no disguising the distaste on his face.

"Of course not," the Headmistress replied crisply. "No-one has accused them of using curses. And the Shield," she continued, before he could interrupt, "has nothing to do with wand-work and is not prohibited."

"It did this to my daughter and it is not prohibited?" Greengrass demanded, rising to his feet and looking very intimidating. It was a ploy that brought him results with most pure-bloods; but the Headmistress was well up to dealing with such displays.

"Sit down," she said sternly, and there was no mistaking the schoolmistress in her voice. Harry was a little surprised to see that the man complied; but then, he thought, no doubt Greengrass had learnt Transfiguration from Professor McGonagall, and obedience was ingrained.

"That's better," she said. "Of course we do not prohibit students from defending themselves if they are attacked. And as you have heard, the Haussmann Shield was not being used as an offensive weapon. If we take your daughter's wand—" she reached out her hand, and Madam Pomfrey handed it over silently, "- and cast _Priori Incantatum—"_

As she said the words, the wand glowed, and a mustard-yellow ball of light formed on the tip.

"Ah!" said the Headmistress, and turned to Harry and Draco. "Is this the colour of the magic that hit your shield?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Exactly the same shade. Er, it's very bright; does that mean anything?"

McGonagall smiled at him, the smile of a teacher whose favourite – if not always brightest – pupil has just hit on the exact point of the lesson. "It means, Mr Potter, that the spell was cast with considerable force behind it."

"We knew that," Draco opined. "Otherwise the Shield would have absorbed it."

" **You** knew it," the Headmistress replied, "but Mr Greengrass did not. I think now that there can be no further doubt, Adolphus, that Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy were the subject of an unprovoked attack from your daughter. As it turns out that she has borne the brunt of the attack, the curse having affected only her, I think we can consider the matter of today's incident closed."

Adolphus Greengrass closed his eyes. It seemed that his little princess was indeed in the wrong this time, and it was clear that he wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Fine," he said, begrudgingly, then turned back to Draco. "But what about the agreement between the Houses of Greengrass and Malfoy? Are you turning your back on your obligations there, boy? To our House, to honour the agreement, and to your House, to provide an heir?"

Draco tensed. He could feel the hurt that the last part had caused Harry, and his mind flew back unbidden to that hideous interview in the Manor where Vernon Dursley had said something similar.

"There is no contract," he said through gritted teeth, "I have made no agreement or promise to you or your daughter, and the Debt of Magical Emancipation makes it impossible for me to honour such promise even if it had been made. As for the production of an heir, you overreach yourself, sir. My father has sanctioned the bonding between Harry and myself, so it is none of your business. I trust you will respond in the appropriate way, or accept the consequences. Good day, sir, Madam Pomfrey, Astoria, Headmistress."

He nodded to each person in turn as he said this and then, grasping Harry's hand in his own, left the room.

Astoria turned to her father, and was a little frightened to see he had gone white as a sheet.

"What does that mean?" she asked timorously.

"What?" Adolphus asked, stirring himself. "Oh. Um. It means that I need to have a chat with Lucius Malfoy."

* * *

"It means," Draco answered, once they were safely ensconced back in their room, and he had sent Ozymandius off to Lucius with a missive outlining the events of the day, "that he has insulted my father, by suggesting that my father accepting you as his son-in-law was a mistake; and he has to either apologise or accept being shunned by the Malfoys."

"Oh," said Harry. He wondered if he would ever get his head around all these strange pure-blood customs. "And what happens if he just accepts that?"

Draco looked at Harry thoughtfully. It was a good question; the problem was that the answer was likely to upset Harry. Still, he probably needed to think about it.

"Harry," he said, "Astoria was kind of right last night. While we aren't exactly gold-diggers, the Malfoys allying with you is a terrific boost to us. And father is now seen as the leading light in the pure-blood world again partly because of it. For the Greengrasses to be shunned at the moment would almost certainly shut them out of all the pure-blood world. Which would basically force him to marry Daphne and Astoria off to 'unsuitable' people."

As Draco had predicted, Harry was rather riled by this. "Do you believe all this dragon-shit?" he asked.

"Of course not," Draco replied. "If I did, I would never have accepted you, bond or no bond. There are pure-bloods who would have killed themselves rather than continue to owe you the debt. Sticklers for the old rules. Adolphus Greengrass is one of them. But the way I see it, the old rules gave us Tom Riddle; the new way got me you. I know who I'd rather have."

* * *

The next two days of classes were somewhat less spectacular; the recently arrived students, other than the first years, found the pattern from day one continued as they were given remedial classes and testing in each subject to see which year level they should actually be in. At the end of a rather grueling week, quite a few students found to their chagrin that they were to be held back to repeat their previous year of schooling.

With the Headmistress's blessing, Blaise moved into Goldstein and Boot's former room on Wednesday evening. Luna was right about "other things", at least in that the Durmstrang boys took an interest in the new resident of their tower, and Blaise was able to bridge some of the bad feeling that was still felt between Stefan Ivanov and Draco Malfoy. This led to Draco and Stefan working together during their Potions lesson on Thursday, and discussing their differing techniques as they brewed the fiendishly difficult base for the Wolfsbane Potion. Their methods differed slightly; and instead of arguing, they sat together and reasoned it out, deciding that both would work, and that Ivanov's method would take less time to brew, while Draco's would result in a slightly stronger batch.

Their discussion was blown wide open when Harry suggested some improvements that were in the notes Snape had left for him inside the copy of _Advanced Potion Making;_ they spent twenty minutes on this, and drew most of the rest of the class in. Professor Slughorn would have chastised them for this; but truth to be told, he felt that their discussion was of a very high standard (meaning that many of the suggestions that were made were new to him) and the students were learning, not only how to brew a particular potion, but how potion-making worked as an art form, identifying ingredients and their properties, and concocting the recipes for potions based on these.

Draco was concerned that, with people being free to move between tables, that Harry would get inundated with people wanting to fawn all over him; but in fact, the friendship that began to blossom between them and the Durmstrang students paid dividends; for the two boys were celebrities in their own right, and they and the Beauxbatons girls would manage to head off many students who otherwise would have pestered the Hogwarts Eighth Years. It also helped that, after the Astoria incident, the Headmistress had reminded students that they were at Hogwarts to study, not to collect autographs or settle old scores, and that they should take their education very seriously.

Even Saturday, when they were busy studying in the library, was relatively interruption-free; it helped that the weather was nice, and many students were involved playing impromptu Quidditch matches during the afternoon.

That evening, Blaise and Angelique Delacour were absent from dinner; there was some idle gossip about this, but Draco kept schtum. He knew that Blaise, being very proper about it, had Floocalled Auguste Delacour to ask permission to court his daughter; and the old man, equally proper, had asked him to come to dinner on Saturday night to meet the family and to ensure that all was done correctly.

So Draco went to bed happy on Saturday night. They had survived the first week of the rest of the student body; they had done a phenomenal amount of work, and he was beginning to feel confident about the looming exams; and, while he had not pried, he had not missed the smile on Blaise's face when he and Angelique returned from their evening out.

* * *

_Sunday 6 September._

Draco suddenly came fully awake. It was early; far too early for a Saturday morning, he thought, judging by the light. Something was wrong, he could feel it, though he was not sure how; some unusual noise at their door perhaps. Whatever it was, the euphoric mood of the previous evening was gone. It might, he decided, be a threat to Harry; and with the bond humming between them, he was becoming very sensitive on the subject of Raven's safety.

He dressed quickly and made his way down the stairs, pausing on their landing to check that there was nothing remarkable there. He noticed that he could hear Ron's snoring, but not the snuffling he associated with Hermione. That was strange; he was pretty certain the two of them had spent the night together in Ron's room, a side-effect of Blaise's moving out being that Ron could entertain his fiancée at home as well as away, so to speak.

As he reached the common room, he could hear a quiet whimpering coming from a secluded corner near one of the fireplaces. As he went over to it, he could see the missing Hermione Granger sitting on the sofa, doubled over, clutching her knees and evidently trying very hard not to cry out in pain.

He cleared his throat to warn her of his presence before coming over and sitting across from her. He could see at a glance that she had been crying and was somewhat disheveled, and he guessed that she had spent the night in Ron's room and now come downstairs intending to sneak back into her room before anyone spotted her. Though it was evident that his wakefulness and her pain had scuppered that plan.

"Granger?" he said softly. There was no response.

"Hermione?" he said, equally softly. This time the brunette raised her head and looked at him through red eyes.

"Draco," she said, sounding exhausted. "Sorry, can't talk."

"I can see that," Draco replied with a smirk. "I was just wondering if there was something I could get you? An anti-nausea potion, perhaps?"

Hermione put her head down, shaking it as she did so.

Draco was worried; he could see that she needed something, and needed it badly. Surely by now she knew she could trust him? But then the sickle dropped: of course, she didn't know that he knew, so she wouldn't dare take anything that he offered her, just in case.

"Don't worry, it's a pregnancy-safe potion," he assured her. "I've been brewing them just in case for the last week or so."

Hermione looked up at the blond with a new respect, flabbergasted.

"How … How did you know?" she asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Draco smiled enigmatically. "Have you forgotten I am a Slytherin?" he said teasingly. "Actually, I was wondering who would need it first, you or Pansy."

"Pansy?" Hermione said, momentarily shocked out of feeling sorry for herself with this piece of gossip. "Really? But she and Blaise …"

"She and **Theo** ," he said, emphasizing the correction, "have been seeing each other for a long time, and it's got serious over the last couple of months. Especially now that his arm is healing nicely."

"Right," Hermione said, becoming all business-like as she returned to discussing her own situation. "Does Harry know? About me, I mean."

Draco smiled. "Of course not. Gryffindor and oblivious, that one. And I'm not about to tell him, though I think you should, and soon. I really don't want to keep secrets from him, even if they aren't mine."

"All right," she said. "I guess it will come out when we discuss bondings, anyway."

"It doesn't have to," Draco replied. "Harry and I can't have the virginal bonding; so we could say that we all wanted to have the same, so no-one would know you aren't because you couldn't, either, if you see what I mean."

"That's generous of you," she replied. She did indeed see what he meant, and was grateful that it added up to saving her a good deal of public embarrassment. "Thank you. Um, you—"

"I'm not going to tell anyone else," he said, spotting the anxiety in the witch's eyes and understanding her concern. "It's your secret to tell, not mine. I only told you about Pansy because she told me I could."

"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked, and Draco estimated from the look in her eye that she was only half-joking.

"I'm Harry Potter's lover, and fiancé," he replied simply. "And I owe him a huge debt, and I love him even more. And I guess both of those encompass his friends too."

"Careful, Draco, or people might think you like me."

"People may think whatever they please," Draco replied gravely. "Now, do you want that potion?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. Ruth_lily is getting better; I hope she will be back on deck soon!
> 
> Draco's last-but-one comment is a reference to Piet Hein's lovely grook
> 
> WHAT PEOPLE MAY THINK  
> . . Some people cower and wince and shrink,  
> . . owing to fear of what people may think.  
> . . There is one answer to worries like these:  
> . . people may think what the devil they please.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook.
> 
> Thanks: To all who comment! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. 
> 
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	73. Returning to Family Matters

**73 Returning to Family Matters**

_Sunday 6 September_

Harry woke up when Draco came back into their room.

"Sorry," Draco said, "didn't mean to wake you."

"S'alright," Harry said groggily. "Where were you?"

"With Hermione. She's not well, so I'm getting her some pain reliever."

"Oh, OK," Harry said, and lay down again; he was asleep again before Draco had retrieved his potion, so the blond was careful to shut the door quietly behind him.

When Harry woke again, he was alone. He could see by the light that it was still rather early, and, at first, he thought the earlier episode had been a dream; but then he realised he had woken alone in his bed, which didn't happen that often these days.

"Draco?" he called, in case the blond had simply gone into the bathroom. But there was no reply. He must have gone to help Hermione. _Good_ _,_ Harry thought, as he snuggled down again.

* * *

When Draco got back to the Common Room, Hermione was no longer there, so he quietly ascended the stairs to her tower and knocked gently on her door.

"Come in, Draco," she called softly.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked as he entered the room.

"Who else would be up so early on a Sunday?"

"Good point," Draco said, closing the door softly and handing her a phial filled with a grass-coloured potion. Hermione, knowing that most potions tasted absolutely awful, downed it in a single gulp.

"Mmm," she said, as a tiny bit of the flavour hit her tongue, "hey! That doesn't taste too bad!"

"Yeah," Draco replied. "It turned out that for once I could add some ingredients purely for taste – so there's peppermint in it, and nothing that will react to it. Also, it's safe to shrink it, which is useful for hiding it from one's boyfriend. Here," he said, taking a very small box out of his pocket and enlarging it before handing it to her. "You can take one every six hours if you need to; but the book said most people find one a day sufficient after the first couple of days."

"Thanks," Hermione said, a warm smile on her face. "Hey, I do feel a lot better! How's your Arithmancy coming along?"

They chatted for a little while, before Draco apologised that he really shouldn't let Harry wake up without him; nor let anyone see him in the one of the girls' Towers.

"I shouldn't worry," Hermione said. "It's still early; no-one will be about."

But someone else was up, and had witnessed the two going up the South Tower together. As she padded back up the stairs to the West Tower, Eva Thillin's mind was full of ideas about how to make the best use of this development.

* * *

Harry fell back down, not having the energy to get out of bed yet. He thought back over the last few days, using the rare solitude to try to get his mind ready for the day. All the stuff Draco had told him about bonding rituals had been rather overwhelming. He had, after all, been brought up by the Dursleys, for whom the only form of bonding was a marriage between a man and a woman, and the only choice of ritual was between a church wedding and one at the registrar's office, which he gathered was much less acceptable. Not that the matter had been discussed very much; he just remembered when one of the neighbour's daughters, two months pregnant, had got married at the registrar's office and Petunia had been very sniffy about it, saying that of course the girl couldn't have a "proper wedding in a white dress". She hadn't elaborated, and he hadn't dared ask her what she meant; that would almost certainly have earned him a beating for "questioning his elders and betters". But he learnt eventually that the white dress meant the bride was a virgin; and the "proper wedding" would have been in church. Vernon and Petunia had never been to a church, that he could remember; but apparently it was the only place to get married, in their eyes.

So it came as quite an eye-opener for him to learn that there was a bewildering variety of different rituals for bonding in the Wizarding world.

There was one supposedly reserved for virginal, pure-blood couples. Rather like getting married in a white dress, he supposed. Happily, as he was a half-blood, and Hermione was Muggle-born, they would not be looked down on if they didn't use it. Well, not as much as pure-bloods would, Draco had explained rather diffidently.

Then there were different rituals depending on the statuses of the families in question: there were special rituals when both families were part of the exclusive group of pure-blood families, the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight"; or when only one was; when neither was, there were special forms for other pure-blooded families, or for half-bloods or Muggle-borns. On top of these, there were subtle variations depending on which family was seen as socially superior; and then if there was any creature blood involved, that would vary the ritual again.

As both Malfoys and Weasleys were part of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight", but neither Potters nor Grangers were – the latter being Muggles, of course, so not considered at all – the number of rituals was mercifully cut down. But when it came to the 'socially superior' part, Harry refused to have anything to do with it. As far as he was concerned, their bonding was to be a partnership of equals, which seemed to be the one thing that the rules couldn't cope with. In the end, they had actually drawn up their own bonding ritual, which they would need to discuss with the Headmistress. And Harry rather hoped that Ron and Hermione would agree to use it too; that way, perhaps they could punch a hole in the insanity of pure-blood customs that insisted on ranking people all the time.

He pulled out the ritual they had agreed on, and read through it again. He was actually quite proud of it; they had, he felt, managed to strike a good balance between honouring old customs and respecting the new ideas of equality that he so longed to see take root in the Wizarding world.

Still, this afternoon's meeting would be key. He decided they'd need to sit down with Ron and Hermione this morning and talk it through. In the meantime, as Draco hadn't got back yet, he decided to get up and get on with the day, especially as his stomach was telling him it was about breakfast time.

* * *

Sunday morning breakfast tended to be a much more laid back affair than other days; people were wont to arrive at any time during the morning, and the elves were happy to provide food whenever it was required. Knowing this, Harry had waited for Draco to return to their room before they went down to the Great Hall for breakfast together. Happily, it was not a long wait; and so they got there quite early, to find the Hall sparsely populated. Harry was rather grateful for this. While having the full student body there was fun, and made for a vibrant community, meals over the last few days had been very loud, especially compared to when the Hall contained only Eighth Years and staff.

To Draco's delight, Blaise was there, and now openly sitting next to Angelique, and he sat next to his dark Italian friend. The pair of them looked so happy together that he was sure everyone would know at once that they were now courting.

Harry sat down and started plating up food before turning to the rest of the table.

"Morning Blaise, Angelique," he said. "You look well today. Good day studying yesterday?"

Draco smirked. Not **everyone** , then.

"Yes thank you, 'Arry," Blaise replied, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual.

At this point, Ron arrived, and taking one look at Blaise and Angelique, broke into a big grin.

"Congratulations!" he said.

"Zank you, Mr Weasley," Angelique replied. "We are very 'appy."

"Please call me Ron," the redhead replied. "After all, we are fellow students; and Blaise is part of the gang."

"Zank you," Angelique replied, beaming. Before now, the French girls had found it hard to crack the famous British reserve; but it seemed that Blaise had done it for her. "And you will call me Angelique, yes?"

"Delighted," Ron said, helping himself to bacon and eggs from the chafing dishes on the table. "Um, has anyone seen Hermione?"

"Yes," Draco replied, "I heard her moving about this morning. She seemed to have a bit of an upset stomach, so I gave her a mild potion for it and suggested she sleep it off."

Ron's eyes went wide at this, but Draco nodded at him gently, trying to convey that he knew the need for care, and that all was well.

"Thanks," Ron said, as he visibly relaxed, and Draco knew he had got the message.

Harry looked around the table at everyone as a couple more of the Beauxbatons contingent arrived for breakfast. He had not missed that there was something going on, and Ron and Draco seemed to be in on whatever it was; but had no idea what it could be.

"So," he said, "Blaise and Angelique? Congratulations? You guys are together now?"

"Yes," Blaise said, a huge smile on his face.

"OK," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "What else am I missing?"

"Oh, nothing, Harry," Draco replied. "Nothing at all."

As she took her seat, Eva Thillin added this to the plan that was forming in her head. The possibilities for mischief seemed to be falling into her lap.

* * *

After breakfast, most of the eighth year students returned to their rooms. They had found over the last few days that the rest of the castle was rather noisy, and not really that conducive to study. Of course, that was fair enough for the newly-returned students; but the eighth years with exams coming up needed to get away into some quiet.

It was about morning-tea time that there came a knock on Harry and Draco's door.

"Come in!" the two youths chorused together, and the door opened to admit Ron and Hermione.

"Um, I hope we're not interrupting, but we hoped we could have a little chat with you," Hermione said.

Harry and Draco both smiled.

"Of course you're not interrupting," Harry said, as he got up from his desk and lead them over to a set of chairs they had grouped around a coffee table in front of the window looking over the lake; "or, at least, if you are, it's a good thing. Winky!"

The little house-elf popped into the room.

"Yes, Master Harry Potter!" she said excitedly. "How can Winky be serving Master Harry Potter?"

"Could we please have some tea?" he asked. "And, if it's not too much trouble, perhaps some cakes?"

"Of course, Master Harry Potter!" she replied, beaming at being asked to do something well within her capacities. "Winky is honoured to be serving Master Harry Potter!"

And with that, she popped away.

Hermione sighed.

"All right," she said to Harry, "I can see that you're making her happy. I'm sorry if I've been rude about it before now; but I still feel uncomfortable about them being treated like slaves."

"Point taken," Harry replied. "But I find 'kindness and understanding' goes a long way. And she is paid."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't going to argue the point, not when she had more important matters to discuss. And she was feeling rather apprehensive. She knew that Harry's family were very bigoted indeed, and would no doubt have been very scathing about sex before marriage. And while that didn't mean Harry was, it was clear that some of their prejudices had hurt him deeply, and she only hoped that this wouldn't rub salt in any such wound.

A couple of minutes later a very large tea-tray appeared on the coffee table, and Ron and Draco's eyes went very wide at the mountain of sweet treats that Winky had placed on it.

* * *

"PREGNANT?" Harry said sharply. "Oh my! Hermione! Ron! That's wonderful news! When is it due?"

Hermione beamed. "Oh Harry," she said, "I was so worried you'd be upset that we got pregnant before getting married, and that we didn't tell you."

Harry looked puzzled. "But … you've told me now," he said. "And I would be a hypocrite if I was bothered about pre-marital sex …"

Ron blushed deep crimson. "Ah, thanks mate, but too much information … Anyway, the baby is about five weeks, due some time in the last week of April. We weren't going to tell anyone until October; but we just couldn't keep it a secret from you any longer. And anyway, Draco seems to have worked it out all by himself."

Draco gave a rather self-satisfied smirk. "Pansy clued me in on it," he admitted. "She and Theo are going out together, and she suspects she might be pregnant, though it hasn't been confirmed yet. But she reckons it makes her more sensitive to other women's hormones."

"Oh," Hermione said, "I gathered it was certain? So, why are you carrying pregnancy-safe pain potions, then?"

"Better safe than sorry," Draco replied, with a broad grin. "Wouldn't you say?"

And Hermione, blushing, had to agree.

"Hang on," Harry said. "Those pain potions you were brewing were specially for Hermione?"

"Yes," Draco said, hesitating slightly; where was his Raven going with this?

"Draco Malfoy," Harry continued, "have I ever told you that you are a wonderful man?"

And now it was Draco's turn to blush.

Hermione sighed with pleasure at seeing her first Wizarding friend so happy and so loved. And then she remembered some less pleasant news she had for them, and her face fell. All at once, she started to cry, and was instantly surrounded by Ron's strong arms and worried expressions of concern.

"No, I'm alright," she reassured them. "It's just … Oh Harry, I'm sorry. Lucius and I have been corresponding about male pregnancy ever since … well, since we knew you'd be together. But we haven't found anything."

Harry patted her hand. "Doesn't matter, Hermione," he said.

"I know," she said weakly. "It's just …" She couldn't bring herself to say it, but she felt that, out of all the people she knew, he really should have children of his own. Children to love and cherish and prove to himself that all the hell of the past he had been through with the Dursleys was dead and buried.

Hermione took out a lace handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Ron, seeing that things were getting a bit soppy, took the minotaur by the horns, saying "so, what are you two doing about the bonding ritual?"

"Ah!" Draco said. "We had a long talk about that, didn't we, Harry?"

"No," his fiancé replied, "it wasn't a long talk, it was a looooong talk! Why are there so many different rituals? And none of them fit!"

"Well, you are allowed to build your own," Ron replied. "I guess lots of people have done that over the years."

"And we have too," Draco added. "We weren't going to go for the Virgin Ritual – doesn't really apply with two blokes anyway, usually; and Harry wasn't having any of the superior/inferior social standing stuff; so we wrote our own ritual of equals."

"Ooh," Hermione said, "that sounds good. Can we use it too?"

"Of course you can," Harry replied. "Here, read it and see what you think."

Ron and Hermione spent the next fifteen minutes going through the ritual that Harry and Draco had designed, while Draco spent the time making a bit more of a dent in the mountain of pastries they had been given. Harry watched him eat, bemused; it was now his turn to worry what his friends would think, and whether the ritual was good enough.

But Ron put down the papers and blew all those doubts away.

"This is brilliant," he said.

"It is," Hermione agreed. "So, what do we have to do now?"

"Oh, not much," Draco replied, a touch sarcastically. "Just convince the Headmistress to use it, and then avoid being railroaded into something else by my mother…"

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall read through the papers before her with interest. When she got to the end, she looked up at the four students in front of her.

"You're sure that you all want this?" she asked, and they all nodded decisively.

"Well," she said, "I don't see that there's any problem with this. It's actually a fairly straightforward variation of the Scottish 'endless love' ritual. Should I consider that perhaps you have reasons of your own for avoiding some of the other possibilities?"

"We didn't want to have any ritual that wasn't about the parties being on an equal footing," Draco replied smoothly. "And of course, as men, we didn't really think the whole 'Virgin' ritual applied. And then we all wanted to use the same ritual for both bondings."

"I see," the Headmistress replied crisply, and Harry rather suspected that she did indeed see. After all, she had worked at a boarding school for her whole career and had probably seen it all. "Well, I understand that your parents want to meet us at the Manor to discuss the happy day?"

"Yes," Draco said, casting a Tempus. "Oh, we are in good time; mother said to be there at three o'clock, so we have fifteen minutes."

"Very good," the Headmistress said. "Do you wish to leave directly? I'm sure she won't mind if we're early."

* * *

Lucius consulted the letter Adolphus Greengrass had written to him once more. It was entirely proper and correct; but then, everything that man did was. He even seemed to walk around as though there was a broomstick up his arse, all straight up and with a pained expression on his face. So it had come as no surprise to Lucius, once he had received Draco's owl on Wednesday night, that he received one from Greengrass on Thursday morning "begging to discuss matters of mutual concern and benefit".

_Mutual benefit!_ He thought wryly. Greengrass stood to lose far more than Lucius did if he should choose to ostracize the Greengrasses. On the other hand, if he could keep the man on side, that probably would shore up his position to the point immensely. You could never be owed too many favours, Lucius had learnt over many years of political life. So, he had decided, he would play nice; but not too nice. He had delayed for a day before replying, and then delayed meeting the man until three o'clock this afternoon. He had, he hoped, judged it just right, to give the impression that the matter was not so important that he needed to drop everything to attend to it, while at the same time still deserving of being dealt with reasonably promptly.

He had only learnt this morning that the wedding party would be coming over today, also at three o'clock. He had mixed feelings about that. It was a shame that he had to miss the discussion – for putting off the meeting with Greengrass was unthinkable – but on the other hand it would drive home to the man that they were dead serious about Harry and Draco's bonding.

Lucius was still ruminating when he heard Mappy's familiar knock on the door.

"Come in, Mappy!" he called. "Is he here yet?"

"Mister Adolphus Greengrass is being arrived in the main reception room," the elf replied from the door. "And Mistress Headmistress Professor McGonagall is being arriving in Mistress Narcissa's study, along with the young masters, Master Ron Weasley, and Mistress Hermione Granger. Mappy is being making sure the Mistress knows Mister Greengrass is being here."

"Thank you," Lucius said as he rose to his feet, thanking his lucky stars that the two parties had not come in contact. He knew that Narcissa would keep the others away from Adolphus; their meeting here just now would certainly cause bad feeling. "I shall go and fetch him. I suppose we had better have some wine. A claret, please, good, but not too good."

"Yes Master Lucius!" the elf replied, positively beaming with joy at the fact that Lucius was allowing him to choose the wine. The little creature apparated away, and Lucius grinned himself. There was something so refreshing about the innocent pleasure they got whenever the family put trust in them. . He had never noticed such things before; as he walked to the reception room, he wondered idly why he did now.

Perhaps it was because the Dark Lord was gone, so there was no need to live in constant fear.

Perhaps he was simply more inclined to, having more time to observe such things.

And perhaps, and he felt sure this was closest to the mark, it was because his family had been invaded by the loving, generous, warm-hearted Harry Potter, and, whether from the Debt or just from his sheer innocence , those traits were starting to rub off on the Malfoys.

He smirked as he thought how Greengrass would react if he knew that!

* * *

The party from Hogwarts arrived in Narcissa's study to find the lady sitting down to tea with Molly Weasley and Margaret Granger. The was, quite naturally, an avalanche of greetings, and McGonagall was pleased to notice that the three women greeted all of the students very warmly. It warmed her heart to think that, in the old terms, the four students represented a pure-blood, a blood-traitor, a half-blood and a Muggle-born; and yet the seven other people in the room were all clearly just one big extended family. Even Harry, not related to any of the others, was evidently being claimed as a son by both Narcissa and Molly, and she could see with her own eyes how much it meant to the boy. Her heart went out to the poor boy who had been treated so shabbily by both the Muggle and magical worlds, and was now proving to be one of the main agitators for understanding of the former and reform in the latter. Once again, she was sensible of the great honour it was to be asked to officiate at the wedding of Harry Potter. And Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, she told herself. But, being honest, Harry was her favourite.

She was drawn out of her reverie by Narcissa offering her a cup of tea, and they sat down to discuss the rituals and the timetable for the day, just under three weeks away. They discussed the bonding rituals at considerable length; Margaret Granger, of course, had no idea at all of the subtle complexities of bonding in the Wizarding world, and so a great deal had to be explained to her.

Happily, this seemed to work out well; Draco walked her carefully through the ritual they had chosen. She was quite impressed with his patience as he explained the significance of the ritual objects, how everything, place, time, clothing, position, was important to the ritual and thought through with care.

McGonagall watched closely to see what the other two witches thought of the choice of bonding ritual. Happily, it seemed that they were quite happy with what Draco had written; of course, he insisted it was a joint effort, but McGonagall had read essays written by them all and she could see Draco Malfoy's hand all through the ritual. But there was, at least, no suggestion that they should use one of the existing rituals, which pleased her. While Draco had a convincing reason for avoiding the virginal rituals, McGonagall had her suspicions, and, if they were correct, the last thing she wanted to do was have them voiced and cause hurt for Miss Granger.

Margaret asked specifically about colours; clearly, from what she said, wearing a white dress was important to her. Draco explained that, as part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he and Ron would wear silver, and that Harry and Hermione would wear gold as the matching colour (which she didn't quite understand, but perhaps it was a muggle thing as Margaret didn't ask for any explanation). Apparently, this satisfied her, and there was no more discussion on the matter.

McGonagall explained her own role in the proceedings; From Margaret's questions, it was clear that she expected the Headmistress to occupy some sort of religious role, so she explained carefully that she had been chosen, not because of a religious standing, but because, as Headmistress of Hogwarts, she was both a person of high standing in the Magical Community and very interested in all four of the students; and as Housemistress of Gryffindor, she had been particularly concerned for the three students in her House.

"And, I might add, being Housemistress of Gryffindor, I have always kept a very watchful eye on the Slytherins who were most antagonistic."

It took a couple of seconds before anyone realised that the old witch had a smile in the corners of her mouth. It was the first time that Narcissa had known her old Transfiguration teacher to be anything other than completely serious; and then everyone else watched astonished as her admiration for the sheer effrontery of making such a statement inside Malfoy Manor had her tossing her head back and roaring with laughter.

"Oh," she said when she composed herself, "Minerva, I do believe we deserved that. Shall we go and see the pavilion where the ceremony will be taking place?"

* * *

As they entered the study, Lucius could see that Adolphus was rather nervous and trying to hide it, so he offered a small gesture of peace by inviting the man to sit in the rather comfortable chairs by the window, and offering him some wine. Lucius's trust was well-placed; Mappy seemed to have an excellent nose for exactly the right wine: pleasant, but not excellent. Adolphus sipped it appreciatively, and some of the nervousness seemed to fall off him.

"Now," Lucius said once they were comfortably settled, "what can I do for you, Adolphus?"

The other man looked at him warily. He had hoped that Lucius would make this easy; so far the signs had looked good, but now it seemed that was not to be.

"Ah," he said. "Um. I mean, no doubt by now Draco has filled you in on the events between him and Astoria."

"I am aware that Astoria has suggested that the Malfoy family has, how did she put it?" Lucius made a show of trying to remember, then continued, "'hitched its star to Potter ' were the words, I believe. And then, I understand, she attacked Draco with a spell to cause damage to the skin. Further to these events, I am told that you suggested there was a contract of marriage between your daughter and my son, something we both know to be false; and then you reminded my son of the obligation to provide an heir. Is that all you were referring to?"

Throughout his little speech, Lucius had kept his voice calm and cold, and the cumulative effect of the recitation of all the offenses one after the other had Greengrass breaking out in a cold sweat. And the last accusation, following on from the others, really hurt. That he had had the temerity to remind another man's heir of his duty was one of the more serious breaches of pure-blood etiquette.

"Er," he said quietly, "there was also an allegation of dark magic. Look, Lucius," he continued quickly, "I know it's bad. But we pure-bloods have to stick together, especially now. I'm very sorry, and retract the suggestions I made unreservedly."

"Good," Lucius said, allowing the tiniest bit of warmth to creep into his voice. "However …"

He left it hanging there for a second, and, as he had expected, Greengrass couldn't stand the rising tension.

"Yes?" he blurted out.

"My son and Mr Potter are engaged; they will be having a bonding session here in September. And Ron Weasley, the pure-blood, will be marrying the Muggle-born Hermione Granger on the same day. Indeed, all four of them are currently at the Manor, discussing arrangements with my wife. We need to stick together, you say; we need to move with the times, I reply. And tell me, Adolphus, what do you know about Debts of Magical Emancipation?"

Greengrass looked a little stunned at the abrupt change of subject, but pulled himself together a bit.

"Well, they have something to do with having bonds on your magic broken, so incurring a debt to whoever sets you free. Rather ancient history, though, surely? No-one has had the power to cast a full magic binding curse for centuries."

"The Dark Lord did," Lucius replied directly, and Greengrass's eyes went round as he began to guess the point.

"He bound my magic, and Draco's," Lucius confirmed. "And you can probably guess who removed the binding?"

"Potter," Greengrass said, almost groaning the word as he realised just exactly how powerful the young wizard must be to have removed such a spell.

"Indeed," Lucius replied drily. "You accused us of hitching on to Potter; I hope, you are sufficiently acquainted with the consequences of Debts of Magical Emancipation to understand that in fact we had very little choice in the matter. But I confess that the results have been very encouraging. Times are changing, Adolphus; we have to change too, if we are going to be at the forefront, giving the lead to our society."

Adolphus's face had been getting tighter and tighter; he had begun to think that Lucius had lost his spine altogether, and owing Potter a debt must be hard to live with. But at the last statement, he perked up. _All right,_ he thought, _we're still going to be on top where we belong._

Out loud, he replied, "I see. So we're going to just accept these changes?"

"Not at all," Lucius replied. "We're going to guide them."

Greengrass let out a low sigh. The price of staying friends with the Malfoys was clear; the question was, was he willing to pay it? Though really, the truth was that he had no choice.

"All right," he said, softly. Then, taking his courage in both hands, he went on, "but, what about this Debt? Is that why Draco is marrying Potter?"

"Perhaps, when it was fresh, it drew them together," Lucius allowed. "But the more we interact with Harry, the more we find ourselves warming to him. He already feels like one of the family."

Greengrass wasn't entirely happy with this answer; but it seemed like Lucius was forgiving him, so he thought better of making a song and dance about it. Clearly, the marriage was set in stone and Astoria had no chance with Draco, so best to leave it. At the end of the day, there was no point in flogging a dead Thestral, he decided.

"Well, I suppose, if they're here, I suppose I should pay my respects," he said.

_And start getting back in Draco's favour,_ Lucius thought; but it was not a criticism, he admired the man's chutzpah.

"That's the spirit!" he said, as he stood and led the way out to Narcissa's study.

* * *

As they were about to make their way to Narcissa's study, Dippy knocked on the door.

"Excuse me Master Lucius," she said when he had bade her enter, "but Mistress Narcissa is asking me to be telling you theys is going to the pavilion."

"Thank you, Dippy," Lucius replied, much to Greengrass's surprise. While Lucius clocked the surprise, and guessed that it had to do with his treatment of the elf, he decided to leave it be. If the man asked, he would explain that this was part of the changing times, and losing some of the pure-blood arrogance would go a long way towards making that change pleasant; if he didn't ask, he could work it out for himself. Nonetheless, Lucius did not wish to discourage Greengrass' show of willing, so led him out of the house and into the grounds.

The pavilion in question was a long, beautiful white building at the far side of the main lawn. The sides were a series of arches, spelled so that the walls between them could be removed, and at the present time, they were absent, so that the day's light breeze was blowing through the room, and that and the gentle afternoon sunlight gave the space a fresh, calming feeling. Beyond the pavilion was a shallow pool, and the light reflecting off the water as the wind moved it made for a charming undulating pattern of light and shade playing out on the arches.

As the two men stood outside, they could see the rest of the party discussing something to do with the wedding. But the thing that struck Adolphus as he watched was that this was a group of people totally at ease with one another. He could see, by their body language, by the little loving glances that they gave each other, by the way they touched each other more than was necessary, that Draco and Potter, in particular, were clearly very much in love.

Greengrass could see there were four women with the four students. Three of the women he knew by sight – Narcissa Malfoy, his hostess; Minerva McGonagall, who had taught him Transfiguration and could still scare the pants off him thirty years later; and, something of a surprise, Molly Weasley. What, he wondered, was the blood-traitor doing here? Was this another change he would just have to get used to? And then he remembered Lucius talking about Ronald, Molly's youngest son, getting married at the same time, and that made it sensible for her to be present. But it also must mean that the other woman, the one he knew he had never seen before, must be Ronald's fiancée. What was the name Lucius had said? Looking at the students, he knew them by sight as were Draco, Potter, Ron Weasley and that Mudblood Hermione Granger, and looking back at the fourth lady, he could see the family resemblance at once. And so, he realised, his surprise moving to shock, the fourth lady must be her mother.

There was a Muggle guest at Malfoy Manor. A Muggle who was laughing and joking with three pure-blood witches as if she belonged there. The whole world of pure-blood supremacy was crumbing before his eyes.

Lucius, standing beside him, felt him stiffen, and his eyes twinkled as he said,"You see, Adolphus? Times are changing. Shall we go in?"

Greengrass nodded, and made his first hesitant steps into the brave new Wizarding world that welcomed even Muggles in it.


	74. Return to Rumours

**74 Return to Rumours**

_Sunday 6 September_

Dudley Potter was sitting in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place when the fireplace made that strange whooshing noise that meant someone was calling him.

"Hello?" he said, and watched as the green-tinged face of Narcissa Malfoy appeared in view.

"Ah!" she said. "Dudley! I apologize, I have only just been told that you are staying at Grimmauld Place."

Dudley blinked. He couldn't see any reason why she should apologize, and told her so.

"My dear young man!" she replied. "Why are you rotting all alone in that old dump when we could be looking after you? Have you dined?"

"Er," Dudley replied, a little abashed by the fierce gaze she had trained on him, "no, not really… I was going to have some cheese on toast later."

Narcissa looked at him sternly, and it was clear that, to Narcissa Malfoy, "cheese on toast" did not, even remotely, qualify as any sort of a dinner.

"Come through and dine with us," she said, and her tone, though friendly, did not invite contradiction.

"Yes ma'am," Dudley replied.

"Excellent," she said, beaming, and her face disappeared from view.

He took a pinch of the funny stuff they called "Floo powder", and, as Robin had shown him, threw it into the fireplace. The little bangle on his wrist tingled; he didn't quite understand it, but he knew that he had to wear it to make the Floo work, as he had no magic of his own. He had asked Robin to explain it, but the Auror had simply replied, "it's magic," and, for once, Dudley had to accept this was a perfectly adequate explanation.

Somewhat tentatively, he stepped into the fireplace. Robin had coached him in the art of Floo travel, and he thought hard about all he had learnt, remembering to keep his arms in close to his body as instructed and to bend his knees as he exited to avoid falling over. Once again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of moving very quickly before finding himself in a room that was obviously Narcissa's private study. The lady herself was standing in front of him, and, much to his surprise, grasped his hands warmly and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Welcome!" she said. "Now we can show you proper pure-blood hospitality! Kreacher!"

The aged house-elf popped in. Dudley still regarded him warily; though the strange creature had not given him any trouble at Grimmauld Place, he felt that he was being watched critically the whole time, which didn't exactly make for a happy relationship.

"Yes, Mistress Cissy?" the elf said, rather oilily.

"Mister Potter will be staying here for a few days," she said imperiously. "Kindly fetch his requirements and place them in the blue room."

It took Dudley a few seconds to realised that she meant him, not Harry; even after two months he still wasn't quite used to thinking of himself as 'Mr Potter'. Kreacher, however, evidently had no such problem; the old elf simply replied "yes mistress Cissy!" and vanished. Dudley had a sneaking suspicion that the elf's happy response was compounded equally out of his obvious respect for Narcissa and the thought of getting rid of Dudley from Grimmauld Place. But there was something a little more pressing than Kreacher's foibles to discuss.

"Um, that's very kind of you," he began, but Narcissa cut him off effortlessly.

"Of course," she replied deprecatingly, "and thank you for accepting the kindness. Now, let's join the others, shall we?"

"The others?" Dudley asked.

In answer, Narcissa just smiled, and led him out of the room.

-#-

_Monday 7 September_

Dudley woke up and took stock of his surroundings. He was in what was easily the largest and most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, and he was wearing luxurious silk pajamas. It was all very lovely, but it didn't feel quite like him, somehow.

And then he came to himself, and remembered the events of the previous night. It seemed that, in all their planning, Harry and Mr Malfoy had neglected to mention to Mrs Malfoy that Dudley was staying in Grimmauld Place all by himself; and so she had decided she needed to take over. As a result, he had found himself having drinks with a roomful of people. There were the Malfoys, of course, and Harry and his friends Ron and Hermione; and their mothers; and a strange little man called something Greengrass, who Dudley had nodded to politely, but who didn't really seem to warm to him. Everyone else had been very pleasant and polite, and Dudley wasn't at all upset when the Greengrass man said he had to return home for dinner.

To begin with, Dudley had been very apprehensive about dinner. He wasn't really used to dining with polite company, having only really experienced dinner with Vernon and Petunia – who had, now he looked back over his years at Privet Drive with a critical eye, no manners to speak of – and with his fellow students – who had no manners at all. There were a lot of people; they had been joined by Arthur Weasley and Hermione's father… what was his name? P-something? Paul? No, Peter, that was it. Peter Granger. Like him, the Grangers were Muggles; he learnt early on that they were both dentists, and he explained he was about to start Civil Engineering at Swansea. When they learnt this, the Grangers gave him a few helpful tips about student life, and he found himself feeling a bit less intimidated by the company.

He had watched carefully to see if being a Muggle made any difference. But it seemed no-one really cared; the conversation was free-flowing and inclusive, and Dudley could see that Dr Granger was getting on very well with Mr Weasley, while Mr and Mrs Malfoy were being the most lovely hosts.

The meal had been delicious; Dudley was astonished to learn that it was completely impromptu. When Petunia had people over, there were weeks of planning and stress beforehand, but Mrs Malfoy seemed to just pull people in and feed them with no visible effort or fuss. Of course, he thought, Petunia didn't have any of those house-elves to help. But then he thought, and it really shocked him, that she did used to have one, or as good as one; that was exactly how they had treated Harry. This thought made him watch closely, and he realised after a while that it wasn't really true. These funny little creatures were servants, to be sure; but they looked like they really enjoyed what they were doing, and they seemed to be being treated with respect.

Now in the bright light of day, as he looked around the beautiful room he had been given, he felt the shame come crashing in on him once again. The Dursleys had treated Harry, his mother's sister's son, worse than these people treated their servants. Last night, when the thought had hit him, Harry had noticed, and looked at him with a face of such concern that it was all that Dudley could do to avoid breaking down in tears as he had, once more, apologised to his cousin for their treatment of him.

Harry had looked at him with a silly grin and told him that was all in the past and forgiven.

"We were both hurt by them," he had reminded his cousin. "Now it's time we both moved on. Have some more wine."

And he had had wine, and dessert, and they had played cards and parted the best of friends, as the four other teens had returned to Hogwarts, the other guests had gone home, and Dudley had been shown to the wonderful room he was now in and told to call for Dippy if there was anything at all he needed.

Which brought him back to the present. There was something he needed; but a little exploring soon found that there was an en-suite – twice the size of the bathroom at Privet Drive, he noticed, and a million times more tasteful.

When he had finished in the bathroom, he returned to his bedroom to find that Dippy must have found out he was up, for the bed had been made and a fresh set of clothes was laid out waiting for him. He dressed, then called the elf.

'Yes, Master Dudley Potter?" the little creature said in a very excited voice as she appeared. "How can Dippy be helping young Master Dudley Potter?"

Dudley couldn't help but laugh at the excitement of the little elf, and then blushed in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, mortified as he realised how offensive his laughter must seem. "I'm not used to people being so cheerful so early in the morning!"

But Dippy, it seemed, was not about to take offense from 'young Master Dudley Potter'; she beamed at him, and replied, "Dippy is being very pleased to see young Master is being so happy! Is young Master being wanting to breakfast?"

"Yes please," Dudley replied.

"Mistress Narcissa is being taking breakfast in the garden; Dippy is being taking Dudley there. Please to be following Dippy!"

And, repressing a smirk at the absurd way she talked (for no doubt, he thought, his ways were equally ridiculous to her), he followed her out downstairs, through some French doors and into a charming English cottage garden.

He looked around, and decided then and there that he was going to stop comparing this place with Privet Drive; there was nothing at all about his former home that measured up to this place, so the comparisons were simply meaningless. As he entered the garden, his hostess rose to greet him from the table she had been sitting at.

"Good morning, Dudley," she said pleasantly, as she gestured to him to take a seat. "I hope you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Malfoy," the boy replied as he complied with her unspoken invitation. "Um, this is a very nice garden."

"Isn't it?" Narcissa replied with a smile. "I don't remember if we mentioned it last time you were here, but it's Harry's garden. And please, Dudley, call me Narcissa. You and Harry are part of our family now."

Dudley looked abashed. It seemed a hell of a liberty to address this elegant, refined lady by her first name.

"Yes, Narcissa," he replied, managing not to stumble over the name.

"Good," she replied. "Now, what can Dippy get you for breakfast?"

-#-

The next week was rather hectic. It was, of course, the first full week of classes for the bulk of the student body, and it took them a few days to calm down from being in holiday mode. It was hard to settle to a routine: the long break since the end of the previous school year, the euphoria of the war being over, and the re-opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, had given them the time, the inclination, and the material with which to play plenty of pranks, and they were not out of the habit yet.

Monday morning started off with a bang, literally: some of the students had managed to smuggle in some of the twins' decoy detonators, and exploded them at breakfast. The rest of the students at the four house tables made much of the distraction to be rowdy and boisterous, and the teachers found they had to come down heavily. McGonagall stood up, cast Sonorus on herself, and cast a version of Revelio that the students did not know about, or even suspect.

"That is quite enough!" she said sternly, as many items from the twins' shop suddenly made their presence known by glowing bright orange and emitting a whining noise. "May I remind you that there are senior students in this school studying for their examinations, who do not wish to be distracted. Please have some common courtesy. And when we say items are banned, we mean it. Those of you who have a forbidden item with you, stand up, and the teachers will take appropriate action."

Given the lights and the noise, there was no getting away with it; the teachers passed around the room, and all the prank items were promptly confiscated. The only real bright side that Minerva could see was that the majority of the seventh years seemed to be taking things quite seriously; they harangued their errant peers more than the teachers did, and she knew it was likely to be considerably more effective. There were always students who thought it was an honour to be disapproved of by the staff; but there were very few who were prepared to risk being shunned by their house.

The Headmistress had promised a no-nonsense approach to any infractions, and she delivered. The students were all identified, and Argus Filch found himself with a correspondingly large number of detentions to supervise. As his mood at the start of the school year was as sour as the students' were sunny, the students found their evenings were suddenly full of very unpleasant duties; as a result, it was noticeable during the week that there were not a lot of repeat offenders. Evidently, detention to be served with Mr Filch was still quite a threat, a thought which gave the bitter old Squib about the only satisfaction he received during the school year.

For most of the eighth years, this was the last full week of classes before they were going to have a week of revision followed by two weeks off; and so they were hanging out for the end of the week. While they didn't particularly mind pranks, they felt a bit miffed at their previously quiet environment suddenly filled with noise and silliness, especially as they had managed, on the whole, to behave like grown-ups for the whole term. So when their pumpkin juice was spiked on Tuesday morning, causing half the students to sport pink hair for the rest of the day, they found it hard to see the funny side.

Then there were the nine students who were facing examinations in the following week. These students were totally focused on three things: study, study and study. Distractions were generally profoundly unwelcome, and the other students learnt very quickly to stay out of their way. It was very fortunate, for example, that Hermione Granger happened to come late to breakfast on Tuesday morning; if she had drunk the spiked juice and had pink hair as well as exam stress, she would probably have lost it completely. As it was, she was finding the twin stresses of pregnancy and exams was quite enough to keep her on edge most of the time. She was enormously grateful to Draco, who continued to brew pregnancy-safe pain potions. To her delight, they seemed to enable her to get through her morning sickness with very little pain.

What did cause pain, though, was the feeling she had of being watched the whole time. She couldn't put her finger on it; but she felt that people were talking about her behind her back. Occasionally she would hear whispered words, and she couldn't quite tell whether it was paranoia on her part, or whether the words really were they "strange" and "pregnant" and "Draco", which seemed to be what she heard.

Eventually she was so concerned about this, and the possible effects on both her studies and her pregnancy, that she sought an interview with the Headmistress, which took place just before dinner on Tuesday. MacGonagall was sympathetic; but, as she pointed out, Hogwarts was always full of gossip and, without any concrete allegations, there was little she could do about it.

"I do think," the Headmistress had said in conclusion, "that you should have a word with Miss Parkinson."

And the way that she said it, and the look that she gave Hermione, quite put the wind up the bookworm. Had the rumours reached her ears? Was Pansy pregnant as well, like Draco had hinted? Did the Headmistress know they were both pregnant? Would she tell? Would Hermione be expelled for not telling her herself? She made her way to the Great Hall, determined to speak to the Slytherin. She needed to know what was going on, and, if nothing else, she felt Pansy would make a good ally against the rumours; as a Slytherin, she would most likely have a good idea just who was spreading them.

-#-

Tuesday night saw a meeting of the Beauxbatons girls in the room that Madame Dubois nominally shared with Eva Thillin. The room had been enlarged by the use of Wizarding space, and was now essentially a two-bedroom apartment with a large sitting room that they could congregate in. The chaperone conjured seats and cushions for them all, and they lounged together. Eva Thillin had asked the Hogwarts house-elves if they could provide drinks and snacks, and, true to form, a magnificent spread of little pastries, some hot and savory, some cold and sweet, together with pumpkin juice and hot drinks, had been laid out. Thillin was careful to go around the room and make sure everyone was comfortable and had their drink of choice; her position was still precarious, and anything she could do to shore it up would be good.

The problem, though, was still the Thibault twins; Marie still flat-out refused to have anything to do with her former friend, while Danielle clearly merely tolerated her. Once again, she wondered just how much they knew; she would have to get away soon, that was clear. It was too risky, she thought, as she took her seat, what with that too-clever-by-half Auror, and these two, and Madame having had sharp words with her.

The first topic of discussion was, of course, the spiked pumpkin juice. All but Angelique Delacour had been affected that morning, and they had spent the day seething with rage. Now they were alone, and at last able to converse with one another without any of the other students, they had two comforts: they were amongst their own, and they could speak in French.

There was a long discussion about what they might do to get their own back. And in the midst of the discussion, which had wandered on to talk about who had been seen wandering about the castle, Eva Thillin came out of her personal reverie, having spotted a chance.

"I have heard that Monsieur Malfoy and Mademoiselle Granger have been seen together in our common room," she said quietly.

"No!" Gabrielle Delacour shrieked. "They are both promised to others!"

"But yes!" Madame Dubois replied. "I too have seen them together! And the way they look at each other!"

And the conversation immediately intensified into suspicions about exactly who was sleeping with whom. All grist to the mill, and Eva found it very gratifying; but she had an end to achieve, so she added,

"I have also heard tell that Monsieur Malfoy and Mademoiselle Granger have gone up to her room, together, unchaperoned."

She had played it just right. The conversation swirled around; and then Marie Thibault voiced her suspicion that Hermione was in fact pregnant, and the rumour mill span and span.

Eva was delighted. The spotlight was well and truly off her, now, just like her escape plan needed. If she could only keep it that way for ten more days, she should be able to get away scot free. Especially as her contact at the Ministry was being so very sympathetic to a poor, misunderstood French girl …

-#-

Pansy was a little mystified that Hermione wanted to speak to her privately, but had agreed readily enough. She was all for letting bygones be bygones, after all; it hadn't taken her long to work out that, with suspected Death Eater sympathies, even if she was not at risk of imprisonment, she was going to find it hard to get on after school, and being friendly with the Golden Trio could hardly hurt.

So she happily turned up at the brunette's room ten minutes after dinner, as agreed. She brought her books with her, partly because she half-wondered if Hermione wanted to discuss their classes, but mostly because it made an excellent cover. No-one would think twice about anyone visiting Hermione to discuss school-work. Hermione noticed Pansy's school-bag, worked it out, and smiled at her.

"Good cover," she said.

"So we won't be doing work?"

"No," Hermione replied with a smile. "Um, I wanted to get your opinion about things that are going on."

"Oh," said Pansy, as she realised with delight that this would be a meeting about the gossip going around. "Such as?"

Hermione took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy.

-#-

Hermione came early to breakfast the next day; so early that she was the first person in the Great Hall. Her head was still reeling from all that she and Pansy had discussed. It was strange, she reflected, that after six years of antipathy, if not outright hatred, and a year apart, they were now getting on like a cauldron on the fire. She thought for a second about just how that had happened; but in truth the answer was right in front of her – literally, as he walked into the room – Harry Potter. The wizard who had given his life to defeat Voldemort had become the wizard who was unifying their society and quietly, without fuss or fanfare, converting those around him from open war to open friendship.

It gave her hope. Hope that perhaps all the gossip might be got over. And, she had learnt, there was plenty of that! Everyone was talking about Harry, that came as no surprise; and there was still the belief that Draco had bewitched him in some way, compulsion charm or Imperio or potion or blackmail of some sort. Of course, anyone who knew Harry knew it was all preposterous, but unfortunately gossips didn't tend to listen to reason.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, as he sat down opposite her. "What are you thinking about?"

Hermione laughed. "Is it that obvious?" she asked.

"Er – yeah," Harry replied, not quite seeing what was funny. Hermione was always thinking, after all.

"Pansy and I had a bit of a chat last night," she said, dropping her voice, aware that, even though they were alone for the moment, anyone could walk in at any time, or be listening from outside the room.

"Oh good," Harry replied, his face lighting up, and Hermione loved him all the more. "I'm glad you're getting on."

"Yes, we have a surprising amount in common," she said drily. "Including …" and here she rubbed one hand over her belly.

Harry looked a little lost for a second; then he must have worked it out, because his smile broadened. "That's great!" he said, a little too loudly.

"Yes," Hermione said, putting a finger to her lips. Harry blushed a little, and nodded to show he understood: this was a secret, so he needed to talk quietly.

"So, what else?" he asked much more quietly.

"Well, according to rumour, Draco has you under the Imperius curse, or a love potion; he and I are shagging; he and Pansy are shagging; I'm pregnant with Theo's twins; Michael Corner is plotting to get you with more of the trick galleons, Oh and Eva Thillin was Imperioed by Danielle Thibault, or maybe it was Blaise. And the fourth-years are all going to brew love potions and try to slip them in your drinks. And …"

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed. "Pansy told you all that?"

"Yes, and a bit more besides," Hermione said. "Why?"

"It's just … I'd expected rumours, of course. But doesn't this seem too much? And all focusing on the same few people. No little jealousies amongst the fifth years? No crushes on the young teachers? I'd expect Robin to have his own little group of fan-girls talking about nothing else, wouldn't you?"

"I see what you mean," Hermione said musingly. "What do you think it means?"

"What does 'e think what means?" Blaise said, as he and Angelique took seats next to the other two, Blaise sitting on Harry's right and Angelique on Hermione's left.

"Oh, all the stuff going on," Harry said, vaguely. "For one, how come your hair didn't go pink, Angelique?"

The French girl blushed, a little in awe of being so freely addressed by the Great Harry Potter.

"Well," she replied, "a delightful wizard I know taught me a leetle charm to detect such foolishness when ze ozer students returned."

Harry turned to Blaise, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Yes, it was me," he replied with a laugh. "My girlfriend is too kind."

"Oh! Good!" said Harry. While their courtship wasn't exactly news, of course, Blaise and Angelique hadn't openly made any announcement about it since accepting the congratulations from the few students who had been sitting around them last week, and Harry had wondered if perhaps Blaise had regretted being so open, so un-Slytherin, about it. But apparently not.

"What's good?" a female voice asked as Pansy and Theo arrived, sitting together holding hands. Harry looked around to see that the Hall was starting to fill up; he hoped they could steer the conversation to safer subjects.

"It's good that love seems to be in the air," Draco replied as he too arrived and took a seat on Harry's left.

"Really?" Pansy asked mockingly. "And who have you fallen for?"

"Not telling," Draco asked, as he gave Harry a kiss. There were general choruses of "awww!", and breakfast got under way.

But there were other eyes watching. Eyes that wondered if there were true words spoken in jest here. Wondered if perhaps the rumours about Draco and Hermione might not have some truth to them after all.

-#-

Michael Corner meant what he had said at the opening feast: over the time he had spent away from Hogwarts, it had become clear to him that the antagonisms of the past had to go. He had always arrogantly assumed that being in Ravenclaw proved that he was smarter than everyone else; it had really hurt to be out-manoeuvred by a Beauxbatons student. He had underestimated her, and his pride had paid a considerable price.

But he was a Ravenclaw; and Ravenclaws learnt from their mistakes. It was clear that being arrogant and antagonistic were not going to get him anywhere; not least because it was very clear that Harry Potter frowned on such things. And anyone could see that Harry Potter was the darling of the moment. Corner had an opportunity to get back in his good books, and he was damned if he was going to squander it.

So when the rumours began swirling around, and the little petty incidents started up again, he did nothing. Before, he would have made snide remarks (particularly, he remembered to his shame, about Hufflepuffs; it was all very well to bang on about how stupid they were, but Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan weren't the boys who had got kicked out of eighth year) and egged on the fight, just for the fun of watching people land themselves in hot water with the Professors while remaining safe himself; but now he decided he was much better off keeping his head down and staying out of sight.

But as the week went on, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps he had become infected with Potter's do-goodishness; but it just felt wrong to him. Sure, there had always been low-level jinxing going on at Hogwarts; there was a sort of unwritten understanding about what was acceptable and what was not; what students would accept as normal activity and what would send them scurrying to teachers. But somehow, things were different this year. While much of what went on was just like previous years, there seemed to be currents running under the rumours that had a bit more bite to them. And that felt wrong. The war was over; they should be getting on better; but as he watched from the sidelines, that wasn't how it felt at all.

It was Thursday before Corner twigged to what was going on beneath the surface. Mostly the jinxes and name-calling kept just under the line; but he suddenly realised that the younger Ravenclaws were not being targeted as much as usual, and wondered what that meant. As he watched carefully, it became apparent: the other Houses were targeting the young Slytherins almost exclusively. And, he realised, they were most especially targeting Alice Abertomom, the first student who had been sorted into Slytherin, the student Harry had applauded and thereby, evidently, unintentionally turned into a target.

Corner was surprised to find he was actually quite upset about this. But when he thought about it, it made sense: he had all but got expelled for such jealous rivalry, and he wasn't going to stand by and let anyone else perpetuate it. Accordingly, on Friday morning, as he was coming out of the Transfiguration classroom and saw Alice get hit by a tripping jinx, he blew his top.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" he yelled, and the wands of the four third-year students who had attacked her sailed towards him. He looked them up and down.

"Two Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs," he said to them icily. "I can understand Hufflepuffs being stupid, but I should have hoped that my own Housemates would understand the need for a bit more sense!"

The four were rescued from any more of the seventh-year student's wrath by the arrival of Professor Slughorn.

"Now just exactly what is going on here?" he demanded when he saw a student cowering on the floor, a first-year by the size of her. Then he recognised Michael Corner, and his voice took on a steely edge. "What have you been up to, Mr Corner? I should have thought you would have more sense than to attack first-years!"

And then he recognised Alice as one of his students.

"Are you hurt, my dear?" he asked, kindly.

"N-no," the girl said as she came hesitantly to her feet. She wasn't quite sure what to do now. The other students had told her off before now for going around by herself; they had expected that the others would target Slytherin and it was cold comfort to know that they were right. And this was only a tripping jinx, and she knew she shouldn't blab; but it was a bit difficult now that that other boy had come, and her House-master as well. And Slughorn had grasped the wand at the wrong end, like he usually did. It would have been easy to just run away and leave Slughorn to sort everything out; but since this older boy had had the decency to stand up for her, she decided she should do the same; it couldn't hurt to have a seventh year on her side.

"Um, I was attacked with a tripping jinx by these four-" she began, but was cut off.

"That's a lie!" one of the four, a red-headed Hufflepuff, said indignantly, and Michael immediately picked him as the ringleader. "We were just going to Charms when this girl ran into us!"

"And I then came and took your wands for no reason, is that it?" Corner asked.

The other boy glowered at him. "Pretty much," he replied belligerently.

"What's your name?" Corner demanded.

"Evan Eranthus," the boy replied.

"And is this your wand?" the interrogation continued, as Michael held up a seven inch wand of ash. Evan nodded.

"Figures," Michael mutters to himself. "Short and stubborn, like its owner." Then, out loud, he addressed the Professor, "I wonder, sir, if you would be kind enough to cast Prior Incantato on this wand to see if what Alice says is true?"

Slughorn, a little mollified by this appeal to him as an authority, took the wand and cast the spell.

"Yes indeed," he replied as he examined the result. "A tripping jinx, not especially powerful or skilful, and cast in the last ten minutes." He glowered at the Hufflepuff, "What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"

"I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir," the other replied.

"Indeed. Not as sorry as the four of you will be after serving detention tonight. Now, if Mr Corner will give you your wands back, you had best be off to Charms. And you can explain to Professor Goshawk that you were late because I was disciplining you."

"But-" the other Hufflepuff said, his eyes going wide; they had heard of Miranda Goshawk by reputation, and she was rumoured to be fiercer than McGonagall, "—she'll just give us another detention!"

"Then," Slughorn countered, "I'd rush."

And, as Corner handed their wands back, they did so.

By now, Alice had composed herself, and turned to the Professor.

"May I go now, sir?" she asked.

"Of course, my dear. Please give my apologies for your tardiness to your teacher."

"Thank you, sir," she said, and turned to Corner. "And thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," the Ravenclaw replied with a polite smile, and the little Slytherin ran off.

"Yes," Slughorn amplified, "thank you. You do seem to have grown up a bit?"

"Well, sir," the young man replied, "I did quite a lot of thinking while I was excluded, and I decided Harry was right. Judging people by their houses is stupid, and only breeds arrogance and prejudice. I've noticed that the students are still picking on the Slytherins mostly, and it's got to stop."

"I would be interested to hear your thoughts about that," Slughorn replied. "Do you have time for a chat?"

"Yes, sir, I have a free period now."

"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed, and led the other to his office.


	75. Returns from Rumours

**75 Returns from Rumours**

_Last time:_

_Friday 11 September_

" _I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir," the other replied._

" _Indeed. Not as sorry as the four of you will be after serving detention tonight. Now, if Mr Corner will give you your wands back, you had best be off to Charms. And you can explain to Professor Goshawk that you were late because I was disciplining you."_

" _But-" the other Hufflepuff said, his eyes going wide; they had heard of Miranda Goshawk by reputation, and she was rumoured to be fiercer than McGonagall, "—she'll just give us another detention!"_

" _Then," Slughorn countered, "I'd rush."_

* * *

As the eighth year students were making their way to the next classroom, four boys ran past them full pelt, obviously running very late for class. A few moments later, a first-year student, Slytherin by her robes, walked past them, a little more sedately, but still pushing the pace a little.

"Hey," Ron said, "isn't that that Abertothingy girl?"

"Alice Abertomom," Hermione supplied, in a tone that quite clearly implied a frustrated, unstated 'really!'.

"Yeah, her," Ron replied, completely ignoring the tone. He must be quite used to it by now, after all, Harry thought.

"Come on, guys," he said. "Don't want to be late for Professor Dreyfuss."

They continued on to Transfiguration. But the gossip had already started, about why four boys were running away from a tiny first-year student.

* * *

By lunchtime, rumours of the 'Abertomom incident' had gone through the school. Naturally, as tales will, it had grown in the telling; by the time it reached the eighth years, Marie Thibault, all breathless with excitement, told the story of how four students had tried to use a volley of curses against the first year, who had somehow managed to disarm them.

"I heard that some senior student Stupefied them," Parvati Patil said.

"That can't be right," her sister Padma rejoined. "They ran past us, being chased by her."

"Were they being chased?" Seamus asked. "Abertomom didn't seem to be in a hurry."

"True," Dean said. "So maybe there was a senior student?"

"'Ow exciting! So, who was he?" Angelique Delacour asked.

"I think it might have been Michael Corner,' Gabrielle Delacour answered. "I 'eard 'e was seen going into Professor Slughorn's office by some sixth years."

"Well, perhaps it was a shield, then," Seamus suggested. "He got quite good at them, I remember. What?" he asked, seeing the others looking at him rather oddly,

"Not perhaps the most diplomatic thing to say," Blaise said, inclining his head slightly towards Harry, "given what happened the last time he was involved with shields."

"Oh," Seamus said, and blushed red in embarrassment.

"It's all right," Harry reassured him, while pouring out pumpkin juice for Draco. "Actually, you're right, he was quite good. But I wouldn't pay the gossip any mind. You know these rumours are one part exaggeration and nine parts dragon shite."

Draco, who had unwisely sipped his drink as Harry was speaking, was so shocked and amused by this that he sprayed pumpkin juice all over the table.

"Sorry," he said.

"No bother," Harry said, his wandless Tergeo cleaning the table off without any apparent fuss.

* * *

After lunch, the examinees were excused from Muggle Studies, on the grounds that they would have plenty of time for their project once their exams were out of the way. Accordingly, the period became an impromptu study hall in the library, with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick in attendance to offer any help required. Several students took advantage of this to ask transfiguration and charms questions, and it was not long before they were all having a discussion which was very serious and high-powered.

After perhaps half an hour, the Headmistress sat back and looked around at the students. They were a wonderful group: dedicated, studious, eager to learn. They were also, she decided, getting rather tired and wound up, and she thought that they needed a bit of relief.

"Right!" she said, clapping her hands. "Time for a little exercise. Do you all have a matchbox?"

In reply, the students all produced one of the matchboxes that she had given them in Transfiguration. Everyone except Mandy Brocklehurst still had one, but Draco had a spare and happily gave it to her.

"Excellent!" McGonagall said, all business-like, though she did not miss the small show of house unity. The Draco Malfoy of years before would have seen Brocklehurst either as entirely beneath him or a rival, and never have given her any help at all. "Now, I want you all to transfigure your matchboxes into pot plants."

The students thought for a moment. They had done something like this before; but it was not an easy assignment, and it took them a while to remember the incantations and get them right.

After ten minutes, everyone had managed to produce something; Zabini's daisy looked a bit worse for wear, it must be said, while Longbottom had managed to best of all, the small cactus he had produced being an inspired and difficult choice.

"Bravo!" Flitwick said, realising that McGonagall was trying to get them to lighten up a bit. "But some of your plants are a little drab. Let's see if you can Charm them a nice warm colour, and then, my personal favourite, get them tap-dancing!"

This was delivered with such enthusiasm that even Hermione found herself relaxing and grinning at the exuberance the man displayed. Within ten minutes, they had cracked it: Draco and Harry went so far as to have matching dancing sunflowers, one yellow, one orange, dancing and playing guitars that Harry had transfigured from a couple of elastic bands.

"Excellent!" Flitwick said once everyone had finished. "Now it is time to pack up and go to dinner."

As the students did so, Harry approached the two staff members. He had received a message by owl from Lucius and had a favour to ask…

* * *

The last class of the day was Ancient Runes. By some cunning scheduling, Professor Babbling had managed to adapt the syllabus so that the Seventh and Eighth Years could share the same classes, which meant that the three Ravenclaws were studying alongside Harry and Draco.

Eva Thillin had been hoping this might be good for some friction; but that hope had been severely dented during lunch, when Potter seemed to have closed down the gossip about Corner, and now it seemed that all was sweetness and light. Well, she decided, if he could close it down, she should open it up again. She turned to Rebecca Quiremesh, one of the other seventh-year Ravenclaws.

"What's eet like 'aving a conquering 'ero in your 'ouse?" she said quietly, adopting her most outrageous French accent.

"Oh!" the other girl replied. "Are you talking about this morning? I heard there was something going on. Just what happened?"

"We know so leetle," Danielle Thibault, sitting on the other side of the Ravenclaw, chimed in. "We were 'oping you could tell us…"

And the gossip was going again. Ten minutes later, Professor Babbling realised that the discussion in her class was not all productive, and reined them in. Eva didn't mind; the gossip was flowing again, that was all she wanted. If Potter had called them on it, the gossip would have stopped dead, but a teacher stomping on it, that would only drive it underground and it would spread further. Perfect.

* * *

By dinnertime the rumour had grown some more; if you believed what you heard, Corner had had to counter Dark Magic curses with a powerful Protego Maxima, and he had then bound the students with a full body-bind. Or otherwise, he had used Dark Magic on them, and Slughorn had chewed him out about it.

Harry listened to this recitation and decided he didn't believe a word of it,

"Hey, Michael!" he called over to the Ravenclaw table, and Michael Corner's head went up. Harry signaled to him to come over, and, rather surprised but not unhappy at the invitation, he did so.

"So," Harry said, as Corner took a seat next to him, "I hear you cast some powerful magic this morning?"

"No!" Michael replied, laughing. "What are they saying about me?"

The others explained the tales as they had heard them, and as he listened, Corner became visibly more and more amused; by the time they finished, he was roaring with laughter.

"Dark curses my foot!" he said once he had got his amusement under control. "One of them cast a tripping jinx. And all I did was to take a leaf out of your book," he said to Harry, "and cast Expelliarmus. Then Professor Slughorn came by, and he cast a Prior Incantato which proved they'd done it. That was all."

"But it was well done," Harry replied. "The Slytherins shouldn't be targeted like that."

"I agree," Michael replied. "Sluggers and I had a little chat about it, and he's going to make sure the staff keep a very watchful eye on the pranking from now on."

"Thank you," Draco said, and Michael was astonished to hear the genuine gratitude in his voice. His face must have shown it, for the blond continued, "I mean it. Harry and I are proof of what we can achieve if we can keep away from the prejudice."

Draco's words and attitude made everything in Michael Corner's world shift. He had examined the Eighth Years from every angle, looked to see who was getting what from who, what the benefits and rewards were, and suddenly he realised that he had been cold and calculating and missed the obvious: that his year-group, these people, weren't out to benefit from one another; they were friends, and lovers, and just getting on with life. Even the Slytherins, he realised, seemed to be embracing this new way.

And at the centre of it all was Harry Potter. And Harry Potter had invited him over. Perhaps he could yet have a place in this group.

Michael Corner smiled.

* * *

As Harry and Michael continued to discuss the events of the past week, Anders Anderssen and Stefan Ivanov were having a private conference of their own. For privacy, they were conversing in German; but while that meant they were proof against the Beauxbatons girls eavesdropping, it was something of a giveaway that they were discussing things they wanted kept secret, which naturally excited Ivan Smetana's interest.

"All right, boys" their chaperone said in German as he sidled over to them, "what's it all about?"

"We have heard some other rumours, sir," Ivanov replied.

"Rumours about Draco Malfoy and the Granger girl," Anderssen added.

"What rumours?" the chaperone asked, and continued, his tone incredulous, "like they're sleeping together or something?"

Anderssen looked very sheepish as he heard this, and Smetana gave a low whistle.

"That can't be true," he said. "The Debt Draco is under wouldn't allow it. Just what have people been saying?"

The other two told him the rumours they had heard, about the two students being seen in the Common Room, and Draco going up to Hermione's room, and the suspicions that she was pregnant, Smetana sat back and thought for a minute.

"Say nothing about this to anyone," he counselled, adopting a calm, in-charge tone. "I will deal with it."

But Igor Karkaroff was worried. He had been Headmaster of a school for many years; he knew the feel of a real organic rumour, which the story about Corner definitely had; but this story, about Draco and Hermione, wasn't the same. No, this felt contrived. Someone, he was sure, was making mischief. Someone, he suspected, who was sitting at this table, and should have been sent back to France weeks ago.

And someone who, unknown to Igor Karkaroff, spoke quite passable German.

* * *

Eva Thillin was not smiling.

Potter had done the worst possible thing: he and Corner were clearly no longer at odds; inexplicably, the Ravenclaw seemed to have found his way back into favour. All her hard work to cause suspicion with rumours was having the opposite effect to the one she wanted: uniting, instead of dividing. It was very annoying that all her hard work seemed to be getting her exactly nowhere. And, she thought, dangerous. She felt her position was precarious, and that her best strategy was to keep people looking elsewhere; but she was running out of distractions to throw in people's eyes.

And the conversation she had just overheard had her worried. The students gossiping about one another was a fact of life, and mostly the teachers would never hear about it; but it seemed that the little maybe-truths she had spread about Draco and Hermione had reached Smetana's ears. And Eva Thillin did not trust Ivan Smetana. She was a master manipulator, and she felt she recognised a kindred spirit in him.

No, he was Trouble, with a capital T. She could see all her plans teetering around her. She needed to get out, and she needed to get out fast. Which meant she needed a place to go. At the moment, she really had only one possibility; she just hoped the men from Marseille would get back to her soon…

* * *

Eva's thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Professor Flitwick, who came and hovered at the end of their table.

"If I may have your attention!" the Professor began, and all eyes at the table turned to him. "As you are aware, nine of you have examinations next week, while the rest will be having revision sessions. After these, there will be a two-week holiday break. Those who are having revision, there is no need for you to attend classes if you do not wish to; there will be no formal teaching, but your professors will be available to answer any questions."

Most of the students looked very pleased and relieved to hear this, delighted that they would have a more relaxed week before the two week break coming up.

"For the examinees, we will be posting a timetable on Sunday evening. The examinations will be held in the meeting room adjacent to the staff room, so that staff will be on hand to ensure all is well. Good luck to you all in your exams. And please, I beg you, do not exhaust yourselves before Monday! In fact, I insist that you all leave the castle on Sunday afternoon. Go and visit friends or family, and take a few hours to not think about work."

It was clear that eight of the nine examinees thought this was a brilliant idea; Flitwick could see that Hermione was not convinced, so continued, "after dinner on Sunday you can put in four good hours of study, but you need a break before it. If you study all the time, you won't perform as well in your practicals. Now, of course you may do some study this evening, but I suggest you knock off at nine o'clock and play games."

The others all looked to Hermione. They all liked the sound of it; but what would their hard study taskmaster have to say about it?

Hermione nodded slowly. There was, she realised, some truth to the idea that too much thinking was not necessarily good for the practicals. Her mind wandered back to the time at her parents' house when Draco had taught Ron and her the spells to renovate, and hers had not been as good as Ron's because she was trying to understand what should really be just experienced.

"All right," she said with a sigh. "I think that's a good idea."

* * *

_Saturday 12 September_

On Saturday morning, Harry received an owl, asking him to visit Robin in the Defense Professor's study at ten o'clock. To his surprise, when he got there, there was another man waiting for him; but, before he could excuse himself, Ivan Smetana got to his feet.

"Mr Potter," he said, reaching out a hand. "I wanted to have a word with you, and I did not wish certain people to know about it, so I borrowed Professor Banks's office."

Harry looked at him carefully.

"I know who you are," he said.

"Yes, yes," the Durmstrang chaperone replied, as his glamour fell off him and Igor Karkaroff stood there. "Good. I won't have to explain, then. But I do wish to be your friend, Mr Potter."

Harry shook the hand, a touch reluctantly, feeling it would be rude not to. and sat down.

"You seem to have changed your mind since my fourth year," he said. "Though I suppose it must be real, if Robin trusts you enough to let you use the office and see me without him."

Karkaroff stared at him, then remembered the events of the Triwizard Tournament. He smiled.

"I have, rather, changed my mind," he replied. "Many did after the first war, you know. Then, I was terrified of the Dark Lord returning. I knew he was still alive; Mr Weasley has shown you the map, I believe" - Harry nodded in reply – "and he may have told you I performed the ritual once before, after you killed him the first time, and I found him straddling the line between our sphere and the Sphere of Intangible Presence, and knew he was just waiting for some way to return. So the whole time I was worried that he was going to use the Tournament in some way; and, as you know better than anyone, he did so."

"That's true," Harry said slowly.

"Then I was pursued by Death Eaters; but I think you know the story of how I evaded them?"

Harry nodded.

"And how I met up with Mr Weasley?"

Another nod.

"But perhaps he did not tell you what happened after that. We stayed in a hotel in rural Egypt – well, an establishment, anyway, it wasn't like any other hotel I have ever been in or heard of! The owner treated us like family, not like paying guests. Everyone sat around the fire and talked like old friends. I learned something that night, Mr Potter. All my life, I had been taught to be cold and to hold myself aloof; that is how I taught, and how I acted as Headmaster. But those Arabs showed me another way. A way of belonging, of tolerance, of kindness. One which would encourage my students to be the best they could be, without judging them for what they could not be. And I found that, as they treated me like that, I wanted to learn. And I wanted to teach like that, and maybe, just maybe, we can avoid Durmstrang producing another Grindelwald, or Hogwarts another Voldemort."

Harry grinned. "OK," he said. "I'm really glad to hear that."

"Good," Karkaroff said, with a grin of his own. "But I fear the rest of what I have to say will not make you so happy. You see, there are rumours…"

And here Karkaroff went on to detail just what he had heard about the rumours being spread about Draco and Hermione. He was careful to keep his voice calm and gentle; perhaps he had expected disbelief, or anger, or justifications. He got none of these things. Instead, to his complete surprise, Harry put his head back and roared with laughter.

"Oh dear," the raven-haired boy said when he had calmed down a little. "I am sorry. But Draco and Hermione? Really? Surely you can see that they wouldn't last a day together."

Karkaroff considered this. But of course, Harry was right. They were just too similar. As friends, with other friends to give balance, they could support each other, but as a couple, they would forever be antagonising each other, needing someone to play umpire.

"You're right," he confessed, a soft smile on his face as he thought about what it would be like if they were together. "Yes, I see. It is absurd."

"All right," Harry said, "but it's still out there as a rumour. And neither of them needs it to blow up, especially now that we have exams coming up. How do we counter it?"

"Ah," said Karkaroff, "first I think we must identify the source."

"It has to be Eva, really, doesn't it," Harry replied.

"You are very smart, Mr Potter," Karkaroff said in response, clearly impressed. "Yes, I think it is her. And if so, she is trying to shift attention away from her; so we must put it back on her."

"Good point," Harry replied. "But how?"

"Ah," said the older man with a sly smile, "I think I have an idea…"

* * *

The Headmistress was delighted to have morning tea with Harry, and, though she was in truth a little surprised when Ivan Smetana turned up as well, managed to hide it well and warmly welcomed them both into her office.

"Now," she said, once Harry had a steaming mug of tea and Karkaroff an equally hot coffee, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Ah," Harry began, "well, Mr Smetana here, or perhaps I should say Karkaroff?"

"It's OK, Harry," the other man replied, dropping his glamour. "I don't think I should keep it a secret from you two; but I hope it won't go any further just yet."

"Of course," McGonagall agreed. "I'd much prefer if it did not become public while you are here. We do not officially know anything about it, and it will be easier if it stays that way. While I'm quite sure you won't do anything stupid, there are still a lot of people who are not happy about former Death Eaters, and the fact that you appear to have cheated death will seem suspicious. Just how was it managed, if I may ask?"

Karkaroff told the story of the crofter who sacrificed himself for the stranger once again, and the Headmistress looked quite proud, which surprised Harry until he realised that of course the crofter, like McGonagall, was Scottish.

"Right," Harry said, once the story was told, deciding to get them back on track. "Mr Smetana came up with an idea to help us combat the rumours that are flying around."

"Which rumours are these?" McGonagall asked. "The ones about Mr Corner?"

"Yes, and those about Draco and Hermione," Harry said, then filled her in about them.

The Headmistress closed her eyes and shook her head in a clear gesture of disapproval and disappointment. "Shocking," she said, her eyes now open and hard as flint. Harry was a little worried at this; surely she didn't really think it could be true?

"Gossip is a terrible thing," she said, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "It's no-one's business, anyway." She looked at the Durmstrang chaperone. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that it would be good for the student body to get to know the exchange students better. So perhaps we could invite them to give a five-minute speech about who they are and what their school is like."

McGonagall smiled. "I like it," she said, "And of course we'd get the students up in a random order."

"Of course," Karkaroff replied. "So if any particular student happened to come first …"

"That would just be the luck of the draw," McGonagall said, and a look of perfect understanding flashed between them.

* * *

After dinner, there was a meeting in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Right, everyone, listen up," Michael Corner said.

"Why should we listen to you?" Evan Eranthus, one of Alice Abertomom's attackers, demanded. This, it turned out, was a bad move.

"Because I have asked him to talk to you," a piping voice said, and Professor Flitwick entered the room. "And because you are a Ravenclaw, and value learning, and Mr Corner is ahead of you, and you might learn something from him."

"Thank you, Professor," Corner said, his gratitude for the interruption tempered by his determination to fight his own battles. "I know we've all heard rumours about the eighth year students, and how Draco Malfoy is the evil super-villain, two-timing Harry Potter and seducing Hermione Granger. Well, I was part of their cohort at the beginning, and I've watched them closely for a while; and I can tell you for certain that that is one hundred per cent" - and here, Corner seemed to take stock of the Professor's presence, and stuttered, changing his wording in mid flow – "Leprechaun gold. Potter and Malfoy are bonded over a Debt of Magical Emancipation; there's no way Malfoy could be unfaithful to that, it would kill him. And Granger and Weasley only have eyes for each other."

"Is this true? The Debt means Malfoy can't cheat?" someone asked.

"It is," Flitwick replied. "I have some books here…"

He didn't get any further as the Ravenclaws descended on the books. Within half an hour, they had all satisfied themselves that Corner was correct.

"OK," Eranthus said with obvious chagrin, "I get it. We were totally wrong about things."

"More than that," Corner said. "Think about this: the war is over; Harry Potter had his childhood stolen from him by a madman who kept trying to kill him, and gave up his last year of schooling, and risked death so we could win it. And when we attack the Slytherins, it's like we're spitting in his face. We're starting it all up again. It's time to put the divisions aside and be united as Hogwarts, celebrating one another, like Potter applauded Abertomom at the Welcoming Feast, So, no more attacking Slytherin students just because they belong to the house of the snake; and no more listening to gossip and passing it along uncritically. Are we all agreed?"

The motion, for in that scholastic house that is how they thought of such things, was carried by acclamation. Flitwick beamed.

"I believe, Mr Corner, you have earned this."

And, so saying, he handed a Prefect's badge to a gob smacked Michael Corner.

_Sunday 13 September_

As the eighth years were sitting at lunch on Sunday, Flitwick came up to them and addressed the students who were sitting the Aptitude tests during the next few days.

"Now," he said in his most solemn voice, "I know that we have discussed this, but you have been studying like mad and have no doubt forgotten. Now is the time for you to go away and do something else for a few hours. I don't want to find any of you studying between now and five o'clock. Is that clear?"

The examinees all nodded.

"Perfect!" he said. "Now, as always, I would like to know where you are going, so we can get in touch with you if necessary."

"Hermione and I will be visiting mum and dad," Ron said at once, and Hermione smiled her assent. Flitwick did not miss the smile, and was glad to see it. He had been a little worried about Hermione; she had a formidable intellect, but he felt she needed to lighten up. Going off with Ron without complaint would have been good; that she actually looked happy was excellent.

"Very good!" he squeaked. "Mr Longbottom?"

"I shall be visiting my husband for the afternoon," Neville replied. There were some sniggers from the Beauxbatons girls, but he just turned to them and faced them down. Harry was impressed; Neville had really come into himself.

"Good, good," Flitwick burbled on. "Miss Brockelhurst?"

"Off to spend the afternoon with my family," the Ravenclaw answered promptly.

"And I'm doing much the same," Lisa Turpin added.

Flitwick smiled at them, and continued, "Miss Parkinson?"

"Theo is back in St Mungo's, so Blaise, Draco and I are going to visit him," Pansy replied.

"Oh!" Flitwick said, with evident surprise. "Are you not accompanying your fiancé, Mr Potter?"

"No," Harry said, his voice sounding surprised that it would be an issue. "Draco is a grown wizard and he doesn't need me to babysit him all the time. I'm sure he'll be safe at St Mungo's."

"But …" Marie Thibault began, and all eyes turned to her. "I mean," she said, blushing bright red under the onslaught of the gazes of all her peers, "I heard … aren't you worried for his safety?"

Harry was quite sure that that was not what she had wanted to say; but answered anyway.

"Of course I'm worried for his safety. We both know there are still people out there who would love to see us hurt. But we refuse to live our lives in fear. And I know what the rumours are. There's no way Draco is unfaithful to me; to begin with, he couldn't because of the Debt he owes me; but now, we love each other. And that demands that we trust each other."

"Bravo, Mr Potter!" Flitwick responded. "And what will you be doing this afternoon?"

"Oh, well, as we discussed, there is a small matter I have to attend to with my future father-in-law; and then I will meet these three at St Mungo's, and I was thinking we might all meet up at Fortescue's for a last ice-cream before the exams?"

In the event, Mandy and Lisa cried off this meeting, but the others had a perfectly delightful afternoon tea before Flooing back to Hogwarts from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

* * *

"I thought you had exams next week," Dudley said in surprise when Harry came into his room at Malfoy Manor.

"Yeah I do," Harry replied. "But I wasn't going to miss seeing you set up for University, now, was I?"

"Wow," Dudley said. What else could he say? The generosity of his cousin continued to amaze him.

"Harry, how lovely to see you," Narcissa said as she wandered in and greeted her second son with a kiss on the cheek. "Now, Dudley, have you packed everything you need?"

"Um, yeah," Dudley said, looking around. There was, to his chagrin, quite a bit of stuff still in the room, but he wouldn't need it during term time. "I'll get Kreacher to take this stuff back to Grimmauld Place," and here he looked at Harry, "if that's all right?"

"There's no need," Narcissa replied. "It can stay here, no-one will touch it."

"Are you sure?" Dudley asked timorously. "I don't want to put you to any trouble, and you might need the room…"

"Dudley," Narcissa said, her tone both fond and exasperated, "you are practically family now, and we have plenty of rooms at the Manor. It is no trouble to reserve this one for you. You are most welcome to use it whenever you wish. Now, I do believe you should be going."

Dudley had expected a long drive; but of course with Harry, they simply Apparated, car and all. To just outside Swansea; so it was that an hour later, Dudley was installed in his room at the University Hall.

"Very nice," Harry said, as Dudley set up his PC. "Now, is there anything else you need? Lucius sorted out spending money and all that? He said he was going to give you the same as Draco got at Hogwarts. Will that be enough?"

"Um, yeah, more than enough," Dudley replied, rather choking in surprise. "He gave me this," and showed off his cash card. "Apparently, Draco got twenty of your coins – galleons, are they?" – Harry nodded – " and Gringotts will be putting the same amount in each week. Harry, it's a lot of money! I thought that would be to pay for everything, but then he paid the board and all fees as well. So it's a fortune!"

"Cool," Harry said with a grin. "Well, I need to get moving, but I'm sure I'll see you around; are you coming to the wedding?"

Dudley smiled at him. "Wouldn't miss it," he replied. "Now, can I drop you anywhere?"

"Nah," Harry replied. "I'll just find a deserted corner and Apparate away. Stay safe, Big D!"

"You too, Harry," Dudley said.

Dudley was still grinning an hour later when the students in neighbouring rooms came over to introduce themselves. It didn't take him long to get into the swing of things; the evening found him as part of a group of about a dozen students visiting a local tavern. It was a riot – cheap alcohol, loud music, lights and noise; just what this week, Freshers week, was all about. Of course, the drinks were probably watered down; but as most of the students were clearly on their beam ends, price was a critical factor. He wandered up to the bar to pay for a round of drinks; but was waved aside by one of the other male students, Roger or something, who had been to Eton, apparently, but "didn't want to go to Oxford because it's just so old hat," which Dudley was pretty sure meant that he didn't get offered a place.

"It's all right," Roger or Robert or whatever said. "Daddy's giving me a hundred a week to splurge, and an extra two hundred for Freshers week festivities, so I'll pay."

"Thanks very much," Dudley said, putting his wallet away. He decided to keep quiet about his own allowance; if the snotty-nosed brat from Eton thought three hundred pounds was a lot, let him brag. Dudley didn't need the sort of friends that attitude would attract. There was really no need to let everyone know he was getting five hundred pounds each and every week.

* * *

"Girls! Attention, s'il-vous plait!" Madame Dubois said in her brightest tones. Eva Thillin was immediately deeply suspicious. She had been concerned when a Beauxbatons-only meeting had been called for two o'clock; and, hearing the woman begin, that concern increased greatly. The Beauxbatons Deputy Headmistress was at her most dangerous when she used that particular voice.

When all eyes turned to her, Madame Dubois continued in French.

"Now, I have asked you here because Headmistress McGonagall has had a brilliant idea; each evening during dinners over the next week, two of you are each to be given five minutes to introduce yourselves to the whole school! Here is a wonderful opportunity for you to present yourselves, and Beauxbatons, in a favourable light! I hope you will all give careful consideration to what you will say."

Thillin felt like someone had sent a stunner to her solar plexus. She was desperate to stay in the shadows; this was being put in the spotlight with a vengeance. She dared not draw attention to herself, even here; but she was dying to know …

"Excuse me, Madame," Marie Thibault, sitting at the opposite end of the room, asked, "but do we know when we will be presenting?"

Eva inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that the question had been asked, and she didn't have to try to find out by sneaking or prying. But her relief was short-lived.

"Oh no, it will be a big surprise for us. So you will need to be ready to be called upon at any evening meal."

Eva could not stop the groan that left her involuntarily; but it didn't matter as all the girls did the same thing, so no-one guessed that she was not only nervous about public speaking. The men from Marseille had to pull through soon; she needed to get out of here. Fast.

* * *

At dinner, the undercurrent of furtive gossip that seemed to have undergirded meals at Hogwarts for the last week was conspicuous by its absence. In its place, there seemed to be a general air of fun and frivolity.

"Everyone seems very 'appy tonight?" Eva observed as the main course was cleared away, wondering what was going on.

"Oh," Neville said, "some people have been saying daft things about Harry and Draco and Hermione, and it stirred up quite a bit of tension amongst the students. But rumour has it that Michael Corner had a word to the Ravenclaw students about it, and it's spread through the school, as rumours always do, so now everyone in the school knows that it's all nonsense and we'll all get on with studying instead."

Thillin was going to press for more details, but she was forestalled by the Hogwarts headmistress rising to her feet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, students," McGonagall began, and the Hall quietened as people realised she was actually expecting them to listen.

"As you know, Hogwarts is being visited by a few students from the Durmstrang Institute and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The staff feel it would be remiss of us not to take the opportunity to get to know these young people better, and to see what we can learn from the different schools. So we shall be giving our visitors five minutes each to introduce themselves and explain a little of their different experiences in the two schools they have now experienced."

The first Beauxbatons student called upon to speak was Padma Patil. The small Indian girl gave a charming little speech about how wonderful it was to have experienced both schools, and refused to be drawn on which was better, stating only that her life was the richer for learning in two different systems. It made Eva want to vomit, it was so sickly sweet; and anyway the Patil twins had only been at Beauxbatons for a fortnight before coming back to Hogwarts, it was not like they'd really learnt anything.

Eva found herself feeling sick for an entirely different reason when the second name was called out.

"Thank you, Padma, that was most interesting. And now," Headmistress McGonagall said in her no-nonsense tones, "we shall have the pleasure of hearing from … Eva Thillin!"

Eva got up to speak, her throat dry. She took a sip of water in a vain attempt to try and calm her nerves. Here it was then; after all her scheming, all the careful tending of rumours, she had achieved nothing at all. Instead of the shadows, she was in the limelight. And she hated and feared it in equal parts.

"Zank you so much for ze invitation to speak," she began, and then something in her took over, and all she could remember was sitting down later to polite applause from everyone in the Hall.

She had to get out of this place. She just had to.

* * *

 


	76. Returning to Freedom

**76 Returning to Freedom**

_Monday 14 September_

It was eight twenty six in the morning and the nine students who were being tested that week sat together in the Great Hall silently, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. They were as well prepared for the coming week as they could be; but examinations are formidable even to the best prepared, and each student was wondering just exactly what the day would bring. Some had eaten a hearty breakfast; nothing was going to put Ron Weasley off his food. Some had tea and toast; some couldn't face anything at all.

As Transfiguration was the first subject to be examined, it was no surprise to Professor Flitwick that all of them had that textbook open in front of them, doing the last-minute cramming that every student indulged in.

"Ready?" the Professor said, and they all looked up, startled, their faces showing their varying degrees of anxiety, before nodding. "Good!" he continued. "Follow me."

They stood quietly and made their way to the meeting room adjacent to the staff room, which they found was set up ready for them, with nine desks arranged in a three by three square. They took their seats, to find that in front of them was the exam paper, turned face down.

Flitwick surveyed them, waiting till they were all seated. "Very good," he beamed approvingly. It was always a delight to have well-behaved students, and the focus these nine students showed boded well for their performance.

"For the Transfiguration Theory paper, you have two hours. You may turn over the paper and begin."

* * *

Once the examinees had left the Great Hall, Headmistress McGonagall came over to the eighth year table.

"I know that you have revision today," she said without preamble, "but I do want to take ten minutes of your time. Could you all please meet in the library meeting room at nine o'clock?"

Intrigued, the students nodded, then went back to their breakfasts. This request was unprecedented. Just what did the Headmistress want? And why had she waited until the examinees had left before having this meeting?

Eva Thillin's mind was working overtime on this. She still could barely recall what she had said the previous evening – some saccharine guff about being an orphan and so 'keenly appreciating the feeling of family you 'ave developed 'ere' or some such rubbish – and just hoped that the Headmistress didn't intend to out her. For she was quite sure the Headmistress knew perfectly well the role Eva had played in the attack on Mr Potter.

But in the event there was no cause to worry. When they reached the meeting room, the Headmistress was there together with another woman well known to many of them.

"Mrs Weasley!" Seamus exclaimed. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Don't be cheeky," Molly replied, but the grin on her face belied the words. "I've come to invite you all to a party. Saturday is Hermione Granger's birthday, and her mother and I decided that the perfect thing to do was to have a combined birthday and break-up party. The Hogwarts Express is expected to have you back at King's Cross Station by three o'clock at the latest, so you are all invited to the Burrow for an evening party. We are hoping to keep this a surprise from Hermione, so the Grangers will pick her up from the station and occupy her until five o'clock. So we want you all please to be at the Burrow between four and four-thirty so we're all ready to surprise her. We will serve dinner at six and it should be all over by ten so you have the rest of the evening to go off and enjoy yourselves as you please."

"This is wonderful!" Madame Dubois said. "And it is true, we are all invited?"

"Oh yes, Madame," Molly replied. "Ron is aware that we're doing it and he will tell the other examinees. So I want you all to promise me you won't breathe a word; Margaret Granger and I are hoping it will be a total surprise for Hermione. We've planned to have an Australian-themed party. So come along dressed appropriately."

Everyone accepted the invitation, and promised not to tell. There was a general feeling of delight at the announcement though. Headmistress McGonagall was rather glad that the examinees would be sequestered away for most of the day; she was sure that if Hermione saw the excitement in their cohort she would know that something was up.

Even Eva's face was flushed with delight. Though for a different reason: now her fellow students had something else to talk about, to take their mind away from possibly thinking about her; and it just might provide a smoke-screen, if her plans came through. Oh yes, she thought with glee, this could work well!

* * *

As the week progressed, the eighth years found themselves in a new dynamic. The examinees were given lunch in a separate room, so that their concentration would not be interrupted by hordes of gabbling students. Though the teachers marveled at the focus their students had, at least until Robin pointed out that all of them knew the Prosecho spell and were presumably using it. During Wednesday's Defense practical exam, they were each quizzed about this and it was found that indeed they were all using it and were able to cast it to a high degree of proficiency. That, and the very impressive shield-work they all displayed, earned them enough bonus marks to guarantee that every student examined in Defense was given a grade of Outstanding. Well, every student except one.

Meanwhile, the students doing revision found that their study sessions were extremely worthwhile; the Professors generally adopted a question-and-answer format, but included example questions from the exams that were going on concurrently, which stimulated a great deal of discussion. Ivan Smetana was particularly impressed at the standard of the questions; he made his two students sit the exams as mock NEWTs and decided that even his charms hot-shot, Anderssen, would only have rated an Exceeds Expectations.

And of course there was a lot of chatter about the party; all of the girls were wondering just exactly what "Australian-themed" meant, and whether they had to wear bikinis. Millicent Bulstrode shuddered at the thought; while many of the other girls had the figures for it, there was no way she was going to be seen dead in such a state of undress!

* * *

It was Wednesday lunchtime before Eva got the letter she was so desperately waiting for. Like most of the letters that the visiting students received, it was delivered by one of the school owls; the Ministry had asked that letters go through them for co-ordination purposes, and then they were forwarded in bulk and redistributed at the school. So it wasn't the owl itself that surprised her: no, it was the fact that she got a letter. She never got letters!

She opened it and scanned it quickly. To her delight, it had exactly the offer she had hoped for, and all the instructions she would need. And the sender was obviously quite used to the need for clandestine communication: the letter was charmed to read like a quite innocent missive from a friendly uncle. Not that she had any uncles, that she knew of; but that was alright, he could be a newly-discovered relative. That would work.

"Eva!" Padma Patil, one of the few students who was still openly friendly with her, broke in on her thoughts, "you have a letter!"

"I do!" Eva replied, and the joy in her tone was entirely unforced. "It seems I 'ave a long-lost uncle!"

"Ooh!" Parvati exclaimed. "Can we see?"

"Of course!" Eva said, and passed the letter over. With Potter away being examined, she doubted that any of the students would be able to detect the charms on it; and indeed, the other girls showed no evidence of having cracked it; on the contrary, they just seemed to be happy for her.

"It is true, Eva?" Madame Dubois said.

"Yes, Madame," Eva replied demurely. "He 'opes I will be able to visit 'im next week during the vacation."

"Ah," the chaperone replied. "I suppose we will be able to arrange something like that."

"Zank you!" Eva said, her eyes bright. But she knew perfectly well that she couldn't wait that long. No, the French girls were all staying for the birthday party on Saturday; and it did not escape Eva's notice that that meant they would be in Britain while it was technically outside term time, and so they would not be covered by the visiting study arrangement. She was quite sure that this arrangement was the only reason she was still free. If these British Aurors knew what they were doing, and the evidence was that they did, she would be in custody long before the party even got going. But she had a plan; and now, with the letter, she had everything she needed to execute it: the contact in France, the route to get to him, and a most useful contact in the British Ministry to go through. Not to mention the fall girl she had just chosen here.

* * *

The Australian-themed party was causing consternation in other places besides Hogwarts. At Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was wracking her brains to think of some appropriate clothes to wear. She had been told about the hats with corks around them, to be sure; but there was no way she was going to be seen in such ridiculous garb!

In the end it was Lucius who had the great brainwave. He thought of a way that they could go dressed to the nines – which would definitely please his wife – and also fit in with the theme. There was only one slight snag: they needed certain accessories that he knew were only available from one shop.

And so it was that, on Thursday morning, Lucius Malfoy put on his bravest face and entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

George and Fred were absolutely delighted.

"Welcome, kind sir! / What brings you to our humble emporium?"

Lucius chuckled and decided to play along.

"Good morrow, kind gentlemen," he replied. "I come in search of such fine products as I know are only obtainable at this estimable establishment."

"And what products might these be, good sir?"

"I have it on good authority that you stock a most interesting range of headgear," Lucius replied.

"Ah!" Fred said, and led the aristocrat over to the appropriate part of the shop. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

It turned out that the twins didn't have exactly what he wanted; but that was all to the better, really, because they took some items that were close and adapted them, rather brilliantly Lucius thought. Which meant he left the shop knowing that the items he had were one-offs; the twins promised they wouldn't repeat them until after the party, so Narcissa's great fear, that someone else would dress identically to her, wasn't going to happen.

All in all, it was a good morning's work, and he left with a lightness in his step and a feeling that the price he paid in pride wasn't too high given the camaraderie it bought him. The twins were delighted, too; the news that Lucius Malfoy had visited their shop got noised abroad pretty quickly, and it definitely had value for them in encouraging other pure-bloods to come along and see what they might be missing out on. And it didn't hurt that he'd taken the hair-colouring spell in good part, and even left the shop still sporting bright blue hair.

* * *

Eva went to breakfast on Friday morning with a terrible cough. She sat next to Padma Patil, a perfect picture of misery.

"Eva?" Madame Dubois asked, worried for her charge. "Are you all right? Should you go to the 'ospital?"

"I am feeling unwell," she replied, her voice very croaky. "I think, per'aps Madame, I should return home a leetle early, if that is possible."

"I think that might be wise," the chaperone replied, "though it will be difficult – you will need to be accompanied."

"I will do that, Madame," Padma said, and Eva was delighted that her faith in the girl was well placed. She hadn't even needed any prompting.

"Very well," Dubois responded. "If you are still unwell at lunchtime, you may go."

* * *

One more exam, Harry thought. Just one more. Herbology was the last exam he had, and he was right glad of it. Hermione and Draco had been driving him insane – every spare moment outside the exam room seemed to have been taken up with study. The week had been a round of exams, hasty meals, books, study, scribbled notes, and pressure. He would be very glad to see the back of it; it was only the fact that it would soon be over that was keeping him going.

By the look of him, Ron wasn't faring much better, and he grinned encouragement at his friend.

"One to go," he said, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"Thank Merlin!" he said.

"Ron!" Hermione said. "These exams are important! Your whole future is ahead of you!"

"Yeah, we get that, Hermione," Neville cut in, his voice calm and all the more effective for it. "Doesn't mean we like it, or aren't happy it will be over. Now, let's get going; we can revise those notes about moonflowers if you want."

"Ooh, yes, I do want," Hermione replied, "I wasn't sure about where to find them …"

And with that, the examinees got up and headed for the meeting room.

One more, Harry thought. Just one.

* * *

Eva was no better at twelve o'clock, so she and Padma got Floo powder from Flitwick and Flooed out from the Green Room. To Padma's surprise, their destination was not Beauxbatons; they wound up in the Ministry, and Eva led them to a small office in the Administration section, where she knocked on the door.

"Come in!" a voice said cheerfully, and they entered to find Cornelius Fudge ready and waiting for them.

"Mr Fudge!" Padma said, her eyes going wide.

"Yes, my dear," he replied. "I am enchanted that you remember me."

"Padma has come with me from 'Ogwarts to make sure I am safe," Eva explained to Fudge, her voice sounding quite sore, then turned to Padma. "Mr Fudge has agreed to take me to Beauxbatons, so there is no need for you to leave Britain. Zank you so much for your assistance!"

"Oh," Padma said, "but I promised Madame I would see you to Beauxbatons! What will I tell her?"

"It weel not matter," Eva replied. "I will be quite safe with Monsieur Fudge. You can tell Madame you have seen me safely there from the Ministry, that will do."

"All right," Padma replied, then turned to Fudge. "Are you sure, Monsieur? You do not mind taking Eva?"

"Not at all," Fudge replied. "This young lady has been writing to me, and I feel she needs our full support and aid."

"Yes, zank you," Eva replied, a little anxious lest Padma show any interest in the ex-Minister's correspondence with her, "but we must not take up too much of your time. Shall we go? I am feeling unwell, and anxious to return to Beauxbatons."

"Yes, of course my dear. Unwell? I'm sorry to hear that," Fudge said as he bustled them out of his office and back to the bank of fireplaces. Eva was pleased when Fudge, with stuffy old-fashioned courtesy, insisted that Padma return to Hogwarts before he and Eva left for France; there would be no witnesses to what was to happen next.

Once Padma had gone, and before Fudge could react, Eva picked up some Floo powder, said "La Chétive Pécore", and all but pushed her companion through.

They arrived in a rather dingy room.

"This isn't Beauxbatons!" Fudge said breathily.

"Non, monsieur," Eva said, and her voice no longer sounded at all sore.

"You are in an 'ostelry in Marseille, and I 'ave the 'onour to be your 'ost," a voice said from behind him. Fudge turned to see the newcomer, an enormous man with a large bushy beard. "Gaston Gaspard, at your service," he said with a bow. "Welcome to La Chétive Pécore."

"Erm – well – I am Cornelius Fudge," Fudge replied nervously with a little bow of his own. "But I think there must be some mistake. I was escorting this young lady back to her school, the Beauxbatons Academy in Paris, and we seem to have got a little lost."

Gaston smiled, but the smile was not in any way reassuring.

"Oh, non, Monsieur, there is no mistake, I assure you. I 'ave invited Eva 'ere, and you are very kind to escort her. So I must insist that you accept my 'ospitality."

Fudge gulped. Somehow, he didn't feel that he was going to find the offer particularly hospitable. "Er, well, much as I admire your charming inn – what was it called?"

"La Chétive Pécore," Eva said again. "It means perhaps, 'the pitiful creature'. It is from a poem."

"A poem?" Fudge said, somewhat lost.

"Why yes, monsieur," Gaspard replied, "by the great French poet Jean de la Fontaine. Come, I will show you."

And Fudge found his shoulder clapped by a huge hand, and he was led into the bar proper, where there were drawings of frogs and bulls all around the room, and his host explained, as he set wine in front of him, "the poem is called 'La Grenouille qui veut se faire aussi grosse que le Boeuf', which translates as 'the frog who wanted to be as big as a bull', though of course it loses a little in the translation."

And whatever else the man said was a mystery to Fudge as he drank the – very potent – wine and remembered no more of his time in La Chétive Pécore.

* * *

Friday night's dinner was an extremely festive occasion for the eighth year students. For the examinees, there were no more exams, no more stress, no more extreme concentration brought on by the Prosecho charm, which helped wonderfully but left them all feeling drained. For the other eighth years, there were no more revision sessions. And all of them had the prospect of two weeks holiday coming up. As the students were all of age, Flitwick and McGonagall even allowed them to have wine with their meal, a circumstance which the French girls commented on favorably – for wine with meals was the rule at Beauxbatons.

The relief amongst the examinees was palpable; even Hermione was smiling now, though a couple of times she did wonder if perhaps she might have got a question wrong; but Ron shouted her down at once, and poured her another drink. Not that she was getting drunk; in view of her condition, Ron and Draco had found some sparkling grape juice and transfigured the bottles to look like wine bottles, so she and Pansy could drink these quite safely without having anyone the wiser.

By the end of the meal, everyone was feeling quite jolly. The absence of Eva Thillin was remarked on; but Padma assured them that the girl was all right, she had escorted her away earlier that day and she would be recovering in the Beauxbatons infirmary by now. And perhaps it was uncharitable of them, but it must be said that nobody particularly missed her.

* * *

Draco made a point of taking Harry to bed early that night, and they lay together cuddling for a long time, dressed only in their boxers.

"I'm sorry," Draco said at last.

Harry, who had almost been asleep under his fiancé's ministrations, shuddered awake and looked over at him, startled.

"Sorry?" he echoed. "What for?"

"Well, I recognise that Hermione and I have been awful this week," Draco acknowledged, a guilty look on his face. " We kind of got all wound up in study and books and exams. And the Prosecho spell is wonderful for focus, but I feel that I forgot how special you are. How grateful I am to be here, free and with friends, instead of lonely, rotting away in Azkaban. And most of all I'd lost sight of how much I enjoy just spending time with you, alone."

Harry chuckled, shuffling over a little so that he could embrace his fiancé. "That's all right, I understand." He had kind of expected both Draco and Hermione's behaviour and certainly knew better than to take it personally. "Anyway, we're alone now …"

"So we are," Draco drawled, and smirked as he propped himself up on one elbow. "So, how do you think you went in the exams then?"

"RIGHT!" Harry said, and attacked his lover with tickling fingers. Draco hadn't been expecting this, and let out a rather shrill shriek of protest, which Harry silenced by the simple expedient of claiming his lover's lips in a kiss.

"Apology accepted," Harry said, once they broke off for air, then kissed again, slow and sensuous this time. Draco moaned in pleasure at that, and they soon found themselves drifting off to a contented sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

_Saturday 19 September_

The following morning, Hermione woke up with a start. Something was wrong; it took her a few seconds to realise that she was in Ron's bed, but he wasn't cuddled next to her. She pouted when she worked it out; waking up with him holding her was one of her favourite things. But then all was forgiven as she felt his strong hands massaging her feet, something she particularly loved, especially since falling pregnant.

"Good morning, my love," Ron said, pausing in his efforts just long enough to hand her a small wrapped parcel.

"What's this for?" she asked, stifling a small moan of pleasure when Ron dug his finger into a particularly tight knot in her foot.

"Happy birthday," he replied with a grin, looking decidedly pleased with himself, and Hermione's mouth made a perfect 'O'. With all the focus on the exams and the wedding coming up, it had completely slipped her mind that of course today was her birthday.

"Oh," she said. "Um, thanks," and then she unwrapped the parcel. Inside was a rather lovely silver necklace with a small koala on it.

"Do you like it?" Ron asked diffidently, moving up the bed to sit next to her. "I bought it while we were in Sydney."

"It's lovely," Hermione said as she put the necklace on, Ron helping her with the fastening. "Now, where's my happy birthday kiss?"

Ron Weasley was not often early to breakfast; though he loved his food, he loved his sleep just as much. But today his tardiness had a different cause …

* * *

As this was an official Hogwarts break, the Hogwarts Express ran to take the students back to London; and during the trip Hermione discovered that, though she had forgotten her birthday, her peers had not; everyone wished her a happy day, and she received lots of little presents. It was obvious that they had all been in cahoots; many of the present were small sliver Australian animals that were charmed to happily climb her necklace and grip onto it, so by the time they arrived at King's Cross Station there was hardly any unoccupied chain visible. It was obviously a gift, or set of gifts, that a great deal of thought had gone into, and she absolutely loved it.

The Hogwarts Express made good time, and they arrived at the station a little after half-past two to find Margaret Granger waiting on the platform. The dentist explained that the Weasleys were rather busy today and so the Grangers had volunteered to pick both Hermione and Ron up from the station and take them out to a late birthday lunch.

"Where is Miriam?" Hermione asked, disappointed that her little sister was not there to meet her.

"Ah," Margaret said with an apologetic look as she led them out to Peter Granger, who was waiting in the car, "Miriam gave us a little problem. You see, both your Dad and I had full lists in our surgeries this morning, and Miriam went to play with her best friend Teddy, which happens most Saturday mornings now; when we went round to Andromeda's to pick her up, she threw a tantrum, and Andromeda insisted we could leave her with them. So she's still there. But we thought it would give us a chance to have a pleasant meal with you two, and then we can pick her up on the way to dropping Ron off at the Burrow."

"Oh," Hermione said, a little deflated as they finished stowing trunks and got into the car. "I was rather hoping that Ron could stay with us."

"I'm sure his mother misses him, dear, and will want him home," Margaret said, firmly, and Hermione knew there would be no arguing on the point. "Now," her mother continued, brightening, "your father has found a lovely Italian café to eat at, and they're open all afternoon, so we thought we'd go there."

In the event it was a little after four that they arrived at Andromeda's house to pick up Miriam. Naturally, Andromeda offered them tea; and, though Margaret was worried about trespassing on Andromeda's hospitality, she also knew they probably needed to kill about twenty minutes, so reluctantly accepted.

"Thank you so much for looking after her!" she said when they were settled comfortably, and the two children were sprawled on a rug together, cooing happily at each other.

"Of course," Andromeda said. "She was no trouble; in fact, Teddy is much easier to manage with her here."

"Dee?" Miriam asked, having heard the name mentioned; and then, when she didn't get a response quickly enough, started rocking and shouting, "Dee! Dee!"

All at once, Miriam levitated into the air, and, spying her friend, yelled happily, "Dee!" as she turned in the air and floated down next to him.

"What was that?" Margaret and Peter asked together, stunned.

"Wow!" Ron said at the same time. "Accidental magic!"

"It seems, Margaret," Andromeda said calmly, "that you have two witches in the family. More tea?"

* * *

Robin Banks was more than a little annoyed. He and Dandelus Crockford had been part of a group of Aurors who met the train, intending to take Eva Thillin into custody; but instead, they had been met by a very surprised Madame Dubois.

"I am zorry," she said, when they explained who they wanted, "but Eva was ill yesterday and so 'as returned to Beauxbatons early."

"I see," Crockford said, quite obviously keeping a leash on his anger, with some difficulty. "And you did not think to tell us?"

"But no," the Frenchwoman replied, drawing herself up to her full height. "I did not think I was required to inform you of our movements."

Robin groaned inwardly. Crockford might be a lot better to work with than he had been, but courtesy was still not his strong suit. With the Frenchwoman's fiery temper added in, he knew he needed to stop this before it became a major incident.

"Well, never mind," he said out loud. "Did she return alone, or was she accompanied?"

"Of **course** she was accompanied!" Dubois returned, evidently scandalised that the Auror might think otherwise. "Mademoiselle Padma Patil went with her. Padma!" she called.

The girl came forward, a little concerned to see a group of Aurors talking to her chaperone.

"Yes, Madame?" she said.

"These gentlemen are interested to know what happened with Eva. Will you please confirm for them that you and Eva returned to Beauxbatons yesterday?"

Padma looked very sheepish.

"Actually, Madame," she confessed, "that's not exactly what happened."

"Non?" the chaperone replied sharply.

"No," Padma said, and took a deep breath. "Eva took us both to the Ministry of Magic, where we met up with the old Minister – Mr Fudge? Is that right?"

"Yes," Crockford replied, "that's right. And what happened when you met up with him?"

"We chatted, and Mr Fudge explained that he was going to take Eva on, so that I didn't have to leave the country. Then I returned to Hogwarts, and he took Eva on." Padma then looked at them wide-eyed as she realised that there must be something big going on for the Aurors to be involved. "Did I do something wrong? She is all right, isn't she?"

"As far as we know, nothing is wrong, Miss," Crockford replied blandly. "But we are anxious to get hold of the lady as soon as we can. Thank you for your help. We'll continue our enquiries at the Paris end."

With that, they left the poor unfortunate Padma to face the wrath of Madame Dubois, who was most unhappy not to have known the whole story, and made sure that Padma knew it as the party of French school girls made their way to their rooms at the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Somehow, the Grangers managed to get Miriam distracted long enough to get her away from Teddy and out of the house, and so it was that their car drew up at the Burrow just before five. So far, Hermione hadn't suspected a thing; but as they got out of the car and retrieved Ron's trunk, she looked around, pensively.

"Something's wrong," she said.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Too quiet," she replied as they walked up the path towards the kitchen door. And then Ron didn't go in, walking through to the back garden, and Hermione followed him obliviously …

"SURPRISE!" came a huge cry as the notice-me-not and silencing charms that Molly and Arthur had used failed, and a huge crowd was revealed gathered in the back garden waiting for her.

Hermione put her hands to her mouth. She had wondered if they were going to do something this evening, but had expected it would be just the family; this, this was incredible.

* * *

Hermione was amazed that all her friends had turned up. To Miriam's delight, even Andy and Teddy were there, having got changed into party clothes as soon as they left and travelled to the Burrow through the Floo. She wandered around the garden, which had a marquee up, with the usual bellflowers courtesy of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, though Neville did admit that he didn't grow these ones – 'and really, when would he have had time?' she thought to herself.

And it wasn't just her close friends. All of the eighth year students were there, except Eva Thillin who had gone off sick the day before. That was truly remarkable in itself – they had all known this was happening, and no-one had told her. Of course, it helped that she had been so focused on exams that she'd hardly said a word to anyone all week; and that thought made her feel a little guilty.

"You do not look happy?" she was asked, and turned to see Anders Anderssen looking at her with concern.

"Oh!" she replied with a deprecating laugh. "No, sorry, just thinking how unsociable I've been - I haven't really talked to anyone this week!"

"Well," the youth replied with a shy smile, "perhaps tonight you could remedy that?"

Hermione laughed. "Good point," she said, leading him to a nearby table and chairs. "So tell me, what will you be doing over the two week break?"

* * *

The evening went on happily, with much talking and laughter. Margaret was delighted to see that her daughter, usually happier with books than people, was clearly making an effort to talk to people, and quite obviously enjoying herself. She had been a little worried when they were organising the party that Hermione would find so much attention unfamiliar and overwhelming; but that wasn't the case. It helped that the people there were all so lovely: the students happily talked and joked with her, and she found herself explaining dentistry in some depth more than once, as the magical folk here showed a genuine and quite endearing interest in all things "muggle".

Molly's food was magnificent, as ever; and the wine flowed freely, courtesy of Peter Granger, and there was music and dancing, and sitting around in small groups, and generally getting along with friends, reconnecting with family, and the relaxed feeling that now, at last, term was really over, and there was no school for a fortnight for many of them; while the examinees may well only have their projects to complete. Of course, four of the students had a wedding to prepare for; but that thought could wait.

Most of the guests were wearing the Sydney uniform of t-shirt, shorts and that weird flip-flop footwear that the Australians (to the embarrassment and amusement of American tourists, who use the word for other garments) call 'thongs'. But some of them had gone to some trouble with their costumes: Fred, George, Neville and Angelina were dressed as a mob of red kangaroos, which was quite a hoot as they had pouches where they had stored prank items and would happily hop up to a random guest and shower them in some of their special powder, changing skin and hair colour. At first, Hermione was worried that people might take offense; but, as Ron pointed out when she commented on it to him, they were very careful to choose their victims. So, Seamus ended up with green, white and orange hair again, and only laughed; while the French girls, always concerned about their appearance, were left alone.

As far as costumes went, there was no doubting who the best-dressed couple were. Lucius and Narcissa had come as Australian birds, using two of the twins' hats to do it: Lucius was dressed as a sulphur-crested cockatoo, in a beautiful white suit, with frock-coat spelled to look like wings, and a headdress that incorporated the necessary plumage, and made the frightful noises that were associated with the bird; while Narcissa, resplendent in a beautiful black ball-gown, again spelled with feathers and a train that frothed up behind her, looked for all the world like a black swan, her hat incorporating the long neck and red beak that those birds have.

The effect, both the individual costumes and the contrast between the two, was absolutely stunning and Hermione was bowled over at the thought and effort that the two had put into their attire, and said so to them.

"Of course, my dear, it was a pleasure to have such a lovely event to attend!" Narcissa replied.

There was no immediate answer to that, so Hermione asked if they had got their hats at the twins' shop.

"Oh yes!" Narcissa replied. "Lucius visited their shop on Thursday. From what he tells me, it is a most wonderful place. I shall have to go and see for myself. Though I do hope they will take pity on me; Lucius came home with blue hair, which didn't really suit him and certainly wouldn't suit me!"

After a little more small-talk, Ginny, home specially for the party, came up to her, with a young man Hermione didn't at first recognise.

"Happy birthday!" Ginny said, kissing her. "You remember Dudley, from Harry's party?"

Hermione looked closely at the man Ginny was with.

"Dudley?" she asked. "Oh, of course, you're Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin."

"Um, no, not any more," the lad replied. "I mean, I'm still his cousin, but I'm Dudley Potter now. As a Dursley, I was horrible to him, but he's given me his forgiveness and another chance. I hope you don't mind that I've gate-crashed your party; but Harry said I should come tonight, even though it's your party, because I really am part of the family and he wanted me here."

"No, it's great that you're here," she said, and surprised him with a big hug. "Have you met everyone?"

And so saying, she joined Ginny in taking him round and making sure he was looked after.

* * *

A little later, Hermione sought out one particular friend.

"Harry," she said, when she had found him, in the company of Draco, Padma and the other visiting students, "I just wanted to say, thank you so very very much," and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Um, thanks," Harry said, dumbfounded. "But what for, exactly?"

"Being you," Hermione replied. "Being the incredible man who has drawn all of these people together."

And when it was clear that he didn't get it, she continued, "For being the man who has, without even trying, got the pure-blood snobby Malfoys to attend a party for a Mud blood at the home of blood-traitors; and have them enjoying themselves. For being the man who still wanted the cousin who tormented him to be part of the family. For taking these people who were at one another's throats, and drawing them together as a family. Seeing them here, seeing them bother to dress up, knowing that Lucius braved the twins to get the hats they needed, that's the most amazing birthday present I could have."

"Yeah, it is something, I guess," said Harry, blushing. "We really are becoming one big family, aren't we?"

And then, as she spotted Ginny deep in conversation with Angelique and Blaise, it occurred to him that one family member was missing.

"Where's Robin?" he asked.

As if summoned by the question, the man himself came out the back door, dressed in Auror robes, his face like flint.

"Oh!" Padma exclaimed, rushing over to him. "Have you found Eva? Has something happened?"

"Yes," he replied. "We have found Eva. And Fudge. As far as we know, Miss Patil, your friend is all right; but something has most definitely happened."

Robin looked over to Arthur Weasley, and signaled to him to come over. Then Padma, Madame Dubois, Arthur, Harry, and Draco went inside for a conference with Robin, where he explained what the Aurors had discovered: Eva Thillin had not returned to Beauxbatons at all. She had, in fact, disappeared. Late that afternoon, Fudge had arrived at St Mungo's, and was very much the worse for wear, and was now installed in the Janus Thickey Ward, the ward for patients with permanent spell damage.

"He's been hexed and obliviated," Robin explained. "He only seems to be able to say one thing, and that's mumbled, but the healers are pretty sure it's 'La Chétive Pécore'"

"What's that?" Draco asked.

"It's the name of an inn in Marseille," Robin replied. "An inn with definite connections to the Marseille magical underworld."

"Oh no!" Padma exclaimed. "Poor Eva!"

Robin snorted. "I don't think so," he said, though not unkindly. "No, we believe Eva set it up. She was the one who got the fake galleons to Hogwarts, the ones used in the attack on Harry; we were going to arrest her this afternoon when the train pulled in. No, I think she's seen the writing on the wall, and skipped."

"Do you think we'll see her again?" Harry asked.

"Doubtful," Robin replied, with a sigh. "She's a wanted person now; if she shows her face in France, they'll nab her straight away. Anyway, now that I've told you all the news, I can go off duty. I've had quite enough of Eva Thillin for today; let's party!"

As the group made their way back outside, Fred came up to them.

"Oh good, I was worried the Ministry had nabbed Dad again," he said. "Come and get a drink, the babies have gone to bed and we've put Silencing charms so we won't disturb them; it's time for the fireworks!"

"Ooh!" Padma exclaimed. "Are we having fireworks?"

Of course they were having fireworks! There were bursts of colour, and light; and, just as people were settling down, expecting the usual starbursts and rockets to follow, the twins produced two amazing set-pieces especially in Hermione's honour.

Firstly, a strange blob of grey smoke appeared, then took on the form of a mountain troll, and Hermione clapped her hands in enjoyment at the twin's rendition of the scene from her first year at Hogwarts, the time when she had been trapped by a troll, the time she dated her real friendship with Harry and Ron from. There was even a rocket that streamed into the blob, dispersing it, and it did look a bit like Harry's wand which had gone up the troll's nostril.

There was much applause; and just as it was beginning to die down, another bang announced the second scene, as a green cloud formed itself into a dragon, with what was recognizably three people riding it, reminding them of their ride on the dragon earlier that year.

Hermione hugged and kissed the twins, thanking them for their amazing display. And then she went and sought out three very special mothers, thanking Molly and Narcissa and her own mother for organising the event.

"It's been a wonderful evening," she said, tears of joy streaming down her face as she hugged each of these special women. "As Harry said, we really are becoming one big family."

And each of the ladies happily agreed with her, and shooed her away as a dance floor and DJ seemed to appear from nowhere, as if by magic, and the unsociable bookworm, free from worrying and stressing about schoolwork, or exams, lost herself in enjoyment amongst friends, as they danced the night away.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**   
>  _Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions._
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> _**Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook. _
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> _**Thanks:** To all who subscribe! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and slices of Hermione's birthday cake to those who commented on chapter 75. I hope that you can forgive me for letting Eva get away!_
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	77. Returns for Effort

**77 Returns For Effort**

_Sunday 20 September_

Harry dreamed …

" _TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!_

" _I thought you ought to know …"_

_As he watched on helplessly, the body of Professor Quirrell slumped to the floor, then seemed to disintegrate as black smoke came billowing out of him, curling around Harry as the scene changed to the room where he had found the Philosopher's Stone in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago. Once again he saw Quirrell's death agony as he burned at Harry's touch, and the smoke became the smoke from the burning, and billowed out in the shape of arms reaching out to Harry._

_For a moment, the sheer terror of the memory overtook him, and he began to scream in pain as the smoke touched him; then, abruptly, the whole scene vanished from his view, replaced by ribbons of silver wrapping themselves around him, and Harry drifted back into peaceful, comforted, undisturbed sleep, never seeing the form of Professor Quirrell seeming to rise from the floor and watch him with kindly eyes …_

* * *

Harry woke early the next morning to find himself wrapped in a lovely warm snuggly Draco Malfoy. And the covers of his bed at the Burrow as well; for they had spent the night in their room at the Burrow so as not to have to travel anywhere after the party. He lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of his sleeping fiancé, once more feeling the delicious sensation of being loved it gave him every time he woke up in Draco's arms.

There was something niggling him; some half-memory in the back of his mind. A picture of Hogwarts … And then he remembered: no doubt prompted by the troll firework, he had dreamt of Quirrell, and he shivered at the memory. But, unlike his earlier nightmares, he had not woken up, nor did he feel any residual pain or fear. Well, that was good; proof that he really was healing, if not healed.

Eventually, he decided that he really did have to get up, and that he should do so before he desperately needed to; so carefully, gently, he extracted himself from his own personal octopus and slid out of the bed, taking care to leave Draco wrapped in the covers so as not to wake him. He visited the en-suite and had a quick shower and got dressed before wandering out. He rather felt he could smell bacon; and, if he was not mistaken, there were also the happy sounds made by a small baby boy who would no doubt be pleased to see him.

As he entered the front room, he found that he was right: Teddy and Miriam, who had evidently stayed the night as well, were gurgling happily together. Harry wasn't entirely surprised to see that they were being supervised by Kreacher; the crotchety old house-elf seemed to have taken quite a shine to the two babies.

"Ry! Ry!" the little metamorphmagus shouted as soon as he caught sight of his godfather.

"Good morning Teddy Bear!" Harry said as he scooped up the little boy and proceeded to kiss him as he shrieked with delight at the attention.

"Good morning, Harry, dear," Molly Weasley said with an indulgent smile as she watched from the kitchen as he blew raspberries on his godson's bare belly. "You're up early. Are you ready for some breakfast?"

Harry set Teddy back down next to Miriam and wandered into the kitchen, to find mountains of bacon and eggs and toast obviously prepared ready for the onslaught of the Weasley horde.

"Actually," Harry said, "do you mind if I take Draco breakfast in bed?"

Molly smiled at him. "What a lovely idea!" she replied. "Of course I don't mind!"

* * *

Draco woke early – for him – on Sunday morning to find that Harry was not there. He had a moment of confusion as he thought something had happened in the night but couldn't quite remember it; and also, of course, he was in an unusual bed; and then he remembered that of course they had stayed at the Burrow. He lay in bed and stared at the canopy above him. The Prewitt bed that Molly had given them really was very lovely, he thought, and he was glad that Harry had not complained about the dark green hangings that Draco had chosen for it.

He was just thinking about getting up when the door opened, and the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafted in as a heavily-laden tray floated through the door and across the bed to him.

"I hope you're hungry, love!" Harry said as he came in, following an equally full tray. "Molly thinks we don't eat enough and insisted I take enough for four!"

Draco chuckled. It was, he thought, really very sweet that the Weasley matriarch was being so maternal about a Malfoy, as he attacked his breakfast with gusto.

* * *

After breakfast, Draco Floo-called his mother to check if they were needed for anything.

"Of course not, dear," she replied. "You just enjoy yourself. Though I imagine there is plenty of cleaning up to do there; will we see you for dinner?"

Draco happily agreed; and then it was all hands on deck to clean up after the party. Happily, there were plenty of helpers: Bill and Fleur turned up from Shell Cottage; Fred and George had shut the shop for the morning, and they, Neville and Angelina were all there; Robin and Ginny Flooed in as he was not on duty and she only had Quidditch practice in the afternoon; so Ron, Hermione, Draco and Harry, who had all stayed the night, had no qualms ordering Andy, Peter and Margaret Granger and Molly and Arthur to sit down and let the younger generation sort things out. By morning tea time the house was back to rights and an impromptu game of four-a-side Quidditch started up, which lasted until Molly yelled at them all to come and get their lunch.

Over lunch, which Harry found quite a challenge as Teddy insisted on sitting on his lap the whole time, conversation naturally turned to what they were going to be doing for the next week.

"What," Hermione asked archly, "you mean, apart from getting ready to get married?"

"Oh!" Harry said, flustered. "Erm – what do we have to do for that? There must be a million things we have to organise!"

"You stop that fretting, young man, and eat your lunch," Molly said, passing him a dish of potato bake and glaring at him until he had taken what she regarded as a reasonable sized portion. It was a good thing that the dish had cooled somewhat while on the table, because Teddy immediately dug his fingers into it and had great fun squishing the creamy potatoes.

"Everything is well in hand, Harry," Margaret continued while Molly supervised the potato distribution. "Narcissa has been amazingly organised and Molly and I seem to have hardly done anything. The Pavilion is all set up ready to go, and all the decorations for the Manor are already prepared. We're all going to be there on Friday to set things up. So really, you can just relax."

Seeing that Harry still looked a bit unsure about this, Draco added, "when I spoke to mother this morning, she told me she didn't need any help. Oh, and we're invited for dinner."

"Lovely," Harry replied. "No, Teddy, don't get potato in your hair, love."

* * *

When the boys got to the Manor at about five o'clock, they found that Lucius and Narcissa had another visitor.

"Dudders!" Harry said excitedly as he saw his cousin, and gave him a big hug.

Dudley looked rather sheepish; it was still astonishing to him that Harry wanted anything to do with him, and the fact that he was so warmly welcomed not only by his cousin but by the whole family took his breath away. Indeed, he was at the Manor because Lucius and Narcissa had prevailed upon him to stay after Hermione's party.

"Thanks, Harry," he said quietly as Harry let go of him.

"You all right, Big D?" Harry asked, concerned; Dudley was not often quiet, in his experience.

"Yeah," Dudley replied, smiling at the nickname. Not so big nowadays, though, he thought. "It's just … Look, I was talking to Draco's mum last night about how it's hard to get any study done 'cos everyone's still partying after the Orientation Week we had and the Hall is full of noise; so she just told me to come here, and Lucius gave me a little office I've been working in today and …"

Here Dudley took a deep breath as emotion threatened to overwhelm him; then continued, "I still feel like I treated you like crap all your life, and now I'm being given so much kindness, it's just … when is the other shoe going to drop, I guess?"

"Yeah, I understand," Harry said. "But you're family now."

And that was that. Dudley felt it would be a bit churlish to point out that they had been family all along. After all, while he, Petunia and Vernon had technically been family to Harry for all those years, they certainly hadn't treated him as such. No, Harry was right: they were family now, but hadn't really been before. The complete forgiveness he received from Harry and the general warmth he felt from Harry and all the Malfoys had really changed his whole perspective on what family meant. They didn't say much more; there wasn't really anything else to be said.

* * *

Over a very pleasant dinner, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming nuptials.

"So Harry," Dudley asked, a little apprehensively, "is there anything I need to do for your wedding? You still want me to be best man, right?"

"Of course I do," Harry replied. "And no, not really; we will be having a run through on Friday afternoon if you can make it."

"Yeah, that's fine," Dudley replied. "Um, do you want me to organise a stag night?"

Lucius looked at him interestedly. "A stag night, Dudley? What exactly is that?"

Dudley went rather red at the prospect of explaining the concept of a stag night to the groom's future father-in-law.

"Um, in our world it's a party that you have before the wedding to celebrate the groom's last few days of being single."

"What a charming custom," Lucius said. "You must tell me more."

And so Dudley, calming down at the easy acceptance he received from Lucius, started explaining stag nights he had heard of, and even one that he had been on a year ago, for the elder brother of one of his classmates at Smeltings, when they had had to sneak out and almost got caught sneaking back in by a prefect.

After dinner, Kreacher apparated Dudley back to Swansea, and Harry and Draco decided to spend the night at the Manor. As they got ready for bed, Draco noticed that Harry was grinning like a loon, and so asked about it.

"Oh," Harry replied, "it's just … Draco, does it occur to you how bizarre this all is?"

"Bizarre?" Draco asked, looking a bit lost.

"Yeah," Harry continued. "I mean, think about us at dinner: we had pureblood you, engaged to me, a half-blood raised by Muggles, and my Muggle cousin; and your father, the uber-pureblood, didn't bat an eyelid. If someone said a year ago this would happen…"

"… I'd have thought they were out of their mind," Draco continued. "You're right."

"Not to mention that Kreacher has really come out of his shell," Harry replied, as he got into bed. "He seems really taken with both Teddy and Dudley."

"I think he's got back into the groove of having a decent master to serve," Draco replied, getting into bed himself and scooting over to his lover. Harry realised that of course Draco would understand house elves very well, having been brought up with them. "House elves go all funny if they haven't got anything to do, and of course he had years with just Aunt Berga's portrait, followed by Sirius, who was horrible to him, by all accounts."

"He certainly was," Harry replied, remembering his godfather's interactions with the little elf. "Sirius hated him, and the feeling was mutual. But Hermione has this mantra about 'kindness and understanding' that we try to stick to."

"I think you do very well," Draco replied. "And the fact that you're on the winning side, and keeping him in service, counts for a lot. House-elves like to feel that they are serving great, and good, masters, and I can see that Kreacher really thinks so. He's accepted you as the Black heir. And now that Dudley is a Potter, Kreacher's going to see him as part of the Black family too; and your love for Teddy has obviously overcome the fact that Andromeda was disinherited."

"Hmm," said Harry, a thought occurring to him. "Can I undisinherit her?"

Draco snorted at Harry's made-up word. "You can reinstate her to the family, yes," he replied. "I'm not sure what effect it would have, other than symbolic, but you could discuss it with her."

"Alright," said Harry, yawning as he settled down to go to sleep. "Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Harry," the blond replied, and they lay together quietly for a few moments.

"Oh, another thing," Harry said, all of a sudden, as a thought flashed through his head. "When did your father get his office in London? I mean, he always hated Muggles?"

"I believe that was just after we got together," Draco replied, after he spent a few seconds thinking about just how much to share, and deciding that he might as well get it all out there. "He was being approached by the Ministry to help with reconstruction; and I think he got wind of the Dursleys about the same time, so decided to go after them. So really, his actions weren't entirely altruistic. Don't tell him I said that."

Harry chuckled. "Of course not. To both statements. Sleep well"

And this time they did indeed sleep.

* * *

_Monday 21 September_

Once more, Harry dreamed.

_Again, there was black smoke, curling around, billowing huge, without any real shape until it suddenly became a familiar and horrible form – the basilisk that he had faced in his second year at Hogwarts._

_He blinked and looked around. He was inside a large cavern; as he watched, it took form slowly until it was recognisably the Chamber of Secrets. He could see the hideous statue of Salazar Slytherin, and the prostrate form that he knew must be Ginny Weasley; and there, finally taking shape, was Tom Marvolo Riddle._

" _I'm not afraid of you," Harry heard himself saying to the other boy. "Or of your basilisk. You're only illusions."_

" _Do you really think so, Harry?" the boy answered._

_And then the strangest thing happened. As he watched, both the boy and the basilisk were bound up in ribbons of light; but unlike before these were red ribbons, not silver._

" _It's alright, Harry," he heard a voice say, and even as he listened, both Tom and the huge snake started to disappear. But there was something odd about it. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; but somehow it just felt different to all of his other nightmares._

_And then the whole scene disappeared in a burst of silver light, and he knew no more._

* * *

Once again, Harry woke to find Draco wrapped around him. This time, there was no Teddy Lupin to distract him, so he happily remained in bed, cuddling his fiancé who was showing no sign of getting up any time soon.

"Mmm," Draco said, enjoying the feel of Harry cuddling him and stroking his hair. "That's nice."

"Morning, love," Harry said softly. "How did you sleep?"

"OK," he replied. "Except …"

His brow furrowed, and he looked up at Harry concernedly.

"There was a moment in the night …" he began, then stopped, seeing a strange expression on Harry's face.

"Harry, did you have another nightmare last night?"

"Er, yeah," his Raven replied.

"And you had one the night before, didn't you?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said again, looking decidedly sheepish.

It was clear to Draco that Harry knew he should have talked about it, so there was no point in scolding him. Instead, Draco used his softest, most encouraging tone, and asked, "tell me about them?"

Harry, grateful not to be chewed out though he deserved it, explained, as carefully as he could, the two nightmares. And naturally Draco asked him for all the context, so he explained all about the tasks they had had to go through in first year to get to the Philosopher's Stone; and the business of Slytherin's heir and dealing with the basilisk in second year. By the time he had finished, Draco was looking amazed.

"Goodness," the blond said when it was all explained, "you really had a much more exciting time than we realised!"

"Yeah," Harry replied, "because dealing with trolls and madmen in turbans and sixty foot snakes and madmen in diaries is really exciting."

"Point," Draco acknowledged. "Anyway, is there a pattern here? You've just had two nightmares about Voldemort, right?"

"Right," said Harry, cottoning on. "You think that's going to continue?"

"Seems like a possibility," Draco replied. "But I guess there's not much we can do about it; and it doesn't seem to be particularly bothering you, so maybe we'll just expect – what would be next?"

Harry shuddered. "The next time I saw Voldemort was in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, after the Triwizard Tournament."

Draco looked aghast. "That was real?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and, close to tears, went on to discuss the death of Cedric Diggory, and duel that he and Voldemort had had.

At about nine o'clock, Dippy popped in, to find the two boys still lounging around in bed, Draco soothing a still emotional Harry..

"Yes, Dippy?" Harry asked, and was amused to see that the poor creature was beside herself with joy that he had remembered her name.

"Mistress Narcissa is asking if the two young Masters is wanting breakfast?"

"Hmm?" Draco said, suddenly coming awake and sitting up. "Of course we want breakfast! Kippers, please." And with that, the Malfoy heir lay down again.

Dippy looked a lot less happy with this answer.

"Mistress is insisting that the young Masters is to be eating in the garden with the Master and the Mistress!" she said forlornly.

"Oh," Draco groaned, sitting up again. "really? Do we have to?" The little elf shook her head violently, so he went on, "all right, Dippy, tell her we'll be there in half an hour."

"Yes, Master Draco!" Dippy replied, evidently relieved to be going back with such news as she vanished with a pop.

"Bother!" Draco said as soon as the elf had left. "I'm sorry, Mother does get these bees in her bonnet every now and then about doing things in the proper pure-blood way."

"It's all right, Dragon; at least it's outside and not in the formal dining room," Harry replied.

"That's the spirit!" Draco said with a chuckle.. "Look on the not-quite-so-dull-side."

* * *

Over breakfast, Narcissa naturally asked how they had slept; and Harry explained that he had had the nightmare, at which both older Malfoys looked concerned.

"These colours are very interesting," Lucius said. "You still think the silver is Draco?"

"Yes," Harry said, "but the red is anyone's guess. There's something familiar about it, I'm sure; but I can't place it."

"And you think it's important?" Narcissa asked.

"Sure of it," Harry replied. "I believe it's something to do with the mordant."

"Remind me what that is, again?" Narcissa asked.

"Oh," Harry said, "well, you remember that we have an endurant Haussmann shield?"

Narcissa nodded. "Meaning it's permanent, right?"

"That's right, as opposed to a one-time thing. Well, everything we could find in the literature says that it needs a third agent to be endurant; and we're pretty sure that the red light symbolises that agent."

"Do you think it's a living person?" Narcissa asked.

"Everything we could find in books talked about a third living person," Harry replied. "I did wonder at one stage if it might be Ron Weasley. But I don't think so, really. No, I get the feeling that it's got something to do with all that stuff from Bill's map – you know, the Sphere of Intangible Presence and so on. I think it's someone from there."

"I agree," Draco said. "I've been wondering if it's Severus. After all, he was my godfather; and he was always concerned for you, even if he had a funny way of showing it."

"It's possible, I suppose," Harry replied slowly.

"But not if it has to be a third living person," Lucius chimed in. "Isn't all this stuff about the Spheres a bit fanciful? Severus is dead and buried."

"Yes, but Fred was dead, too," Draco replied crisply.

"That," Harry said, "is a good point. I'm pretty sure the Resurrection Stone had something to do with that …" he continued, trailing off into his own thoughts.

"Is that the object you put in your pocket when were all together at Hogwarts just after the war?" Narcissa asked.

"Oh!" Harry said. "You noticed! Um, yes, it was. But please don't tell anyone I've got it. It's really dangerous. Maybe I should get rid of it. I dropped it once before, but the Elder wand summoned it back to me when I was restoring Draco's magic …"

Again Harry's voice petered out, this time more from embarrassment than wistful memory, Draco suspected; but Lucius saved him from needing to think of something to say.

"I would say, Harry," the older man broke in gently, "that in that case you should keep it. After all, this way you know where it is, and that no-one else can misuse it."

"That's true," Harry agreed, brightening a little.

"Now," Narcissa said briskly, deciding that a change of subject was in order, "do you boys have any thoughts on how you're going to spend this week?"

"Um, not really," Harry replied. "Do you need us to help out with the preparations?"

"No, not at all," Narcissa replied, waving her hand to indicate that this would be no trouble at all. "The only thing that you need to do before Friday is to have a fitting for your robes; we have arranged an appointment with Twilfitt and Tattings at eleven this morning. But after that you might want to make yourselves scarce until Friday afternoon's rehearsal so you don't see things and spoil the surprise."

"Well, perhaps, in that case, we should spend the rest of the week at Grimmauld Place?" Draco suggested.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a grin. "We could just hang around and invite friends around and just relax. Oh, and the twins told us to call round at the shop whenever we want. Maybe we could go there after the fitting."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Draco asked, remembering the tale his mother had told him about Lucius's foray into the shop.

"I think that would do you the world of good," Narcissa replied, smirking at her husband.

Lucius just groaned. Blue hair had been quite a sacrifice of dignity. But the twins would keep …

* * *

To Harry's great surprise, the fitting took an hour and a half. How one could waste ninety minutes checking that robes fit was beyond him; surely it was a simple measure-and-charm and that was that. Even though all four of them were there, surely it couldn't take that long?

But no. The assistants at Twilfitt and Tattings had taken half an hour discussing the exact shades of silver and gold to be used in their robes, never mind minor details like the stitching or cut or whether the damn things actually fit. Harry knew that Draco and Ron would wear silver, and he and Hermione gold; and he got that this was because the Malfoys and the Weasleys were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the families that were supposed to be "truly pure-blood" when the Pure-Blood Directory had been published sixty years ago. Frankly, Harry couldn't have given a drachma of dragon's dung for such nonsense, but it was important to the Wizarding World, so he went along with it.

But that didn't stop him being annoyed at the fussiness of the staff. They tried six different robes on him, and eyed him critically while holding up fourteen different swatches of gold, and twenty-seven swatches of silver, explaining that not only did his robe have to suit him, and Draco's him, but also the two robes had to "complement each other in a beautiful romantic harmony of passionate oneness". And then, of course, the two silver robes and the two gold robes had to 'chime together to create a positive effect where each states its own note but does not dominate over the other, so that each couple is a unit, complete to itself, but offset against the other couple in a true statement of complementarity'.

 _Tripe_ , Harry thought; but decided he would probably get out faster if he didn't argue, so buttoned his lip and pretended to be enjoying the experience.

And when they had finished, he had a sneaking suspicion that the robe he ended up with was the first robe that he had tried on …

"Well, wasn't that fun," Draco said, breaking into Harry's reverie. Harry was about to make a cutting comment when he realised that the blond was actually serious.

"Er, yeah," he said. "Let's go to the twins' shop."

Draco sighed. But it was fair enough, he supposed; Harry had put up with the fitting – he was under no illusions that Harry had in any way enjoyed it, despite the brave face he had put on it – so it was only right that they should now do something that he would enjoy.

Accordingly, he entered the shop, rather fearful of the reception – the twins were, after all, the twins. And his fear was not entirely unjustified; the moment he walked in, Neville squirted him with a water pistol. Except it wasn't water; it was, in fact, a very cunningly charmed potion that made his robed glow all sorts of bright colours for about five minutes.

"Hey!" he shouted, then realised that the water had not actually done any damage. He watched as the colours changed from deep lilac through purple to royal blue. "That's actually really pretty!"

"Thank you!" Neville said. "George and I have been working on it for months; this is the first batch that really worked properly."

"Hang on," Draco said, "you mean I'm your test kneazle?"

"Something like that," George replied, then ducked just in time to avoid the stinging hex Draco threw his way.

"Draco, lighten up!" Harry said, and Draco rounded on him.

"Shush, you," he said, "or …" But there really wasn't any credible threat he could make to Harry, and it sort of fell to the ground.

"Come on," Fred said, stepping in before the silence got awkward, "let's go and have lunch."

* * *

In the event it was a pleasant lunch and happy afternoon. The twins even gave Draco one of their prototype pistols, with strict instructions to use it on Lucius. Draco really wasn't sure that that was wise; and indeed, a subtle plan formed itself in his head. He kept quiet though; no, he would work with his father, not against him. This could work well, he decided.

At five o'clock, Harry returned to Twilfitt and Tattings to find that, by arrangement, Kreacher had brought Dudley there; as Harry's best man, he needed to have a fitting too. The rest of the bridal party was having a fitting in the morning; but Dudley was busy for most of the week, and he couldn't just disappear to London for an hour or two, his friends would never believe that, so he had left Swansea at four, telling them that the place he was going to would do a late-night fitting and he would drive back for Tuesday's lectures. They thought he was mad; but in fact the plan was to have the fitting; then dine together at Grimmauld Place, after which Dudley would stay the night and Kreacher could get him back to the little lay-by where Dudley had left his little car, protected by a Notice Me Not charm that Harry had spelled a car-cover with, by about seven thirty, which would give him ample time to return to Hall and prepare for lectures.

Mercifully, Dudley's fitting only took half an hour; but even so, by the time Harry Apparated Dudley back to Grimmauld Place, they found quite a crowd had gathered.

"What's the plan?" Harry asked as they entered through the front door.

"Harry!" Draco yelled above the noise. "I thought we'd have some people over for dinner."

Harry grinned.

"Fantastic," he said.

* * *

Robin Banks was having a rather busy Monday.

Over Sunday, Cornelius Fudge had been examined by the healers at St Mungo's. He was in for a long ride back, by the sound of things; he was quite delirious and clearly never going to work again, even if he did get out of the Janus Thickey ward, which was very unlikely, from what he could tell from the reports.

Robin sighed. He had no particular love for Fudge; but the man had been Minister once, he deserved a little respect. These French thugs had carved him up good and proper. Not that there was any physical evidence; in some ways, that made it worse. Physical injuries spoke for themselves; if you had a limp, or a wheelchair, it was obvious that there was something wrong with you, and people generally accommodated it. Mental injuries, however, tended to be fobbed off, simply because people couldn't see them.

Anyway, Cornelius Fudge wasn't his problem, except that he did need to piece together exactly what had happened with Eva Thillin. Padma Patil's evidence had given them a fairly good picture, of course; but they had to flesh this out as best they could. Accordingly, he had taken a short trip to Marseille to see if there was anything that they could find there.

The local Wizarding authorities had been the very soul of helpfulness – the fact that he spoke decent French counted for quite a lot of that, he guessed – but there wasn't much they could do. 'La Chétive Pécore' was well known to them; but the owner, Gaston Gaspard, had aways stayed just the right side of the law. No-one had seen Fudge while he was allegedly here; or at least, no-one would admit to it; and the general feeling of the French authorities was that Thillin had probably disappeared into the French Underworld and would probably never trouble Britain again.

Internal investigations at the Ministry were more helpful. It turned out that Fudge, incomprehensibly, had kept the letters he had received from Eva, as well as copies of his own; and it was very clear from the trail of correspondence that she had well and truly pulled the wool over his eyes.

By the end of a long day, Robin had a report ready to give to the Minister on Tuesday. He was just about to go home when Ginny Floo-called him.

"Up for playing tonight?" she said, once the initial greetings were done. "Harry and Draco are having open house. We're invited for dinner and cards."

"That could be fun," Robin replied. He was tired; but an evening of mindless frivolity would probably do him the world of good.

"Excellent!" Ginny said. "I'll meet you at Grimmauld Place in ten, then?"

* * *

_Tuesday 22 September_

Robin was rather grateful that his meeting with the Minister was not until ten o'clock in the morning; it had been a very enjoyable evening, to be sure, but he had drunk perhaps just a bit more than was wise.

"Good morning," Kingsley said with a big grin. "Big night last night?"

Robin winced with a slight grin of his own. "Does it show?"

Kingsley chuckled. "Only a little," he answered. "Right, what have you got for me?"

Robin walked Kingsley through his findings from the day before, explaining that the French end hadn't done a lot of good but the letters from Fudge were pretty conclusive.

"Hmm," Kingsley said thoughtfully. Then he seemed to make an abrupt decision. "No, actually, this is good. You've done an excellent job with our French colleagues by the way, I've had an owl this morning praising you to the skies, so I wouldn't worry about that. No, they'll whinge about our not looking after their student properly, and we'll point out that we found out exactly what is going on and they are the ones who dropped the ball. And the icing on the cake is that we can pension Fudge off honorably. The man was fast becoming a liability – witness the letters he kept, when anyone with sense would have at least hidden them.

"So good job. Many thanks, Robin," the Minister finished, shaking the Auror by the hand, and Robin found himself back at his desk within minutes. And to top off the good news, he found a letter waiting for him from his father, congratulating him for 'his sensitive handling of the delicate relationship we enjoy with our colleagues from France', which was about as close as the new Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation was going to get in public to calling the French 'recalcitrant, prickly bastards', which Robin knew quite well was his father's private opinion.

* * *

"So, Blaise, what are you 'oping to do once you 'ave your NEWTs?" Madame Delacour asked him, her voice calm and conversational.

But the Italian was not fooled. He and Angelique had been at the party the previous evening, and he had naturally escorted her home, and been invited to stay the night; which was quite an honour, and statement of acceptance, and he was very glad he had been careful not to drink very much.

And now the woman he very much hoped might be his future mother-in-law was asking him what he wanted to do with his life; it was hardly an innocent question.

He gave Madame his most charming smile.

"Well, Madame," he said, affecting a calmness he did not feel, "I have rather set my hopes on becoming a healer."

"Oh la la!" the lady replied, her tone amused. "That will be even more study! Will you ever get a proper job, or always be the student?"

It could have been a rather pointed question, but it was asked with such grace, and such a smile, that he knew he was really being teased.

"Oh, healers start with hands-on training at St Mungo's, as well as theory classes," he replied gently.

"Cousin Astrid is studying to be a healer," Angelique's sister Martine added in. "We must have her round so you can meet her."

"Indeed we must!" Madame Delacour replied, clapping her hands. "Blaise, can we impose on you to stay for dinner, and we shall arrange that she come too?"

"Thank you, that would be delightful," Blaise replied.

"And, maman, you needn't think you are going to buttonhole the poor man all day," Angelique added with spirit. "We shall take him out and show him Paris!"

"Ah, the young, so 'eartless," Madame replied, with a sigh; but she only made her daughters laugh and kiss her on the cheek.

"Au revoir, maman," the two sisters said together as they dragged Blaise off with them. "We shall return at five o'clock."

"Bien!" their mother replied. "Be good!"

"We won't!" they replied as they ran off.

* * *

The exam results arrived on Thursday. As they had agreed before they left Hogwarts, the nine students who had been examined all brought their examination result letters, unopened, to Grimmauld Place where they were all going to open them together. Harry made sure that there was butterbeer, champagne, wine, and fire-whiskey, as well as plenty of food: people were going to want to either celebrate their success or commiserate their lack of it, and either way, he was sure, would involve alcohol of some kind.

It was eleven o'clock by the time all nine students arrived. The owls bearing their results had all arrived at breakfast time, and very few of them had been able to finish their breakfasts once they had. Hermione was the worst; by the time everyone arrived, she was shaking like a leaf. The other students decided by an unspoken agreement to take pity on her, and demanded she opened hers first.

"All right," she said, her voice trembling as she took up one of the paper knives that Draco had thoughtfully provided and slit the envelope open. "Here goes!"

She drew out two pieces of parchment. The first was a letter from the examining board, and she laid it aside for a moment while she picked up the parchment detailing her results.

She screwed up her eyes; she could hardly bear to look.

"What if I failed?" she wailed. "I'm sure my Charms exam did not go well..."

"Just look, love," Ron said, managing by a miracle to keep his voice from sounding irritated. And she did, staring at her grades.

Straight 'Outstandings'.

She breathed a sigh of relief, not quite sure she believed it, but a huge grin broke out on her face nonetheless as she passed her grades to Ron and picked up the letter.

"Straight O's," Ron announced. "As if you'd get anything less! What does the letter say?"

"Um," Hermione said, as she finished scanning it, "oh, it's really rather nice. Congratulations and all that. Hang on!" she said, suddenly getting very excited, "it's a job offer! Shall I read it out?"

"Yes please!" they all agreed; it would give them a few more minutes before they had to open their own results, after all.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_ she read,

_I write to congratulate you on your results in the special Aptitude tests that were held during the week of the fourteenth to the eighteenth of September. You have managed to achieve a grade of 'Outstanding' in all assessed subjects, for which the Board extends its warmest congratulations._

_The Board was astonished by the quality of papers presented. Despite the somewhat patchy education that your cohort has received as a consequence of the Second Wizarding War, all examinees were able to satisfy the examiners as to their competence in all subjects examined._

_As you were previously advised, these examinations are designed to provide a moderated indication of your level of achievement in comparison to that required for N.E.W.T.s. As such, your straight 'Outstandings' have been converted directly to N.E.W.T. grades without any requirement for further examination._

_In order to complete your education at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, it remains only for you to submit your Muggle Studies assignment. This should be presented for assessment not later than the eighteenth of December._

_Once your assessment is complete, the Minister has asked me to offer you a position as Junior Undersecretary to the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Please find attached details of the position, and a pro forma acceptance letter for you to complete._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Matilda Hopkirk,_

_For Madam Professor Griselda Marchbanks, CDMG, APMO, fdBB,_  
Governor,  
Wizarding Examination Authority

_Cc: Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall_  
 _Attachments: Position Description, Junior Undersecretary, DRCMC; Reply pro forma._

"Hang on," Ron said as Hermione started reading the job description. "Matilda Hopkirk? Wasn't she the woman you were polyjuiced as, Hermione, when we broke into the Ministry?"

"No," Harry replied. "That was Mafalda Hopkirk; I'm not likely to forget her, she was the one who sent me the letter about underage magic."

"Wait, what was that?" Lisa Turpin asked. "I remember there was some story about you being tried? And polyjuiced? Really?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "It was in the summer before we had the joy that was Dolores Umbridge." And so saying, he went on to detail the story of the Dementor attack and his subsequent trial and acquittal. When he had finished, Hermione jumped in and explained about their breaking into the Ministry; though to Harry's relief, she described the Horcrux simply as "a Dark artefact we needed to recover", and this vague explanation seemed to go unchallenged.

"Fascinating," Mandy Brocklehurst, who had hung on every word, said when he had finished. "Anyway, not the same woman, but presumably a relative."

"Sister, I think," Draco said. "I seem to remember Father saying something about it at one point."

"Anyway, that's great and all; but who's next?" Ron asked.

"You, for asking," Blaise said cheekily; and, as the others all agreed, Ron opened his envelope to find that his grades, while nowhere near as spectacular as Hermione's, were respectable enough: he had an Outstanding grade in both Defence and Charms, and Exceeds Expectations grades in his three other examined subjects; and he was over the moon to find that his letter said that he had guaranteed entry into the Auror programme.

"All right, cheeky monkey," Mandy Brocklehurst said to Blaise, "your turn now."

Blaise and Pansy had both done very well, and each of them was offered a place to train at St Mungo's as a Healer; while Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin's results were good enough to get them placements in the Auror programme and with the Department of International Magical Co-operation respectively.

Neville turned out to be a quiet over-achiever; like Hermione, he had achieved straight Outstandings and no-one was surprised to find that Professor Sprout had offered him a position as her apprentice.

That left Harry and Draco to open their letters; they tossed a knut to see who would go first and the honour went to Draco.

With some trepidation, as, like Hermione, he was scared he had fluffed at least one exam, he opened the envelope and read his letter. To everyone's surprise, though he smiled, he had a puzzled expression on his face.

"Come on, how did you do, love?" Harry asked.

"I got an M," he replied quizzically. "What on earth is an M grade?"

"There's a note at the bottom," Hermione pointed out to him.

And so there was. In small print at the bottom of the parchment was written:

_The Master grade is very rarely used; it is awarded approximately once every score of years or so. It signifies that the examiners regard the candidate's performance as being so far ahead of the normal level awarded an Outstanding grade that to award that grade would not be a fair representation of the candidate's ability in the subject. Accordingly, a grade of M will generally be accepted in a Master's programme in lieu of the first year of work, though you should discuss this with your sponsor._

"Wow," Ron said. "Only one every twenty years, and you got one, Draco! Congratulations, mate! Did you get an offer?"

Draco pulled out a small piece of parchment that came with his grades; instead of a letter from Matilda Hopkirk, he had received a hand-written note from Borage himself, stating that he would be delighted to offer Draco an apprenticeship, and that he could quite accept that Draco was so good a student that he would not be required to serve the first year.

Beaming, he passed the note to Harry, who read it quickly and then couldn't help but lean over and give his lover a congratulatory kiss.

"And how did you go, Harry? Straight 'O's?" Ron, clearly struggling to keep a straight face after this display, asked.

"Er," Harry said, handing his parchment to Hermione, "Not quite."

Hermione's face went white with shock.

"Let me guess, all 'O's except an M in Defense?" Ron asked.

"Almost," Hermione said. "Except he didn't get an O in Ancient Runes."

"Oh," Draco said, "well, that's hardly surprising since he's only been studying it for three months."

"Yeah," said Hermione, passing Harry his results back. "It has only been three months, hasn't it. So how do you explain that he got an M?"

* * *

Harry had slept soundly without dreaming while they were at Grimmauld Place; but, whether because they had their results, or because of the stress of the wedding now looming, with the rehearsal coming up, this night, he dreamt.

But it wasn't at all what he expected. The natural assumption was that the next dream would be in the graveyard; but instead, he found himself sitting cross-legged in the meadow of his mindscape, surrounded by a lawn with daisies and dandelions scattered through it. He found the white and yellow of the flowers rather soothing, to be honest; and was just sitting there, enjoying the view, when he realised that someone else was there too.

"Hello," he said, looking up to see another lad, perhaps a little taller than he, sitting opposite him in the same pose.

"Hello," the other replied. "Nice place you've made here."

"Thank you," Harry said, and they sat in silence for perhaps a minute. Harry felt unexpectedly comfortable; the other boy's presence seemed quite reassuring in some strange way, and he felt no need to carry on a conversation for politeness's sake.

Eventually he looked up again.

"Who are you?" he asked, astonishing himself at his own boldness.

"Ah," the other said, chuckling, "I think you are beginning to work that out."

"The mordant," Harry said, and it was a definite statement, not a question.

"Indeed," the other replied.

They sat in silence for a while, until Harry began again.

"How much do you know about Ancient Runes?"

The other boy laughed out loud. "A very great deal," he replied.

"So my mark in Runes was really a cheat?" Harry asked, his sense of fair play a bit outraged.

"Well, not really," came the reply. "Don't worry. All I did was to awaken the familial knowledge you already had."

"Familial knowledge?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," the other replied. "Your father was quite a whiz at Runes; and one can inherit knowledge as well as other things, you know. Though normally it stays dormant; I just gave you a little push …"

"OK," Harry said. He had found Runes easy; but he did do as much work for the subject as for the others, so perhaps he could accept the help he had received, if he thought of it as a Professor giving extra tuition to a favourite pupil.

"Thanks."

The other's face became serious. "Not at all," he replied. "It only begins to repay the service you have done for me."

And with that, the scene faded to silver, and, wrapped in Draco's arms, Harry dreamed no more.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook. 
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and subscribing! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and chocolate profiteroles to those who comment. The party seems to have been a big hit, which I confess surprised me a little; they seem to be having a party every few chapters!
> 
>  **diddleymaz** I did enjoy thinking up those costumes. Sorry I didn't think of making anyone Steve Irwin! Ron could probably have pulled it off.  
>  **Easyreader** Thanks! As you can see, the fireworks did double duty for me -- prompting the next round of nightmares for Harry?  
>  **BAFan** I don't expect Eva will ever surface again. Thank you for your kind comments!  
>  **Padfootette** Thanks! Hope this was soon enough


	78. Vows Given and Returned

**78 Vows Given and Returned**

As might be expected from a group of teenagers who had just received their final school results, the Eighth Year examinees had partied all afternoon and evening at Grimmauld Place, celebrating well if not wisely. When the twins had finished for the day, they Flooed over to join in, finding the party still in full swing. Deciding that everyone had more alcohol, and less food, in them than was good for them, they Flooed away and returned half an hour later with the latest Wizarding craze: Muggle take-away.

It did not take long for everyone to discover that an excess of alcohol and salty, greasy fast food are just as irresistible a combination to Wizards as it is to Muggles; and, as Fred had craftily laced the food with hangover potion, by the time everyone was fed, they were all feeling a lot better.

It was about this time that the Floo started chiming with anxious parents seeking their missing offspring; and so it was that by eight o'clock they were down to the 'hard core': Pansy and Theo, Blaise and Angelique, Neville and George, Hermione and Ron, and Harry and Draco. Harry insisted to all of them that they were very welcome in his house, and he expected them to stay the night. Indeed, when he learnt that Pansy was living with her parents, and Theo in a rather dingy flat with his cousin when he wasn't at St Mungo's, he insisted that they were to stay in Grimmauld Place until they found somewhere decent.

"Are you sure?" Pansy asked, her Slytherin sense of self-preservation rising to the fore as she went on to express concern that they would be putting him and Draco out and might cramp their style.

"Oh, we'll be perfectly all right," Draco smirked in reply, gaining a blush from Pansy.

When, in addition, Blaise and Angelique accepted the invitation to stay the night, the others happily fell in with the plan as Harry opened another bottle of elf-wine, and Draco dealt another round of cards.

So it was that Grimmauld Place was very full the following morning.

_Friday 25 September_

Hangover cures notwithstanding, the group had partied hard, and no-one was up before ten o'clock. The first person awake was Theodore Nott; this was hardly surprising as he had potions to take and exercises to perform. Once he had finished these, though, he decided that it was far too chilly a September morning to be up when you didn't have to be, especially when there was a nice warm Pansy to get back to.

"Mmmm," the lady in question said as he slid back into her arms. "Brrr, you're cold!"

Theo cast a small warming charm, and Pansy smiled as the delicious feeling of warmth returned to the bed.

"That's better," she sighed. "How is your arm today?"

"Actually," he said, "it's pretty good. The healers are quite astonished – they were pessimistic about me getting full use of it, but it's nearly there."

"Great!" Pansy replied.

"Yes," Theo agreed. "They don't really know why. One of the healers suggested it was because I was friends with Saint Potter."

Pansy snorted. "Yeah, right," she said sarcastically. "We can't give him the credit for everything!"

* * *

 

'Saint' Potter himself was awake as they said this. Having decided that he needed a cup of coffee, he had dressed and made his way to the kitchen, where he now sat fuming over the morning's Daily Prophet.

Draco, woken as the warmth left the bed, came down soon afterwards, and stood in the doorway. He could feel the irritation rolling off Harry in waves.

"What's up, love?" he asked gently.

Harry looked up, and smiled at him, though his eyes were still hard.

"It's this morning's Prophet," he explained. "It seems that our _august_ publication had decided that, now that we have finished our exams, they get to publish whatever shit they want about us again."

"Oh," said Draco. "How bad is it?"

Harry handed him the paper, and Draco read for himself.

'OUR MASTERFUL SAVIOUR!' screamed the headline, and there was a photograph that Draco didn't recognise at all of Harry looking rather pleased with himself, not to say smug.

"Any idea when the photo was taken?" he asked.

"In the Ministry," Harry replied sourly. "On my birthday."

"Ah," Draco said, as he read the article, "yes of course. A photograph taken just as we were leaving, with you happy to be getting out of it, I suspect."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Shame it just makes me look smug."

"Hmm," Draco said, lost in thought as he stared hard at the photo. "Yep," he said, "it's touched. Father will have a field day."

"Really?" Harry said hopefully.

"Uh huh," Draco confirmed. "They're not allowed to do that any more. Ever since…"

"Yeah," Harry said, remembering the photo of the Malfoys that had been doctored to make them look positively villainous that had been published in the Prophet all those weeks ago.

Draco gave a sad smile, and read on.

_Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, Destroyer of Voldemort, has demonstrated once again what an incredible person he is in his academic results, which came out yesterday, his results eclipsing even those of his friend, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of the age, and those of his fiancé, Draco Malfoy._

_As our readers will know, the Wizarding world usually awards passing grades of Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, and Average, while less successful candidates receive one of Poor, Dreadful or Troll. Accordingly, the best result is generally taken to be straight Os (all papers marked as Outstanding)._

_However, there is one other grade that is, very rarely, awarded: the Master grade, awarded to candidates whose work is so outstanding that it simply cannot be compared to that of other students. It is rare for this grade to be awarded: there are usually decades between awards. So you can imagine our surprise when we learned that Mr Malfoy had been awarded an M grade for potions; we were all prepared to rush out the bunting to celebrate until we learned that Mr Potter has received not one, but TWO M GRADES! This feat has never before been achieved by any candidate._

_I'm sure that the Wizarding World will want to join us in congratulating Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy on their remarkable achievements, and wishing them well for the future; a future that includes their upcoming marriage, to be celebrated tomorrow. The Prophet hopes to print a page of congratulatory messages – please write in and we will publish the best._

"It seems they've got hold of our results. I wonder how," he said when he'd finished.

"They are public record," Harry replied.

"Yes," Draco agreed, "but not normally published. I can't see father or Kingsley standing for this."

"At least they didn't call you a 'former Death Eater'," Harry said, trying to look on the bright side.

"True," Draco remarked. But there was something else wrong, he was sure of it. Something about the article wasn't quite right. He would chat with his father; he would know what it was.

* * *

As the wedding was to be at three o'clock on Saturday, the rehearsal was, naturally enough, held at the same time on the Friday. As they didn't have much to do beforehand, Harry went to Swansea and had lunch with Dudley before Apparating them both to the Manor, where they met up with everyone else. Narcissa had asked him to Apparate directly onto the lawn, rather than into the house, and he supposed that this must be simply to avoid congestion; there was, of course, no difficulty for him to Apparate anywhere in the Manor as the wards had been made open to him. But when he arrived, he found a series of surprises awaiting him.

Firstly, the windows of the Manor were all curtained off, and the sickle dropped: Narcissa had had the whole party congregate outside as she didn't want them to see what was planned for the reception. So it wasn't a great surprise to find a table and chairs set out ready for them in the lee of the pavilion.

Secondly, said pavilion was no longer pure white; it was now very tastefully decorated with dark green and red bunting, with little animal figures charmed to move within it; silver dragons, and lions, happily playing together with golden lions and ravens. It took a moment to take it in, before he realised that of course the animals and colours had been chosen for them: lions for the two Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione, in both silver (matching Ron's robes) and gold (matching Hermione's); and a dragon for his Dragon and a raven for himself. He smiled to see it and wondered if anyone would get the references.

The next surprise was seeing Hermione together with her assistant. He had rather expected Ginny to do the honours, but instead, Hermione had Neville beside her.

"Wow, Neville," he said, "you're being Matron of Honour?"

The gorgeous Gryffindor giggled.

"No thanks," he replied. "I told Hermione I'd stand beside her, but as Best Man."

"And I'm standing with Ron, as Best Woman," a familiar voice said as Ginny appeared out of the Pavilion, followed by her brother.

"OK," said Harry bemusedly, turning to Ron. "So you ditched Percy then?"

The redhead winced. "Don't say that," he begged, keeping his voice low as he knew his mother might turn up at any moment. "I never asked him, so he knows nothing. It's just that Hermione got talking and we decided we wanted Neville and Ginny: but I couldn't ask Neville instead of Percy, mum would have a fit, so we decided Hermione could ask Neville and I'd ask Ginny."

"Good thinking. Though won't it look odd with Ginny as the only female attendant?"

"I think you need to learn to count, Potter," Pansy Parkinson said as she and Draco came up level with Harry.

"I thought you were asking Blaise?" Harry whispered to Draco.

The blond chuckled. "Ron and Hermione told me of their plans, and Pansy and I decided this would work well. I discussed it with Blaise, and he thought it would be a great joke to play on you."

Harry grinned. "All right," he said. "The joke's on me. So, Dudley, looks like you'll be partnering Pansy."

His cousin smiled sheepishly in return. "Yeah," he said, "I already kind of knew that."

"What?" Harry said to the others. "Dudley knew too? Oh, so you all kept it a secret from me?"

The others nodded vigorously.

"Bastards," Harry said, without heat.

"Pardon, Harry?" Narcissa asked as she, Molly Weasley and Margaret Granger came out, trays of tea and cake floating along behind them and then drifting off to settle on the table that had been set out for them.

"Nothing, mum," Harry said, ducking his head sheepishly, ignoring the small snorts that Ron and Ginny failed to keep in.

"I thought so," Narcissa replied firmly. "Now, shall we have some tea before we begin?"

* * *

 

They had their run-through; the only surprise there was that it showed them a rather unexpected side of the Hogwarts Headmistress.

Just before they began, McGonagall, presiding, ordered the three mothers out of the Pavilion and then seemed to take a rather sadistic pleasure in casting rather strong Privacy wards and Silencing charms over the whole room.

"Is that really necessary, Headmistress?" Hermione asked.

"Please, my dear, you're not in school now. Call me Minerva, or Professor if that's too much. And of course, congratulations to all my students; you all did brilliantly in your exams. I need hardly tell you, given the palaver the Prophet made about it this morning, that we were most shocked to see three M grades awarded in the same year; the average is more like one every two or three decades."

Harry and Draco blushed and mumbled their thanks to the Headmistress.

"Now, Miss Granger, to answer your question, no, I suppose it is not necessary; but those three ladies seem to be taking great delight in hiding their preparations from us, so I thought we could get our own back a little. Shall we begin?"

* * *

Once the rehearsal was over, Narcissa produced a very sumptuous afternoon tea for them all, and, as a light drizzle had set in, they sat around at little tables placed under the eaves of the pavilion, watching moist air falling lightly onto the lawn as if caressing it. At five o'clock, Lucius Malfoy came out, and apologized for not being there earlier, explaining that he and Arthur had been called into meetings at the Ministry all day.

"Ah," said Draco as Lucius took a seat at the table Harry and Draco were sitting at, "I remember; I had been meaning to talk to you about the Prophet article this morning."

Lucius groaned. "Please, not yet," he said, "I've talked about hardly anything else all day."

Hearing this, Hermione looked up, and came and sat with them.

"Have you found anything about the other issue?" she asked, softly enough that no-one at the other tables would hear.

Lucius looked a little lost for a moment; then his brow cleared, and he shook his head, a small frown coming onto his face.

"I'm afraid not," he said simply.

"Oh," Hermione replied, and the conversation seemed to have come to a halt.

"Um," Draco said, "what exactly are we talking about?"

Lucius sighed. _Perhaps,_ he thought to himself, _we should have discussed the Prophet after all._ Aloud, he replied, "well, as you know, we have been looking into whether a male couple can have children. So far, we've looked at potions, or spells, or even the Parselmagic that Harry translated; and so far, we've come up with nothing."

"Oh," Draco said, with exactly the same air of finality that Hermione had just used. And indeed there didn't seem to be anything else to say: apparently that route was closed for them. They would have to adopt, or use surrogacy. At least they had Teddy, Draco mused.

"Right," said Harry. His heart was suddenly aching, and he decided they needed to move on. "And the Prophet?"

"There's a big stink brewing," Lucius replied. "The Wizarding Examination Authority is very cross that students' results have been printed publically; there is no precedent for that. The Ministry is very upset that you were referred to so blatantly even though it's still term time. And Goblins are incensed that the paper is being so disrespectful to you in not using your full title."

"Why would the Goblins care if I was called Lord Potter?" Harry asked, mystified.

"Dragonrider Goblin-Friend," Draco said, reminding Harry of the other titles that he held.

"Point," Harry replied, realising that indeed the lack of those titles did reflect on the Goblins, and showed the level of respect that the Daily Prophet had for the Goblin Nation as a whole, which is to say, practically none.

"Right!" Narcissa called brightly at this point, clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention. "Now, I understand that Lucius and Dudley have plans for you all this evening, so you'd better finish up and get ready to go."

"Are you not coming, Mrs Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"'Narcissa', dear, please," Narcissa replied. "We're practically family now. No, we four ladies", she continued, pointing out Molly Weasley, Margaret Granger and Minerva McGonagall, as well as herself, "are staying put here in the lovely warm Manor, having a nice dinner and playing Gefoura while the rest of you are out in the cold and the rain having fun together."

"Gefoura?" Harry whispered to Draco; though he was overheard.

"It's a Wizarding version of the card game Muggles call 'Contract Bridge'," Hermione supplied helpfully.

"Oh", Harry said.

* * *

 

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Dudley had decided to take everyone out to all the fun Muggle things that the wizards knew nothing about: they found a fairground in the North with dodgem cars; and, making use of the possibilities of Apparition, he took them a variety of entertainment venues including ten-pin bowling, pin-ball machines, and pool tables. Dudley found it very rewarding to watch the child-like enjoyment of the wizards and witches when confronted with these Muggle entertainments; even Lucius had a great time, showing a surprising aptitude for shooting pool. Draco reminded him of their visit to the Hog's Head, where Lucius had proved to be an excellent darts player; clearly, his father had just the right hand-eye co-ordination for such games.

The sense of fun was infectious: even the other Muggles they met seemed to enjoy the spectacle, though they were very confused when Dudley told them it was a stag night. The idea of having two ladies along to a stag night was clearly bewildering to them; especially when they were told that one of them was the bride-to-be! Dudley decided not to try to explain that it was also a stag night for Draco and Harry; two men getting married was clearly going to be a step too far for their new acquaintances.

They finished up playing traditional Wizarding drinking games at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, where Aberforth Dumbledore, the landlord, had set aside a room for them. At Harry's insistence, Aberforth joined them, and he seemed to enjoy the evening as much as anyone.

As they were leaving, the landlord handed Harry a small parcel.

"I found these amongst Albus's effects when he died," he explained simply. "I think you should have them."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, just as the group Apparated back to the Manor.

* * *

Out of respect for old customs, it had been decreed that the each of the four had to spend the night in separate house to their partner, a circumstance that Harry really didn't like to think about at all. It came as a shock to him to realise that, apart from being out cold in the Infirmary, he had not spend a night apart from Draco since before Ron and Hermione had gone to Australia back in May. He was not looking forward to it at all; neither, of course, was Ron looking forward to spending the night without Hermione, so they decided to retreat together with Dudley to Grimmauld Place.

Harry's biggest concern was that he might have a nightmare. The thought of having to cope with one without Draco there to help filled him with dread; another very clear reminder of how far their relationship had come and how much he had come to depend on his lover. Still, he thought, he hadn't had many recently, just the one last night; and he was very tired, and pleasantly drunk, so maybe he'd be all right …

* * *

 

Harry dreamed.

_Once again he found himself, not in the graveyard, but instead, in his mindscape. This time, instead of sitting in the meadow, he was strolling through an orchard of trees laded with apples. The scent was strong and delicious, and a warm sun beat through the trees. The air was still and crisp, and just cool enough not to be unpleasant, while making the heat from the sun very welcome._

_He was not at all surprised to look up and see someone else walking through the dark shadows cast by the trees._

" _Hello," he said simply, then stood waiting for the other to respond._

" _Hello," the other replied. "Fond of apples?"_

" _Some weeks they were the only fruit I saw," Harry replied truthfully, remembering back to his time at the Dursleys' house, though finding that it seemed not to sting any more. "Some weeks not even that."_

" _And now?" the other replied._

_Harry smiled. "That problem is all sorted."_

" _Good," came the rather definite response._

_They strolled around for a while, without seeming to get closer to each other; nor did Harry ever see the other's face._

" _So," he said eventually, "are you going to tell me who you are?"_

" _All in good time," was the reply. "Sleep, now."_

And, settling down in a soft, comfortable drift of leaves nestled at the foot of one of the trees, surrounded by a gentle red light with a tiny thread of silver that unaccountably made him feel very safe, Harry did.

Miles away in Wiltshire the thread of silver in the light was mirrored in Draco's room in Malfoy Manor by a thread of green and red light that wound around the highly-strung Slytherin and helped him, long after midnight, to finally get some decent rest …

* * *

 

_Saturday 26 September_

If Friday's Prophet had Harry fuming, Saturday's really got him hopping mad.

To be sure, it started off well enough. There was an obnoxiously sweet picture of him and Draco taking up a quarter of the front page; Well, it was bound to happen; and he could even overlook that it was surrounded by a pink bow and had love-hearts drawn on it. Especially as it was accompanied by an equally syrupy picture of Ron and Hermione; at least his wedding wasn't being singled out to the exclusion of theirs in today's Prophet.

And the accompanying article was written by Dempster Wiggleswade and was admirably factual. It was clear that the concerns that Lucius had mentioned the previous day had been articulated, and articulated forcefully, to the Daily Prophet staff.

 _Today sees the wedding of four classmates who each had an important role in the Wizarding War. Three of them worked together with unfailing zeal to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort; while the fourth had to live with him daily, yet aided and abetted the other three in escaping from his clutches when they had been caught by Snatchers during the war. We here at the Daily Prophet are delighted to offer warm congratulations to the four, who are, as we have been reminded, the groom and groom:_ _Harry James Potter Dragonrider Goblin-friend, Destroyer of Voldemort, Lord Black, Lord Potter, and Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir Malfoy; and the bride and groom: Hermione Jean Granger Dragonrider Goblin-friend and Ronald Bilius Weasley Dragonrider Goblin-friend._

The article did not upset Harry at all; he was in fact rather delighted that it put Draco in such a positive light. No, it was the Comments and Letters to the Editor that had him going.

To be sure, there were some pleasant little snippets, and for a moment he was pleased at the good wishes; but then he read one that said 'wishing our Saviour a happy day', and he suddenly realised that the Prophet had suddenly made it all about him again. And snuck in the 'Saviour' title. As he read on, his lip curled; there were letters bemoaning the loss of his bachelorhood; which by itself was fair enough, he couldn't expect that everyone would be glad he was marrying someone else; but they all seemed to say go on.

There were letters bemoaning that they was 'lost to us girls … to a man'; 'lost … to a Slytherin'; and, of course, the jackpot, 'our Saviour has now deserted us for a male Slytherin ex-Death Eater'.

And after the congratulations there were a clutch of letters filled with openly vitriolic attacks: 'how dare he marry a Death-Eater?'; 'a man marrying a man, it's just wrong!'; and plenty of speculation that he was cursed, under the Imperius, drugged with a love potion, or, his unfavorite, simply insane.

By the time he'd finished reading it, he decided there really was only one thing to do with it.

So when Ron appeared for breakfast a minute or so later, there was no sign of the paper at all. And there was a roaring fire in the grate.

* * *

 

At Malfoy Manor, Draco had a rather similar reaction to Harry's; though less so, for his parents had read the paper before him, and summarised the worst bits so he wouldn't have to read them.

"Why do they do it?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid prejudice runs deep, son," Lucius replied. "Think how hard it was for us, as a family, to discard those we had about Muggleborns."

"True," Draco said musingly, though he still fumed inwardly, and was rather grumpy for the rest of breakfast.

"Cheer up, Dragon," Narcissa said eventually. "It is your wedding day, after all."

"I know something that would cheer me up," he said slyly.

"And what would that be?" she replied.

"Give me a preview of the Reception area?" he asked hopefully.

Narcissa laughed. "Nice try," she said. "But you can wait, just the same as everyone else."

* * *

 

Headmistress McGonagall, punctual and precise as ever, started the ceremony on the stroke of three o'clock.

"Dear friends," she began crisply as a silence settled on the congregation, "we are gathered here for a very special and joyous occasion: the weddings of four very special people whom, I am sure, we all hold very dear. I may say that these weddings have come by perhaps more circuitous routes than usual. Over the years as a teacher, one gets to watch all sorts of elaborate courtship dances amongst the students; watching Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, there was a lot of feeling amongst the staff that something matrimonial would eventuate, though there was always some debate as to between who.

"But I think it became clear after the Tri-wizard Tournament that Hermione really only had eyes for Ron; and so, after a rather bumpy ride, it has come to pass. I may say to the two of you that a rocky courtship helps to prove that the love will endure hardship, a very helpful thing to enter the estate of marriage with.

"But of course, if their road was rocky, what shall we say about two young men who came from the two most opposed Houses at Hogwarts, and who seemed to hate each other cordially from the very start? Who had a relationship that involved baiting, and fighting, and conjuring serpents to fight; and that was just the first two years!

"Well, I think we can say that those two men have now realised that they are not so far apart. There are those who, even today, have let their disapproval of this bonding be made known, and describe it as false, as a sham, as a mockery of real love, and call upon us, call upon me, to halt this ceremony. What poppycock. We all owe Harry Potter an enormous debt; it is obvious to me, as I have watched them closely over the last three months, that their love for one another is as true as any couple I know. There is no mockery, no sham, no falsehood. And as the two couples come to speak the vows that they have written, I ask you all to stand to affirm both couples as they proclaim their love and unity."

At these words, the congregation rose to its feet as one, and spoke the words that were on the parchment they had been handed:

_We, your family and your friends, affirm you Ron and Hermione, Draco and Harry, as you pledge yourselves to each other. We promise you our love, our support, a listening ear, and an open heart._

As the congregation sat down again, Ron and Hermione extended their wands, and McGonagall touched the free ends together and spoke over them a simple, standard spell of bonding, one that had been used unchanged for centuries:

"Today are these two come to bond together, bound in life, in love, and in magic. Today we witness their bonding, and call on Magic herself to bear witness and grant favour to this couple."

Ron and Hermione held hands, facing each other, and spoke the words that Draco had written for them. As they finished, they touched their wands together, and the enchantment flowed out, wrapping them in gold and silver light as they kissed each other.

And then, in their turn, the bonding spell was cast over Harry and Draco's wands, and they too stood facing each other, clasped each other's hands, and recited their vows:

"We stand here together, in the presence of our families and friends, in the full light of the sun, that all may clearly see that we proclaim now openly and proudly our love for one another, We are come here, and now, together in love, and stand at this point to celebrate our love and consecrate our union. Before we came here, we loved each other; when we leave here, we will still love each other. We came as two; we leave as one couple united in flesh, in thought, in magic, in life.

"Draco/Harry, I pledge myself to you as life mate. To stand by your side. Not in front of you, that you be the lesser, nor behind, to make myself lesser, but as two equals, standing together, supporting each other.

"So mote it be."

There was no time for them to touch wands; as they finished, there was an explosion of light around them as the familiar pattern of the Haussmann shield erupted in red, silver and green, swirling around them in a truly spectacularly beautiful display that had the entire congregation gasping in awe.

* * *

 

And finally, _**finally**_ , once the ceremony was finished and everyone had been photographed with the two happy couples, Narcissa opened up the reception area and people made their way inside.

There was no doubt that it was worth the wait. Narcissa had joined together the two large rooms she had facing the garden, and created an fantasy world inside. The principal theme was white, with ribbons of gold and silver threaded through; but she had not confined herself to this palette, and there were red and green accents throughout.

As each guest entered the room, the ladies were greeted by small silver ingots charmed into the shape of swans, which gently led each of to her seat; while the same function for the gentlemen was performed by little owls charmed out of gold. But the little creatures did not seem to be in any great hurry; as they led their charges around the room, they would stop and chatter excitedly with one another, and the guests took this as a cue to, likewise, chat with one another; and by this simple artifice, many people who would ordinarily never exchange words with one another found, in the gaiety of the event, that they were actually quite enjoying getting to know one another.

When the guests finally sat down, they found themselves at round tables, eight seats to each table. In the middle was a stupendous creation from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – decorations that had miniature fountains at the centre which sprayed out water in many colours which burst into intricate patterns before reforming and falling back into a bowl around the fountain. In the bowl were several water lilies, which circulated around, their petals performing an intricate dance and changing colour themselves.

"They're magnificent," Harry said to Fred, as he watched the intricate dance of water and flowers, light and colour.

"Yep," George replied. "But can you spot the pattern?"

Harry watched the flowers, transfixed, and then worked it out.

"Some of them are silver and gold; some of them silver, green and red. The colours of the bonding, and the colours of the Haussmann Shield."

"Exactly right, little brother!" Fred replied.

"Hang on," Draco, standing at Harry's side said innocently, as he pointed at some rather larger flowers amongst the pale lilies, "what about those ones? Why are they blue?"

The twins bent over to see the flowers that he was pointing at.

Big mistake.

The flowers sprayed water all over the twins; and the water changed their hair and skin colours, and at the same time their robes.

Before, they had been the epitome of respectably groomed businessmen, though wearing rather loudly coloured suits.

But now, their suits had been charmed to be the most staid cut and dark black colour imaginable.

Making a rather violent contrast with their shocking violet hair and pink skin.

And thus was Lucius Malfoy revenged for his blue hair.

* * *

 

The reception was easily the event of the season. Not, of course, that it had any competition to speak of; none of the pure-bloods had yet got back into the habit of hosting the large formal gatherings that were the common round of high society life before the war, a fact that Narcissa was trying her very best to remedy. Everyone was in the best of spirits; even the two babies, Miriam Granger and Teddy Lupin, seemed to have caught the general air of joy and happiness, and managed to hardly grizzle the whole evening, despite staying up rather later than usual.

The food, largely catered by Molly Weasley, was magnificent; champagne and wine flowed freely, courtesy of Peter Granger and Lucius Malfoy; and the chatter and banter flowed. Even the speeches didn't seem to dampen the general air of fun. Once the meal and the (mercifully short) speeches were out of the way, the twins came up to Lucius to compliment him on his excellent prank; at first, he was wary, but in the end he agreed to sell them the spells and techniques he used.

Harry smirked as he got to watch Lucius doing the political maneuvering he loved so much, and did so well; but his enjoyment had to be swift as the bridal party rose for the obligatory cutting of the cake. After that, a string quartet came in and struck up the bridal waltz, and the two couples began to dance together.

They spent perhaps twenty minutes on the dance floor, being joined by many of those present; and then Narcissa, seeing that Harry was enjoying the dancing a lot less than Draco was, gamely cut in on them and waltzed her son by blood across the floor, allowing Harry to wander off.

Draco was not entirely surprised to see his husband heading, not back to their seats, but to the table that where Margaret and Andromeda were supervising a very excited pair of toddlers. As soon as he got there, Harry took charge of Teddy; the little metamorphmagus was obviously chuffed to see him, because he stopped trying to make his hair go the same colours as the fountain, and it went black and messy just like his godfather's.

Draco smiled. Harry was so good with them.

 _He would make a wonderful father,_ a thought strayed across his head, and he winced.

"Dragon? Are you all right?" Narcissa asked, concerned.

"Ah, yes, quite well; but let's just sit for a minute, shall we?"

They took a seat at one of the empty little tables Narcissa had dotted around the room so that people could move around as they wished and not feel trapped to one seat.

"It's Harry," Draco admitted, looking over at his husband.

Narcissa followed his gaze. At first, she was mystified: there did not appear to be anything the matter with their Raven; indeed, right now he had Teddy on his lap clapping as he held Miriam up and was blowing raspberries on her tummy. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

And then it hit her.

"Children," she said cryptically.

"Exactly," Draco replied. "Father said it's probably not possible."

"Oh Dragon," she said, great sorrow in her tone.

"Yes," he replied, bleakly. "There is one thing though."

"Yes?" she asked.

"He knows that too, and he still went through with it."

And Narcissa understood exactly: Harry was so generous, he wanted Draco so much, that he was prepared to give up the hopes and dreams of the thing he probably wanted most: a family.

"We do have Teddy," Draco pointed out.

"Yes, but he needs so much more," she replied. "It's humbling that he's prepared to let us be that more."

At this point, Lucius came and sat beside her.

"What's up?" he asked, concerned that they were having what looked like an overly serious conversation in the midst of a very joyous gathering.

"Harry wants Draco more than the chance of a family," Narcissa said, unafraid to hit the point dead on.

"Yes," Lucius said, understanding at once. Then he smiled. "We'll just have to be the family for him. All of us."

He turned to his wife.

"May I have the pleasure of the dance?" he asked, with perfect pure-blood politeness, and they wandered off to join in the foxtrot that the band was playing, while Draco wandered over to talk to Harry.

* * *

With the two boys – they would always be boys to her – watching Teddy, Andromeda had no problem accepting Horace Slughorn's invitation to dance, especially when Draco assured her that she was by no means too old to dance, and they needed her to show the young ones how it was done.

"Impertinent brat," she said with a smile as she got to her feet. "You're one of the young ones yourself, after all."

Peter Granger also took the opportunity to invite Margaret to the dance floor, and so Draco and Harry had that most rare thing at a wedding reception: a moment for the newly-wed couple to sit and regroup, without having to talk to anyone.

Draco could feel the sadness in Harry, but didn't know how to bring the subject up. Happily, Harry did it for him.

"I love you, my Dragon," he said simply, as he cuddled Teddy to his chest.

"Enough to not regret …" Draco said, the thought unexpressed.

Harry gave him a sad smile.

"Honestly? My heart aches," he replied. "I wish I could have you, and our children. But I've got you, and we'll have Teddy, and maybe adopt others."

Draco looked at his love, unshed tears in both their eyes.

"Thank you," were all the words he could get out.

And then the real world caught up with them: Miriam made her presence known in a loud and smelly way. The two men laughed at each other.

"Why were we wanting children?" Harry asked, and, knowing he was putting a brave face on things, Draco played along.

"No idea. Where's the changing mat?"

* * *

The evening finished with the now obligatory Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks display. This one seemed to feature animals: there was a dragon, a pair of tigers, an otter, and what looked like two dogs, one small terrier and one medium-sized Labrador. The twins were quizzed on what they represented; but their only answer was that those who needed to know would work it out.

On behalf of the Malfoys, Grangers and Weasleys, Lucius then thanked everyone for coming, and had them stand in a circle as the two bridal couples went round and bid everyone 'fair wells and happy spells', as was the old pure-blood custom.

"And now!" he said finally, "the honeymoons!"

 _Oh crap,_ Harry thought to himself. He had not thought at all about what would happen tonight; he had just assumed they'd stay at the Manor, or maybe go back to Grimmauld Place. Whatever Draco wanted, really. But it seems the matter had been decided by more far-sighted heads.

"It has been left to me to arrange these," Lucius continued, "so here you are!"

He handed a slightly bewildered Ron and Hermione a small bag and, as the two of them grasped it, whispered 'Portus'; and suddenly they were gone, as the port-key activated.

"Wow!" Harry said. "Um, where have you sent them?"

"That's my little secret," Lucius said; but Draco leant and whispered in his ear, "they're at our cottage in Wales. Molly and Margaret thought that would be much better than somewhere swanky for them."

"I see," Harry replied quietly. "So we're going somewhere swanky, then?"

"You've no idea," Draco smirked, as Lucius handed them their port-key, a long cane rather like his snake-headed one, and Harry felt the familiar pull like a hook in his navel as they were whisked away.

* * *

Harry looked around him. He was in a large lobby, the walls clad with white marble, the floor covered with a plush dark-green carpet. The whole room screamed 'expensive, classy and tasteful'; it was probably the last place he would have thought of, but watching Draco walk up to the reception desk as though he owned the place, he could see that his Dragon was in his element, and he smiled with joy to see his husband's eyes shining.

"Come on, Harry!" Draco called, and Harry roused himself from his reverie and came to the desk to sign in.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," the concierge said, "et bienvenue à l'Hotel Malfoy."

Harry looked at him blankly, and the man repeated in English,

"Good evening sir, and welcome to Hotel Malfoy."

Harry smiled at him. "Thank you," he said, as he realised that this must be either the Malfoy's chateau in France or the hotel in Italy that they had been talking about, so Draco pretty much **did** own the hotel.

"You are most welcome," the man replied, his eyes twinkling. "I wish you a most pleasant stay. I 'ave put you in the Presidential Suite," he said, turning to Draco and handing him keys. "Your luggage is already there. You can call for a house-elf whenever you need anything; breakfast will be served on the patio attached to your suite."

"Merci bien," Draco replied, and, taking Harry by the arm, he led him to their room.

* * *

"Harry, come to bed," Draco called. "You can explore some more in the morning."

Harry, who was wandering around the enormous suite, his eyes wide in wonder, cut short his exploration and did as he was bid.

The two lay close to one another in the hotel's enormous bed. The tension that had been building all day was so strong it was almost physically real. Draco gripped his lover and longed to soothe all the heartache away. After a long, slow, sensual massage, he asked Harry to make love to him, a request Harry was eager to grant.

There was a new passion in their lovemaking tonight. Harry hadn't been expecting anything; after all, they were already a couple both because of the bond inspired by the Debt of Magical Emancipation and by their own choice. But somehow the fact that they were now bonded together formally did make a difference. It was as if they truly belonged together, as a single unit, now. Every touch felt like they were being drawn together. That they belonged together.

It was heady and exhilarating. The sheer tension of the day melted away in the face of their mutual longing for each other, and a joyous peace came over them as they reveled together in their manifest need to be together. They kissed each other, and their kisses were like fire, burning love into each other. They caressed each other, and their hands moving across one another felt like water, cleansing the skin, bringing new life and vitality.

In the midst of the fire and the water, their love-making itself began, and magic swirled around them, celebrating their union. As they came to their climaxes, the feeling of oneness was palpable, and a wave of euphoria and certain trust in each other flowed through them.

It was slow, and sensuous, and rewarding, and wonderful, and as Harry cast a wordless cleansing charm and cuddled up to his husband, he knew that, somehow, everything had changed. Even the ache he had carried since the previous afternoon's revelations seemed to be smaller, unimportant now.

"I love you, my husband," he said simply.

Draco, overjoyed to hear Harry say that, kissed him deeply; and then the Raven fell into deep, blissful sleep.

* * *

Draco lay beside his sleeping husband, listening to the easy rhythm of Harry's breathing. His heart ached too; he only hoped that somehow he had taken some of Harry's, that Harry would hurt less now. He realised once more that he truly loved Harry Potter with all he had.

That he would do anything for him.

_If only I could give him children._

"Would you really, if you could?" a voice asked from the darkness.

He wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming. Probably the latter; because somehow he wasn't frightened at the thought of a strange intruder in their bedroom who could read his thoughts. _Yes_ , he thought.

"You have to say it." the voice replied.

Draco stiffened. Admit it out loud?

"Yes. I'd do anything for him. Anything at all," he finally managed to say; and finding, as he said it, that it was true, and that he meant it with all his heart.

He was not surprised when he saw a red light curve around his belly. The sudden sharp pains made him wince, but Harry didn't stir. And then the bedroom was dark and quiet again, and Draco knew nothing more until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> So now it’s official – Harry and Draco are married, and Hermione and Ron. Just what will come of these last events remains to be seen …
> 
> Replies to comments:  
>  **HarryMalfoy09**  
>  Thanks! Hope this chapter still leaves you wanting more!  
>  **Padfootette**  
>  Hope this is soon enough!  
>  **diddleymaz**  
>  That would be telling! We shall see …  
>  **lets_shine_forever**  
>  I’m sory if that wasn’t clear, yes Harry got M’s in Ancient Runes and Defense and O's in everything else. He was the student I alluded to in ch76, the only one who did not attain an O grade in Defense (‘cos he did better).  
>  **Slmncpm**  
>  And here it is!


	79. The Return of Petunia Dursley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here at last, as many have asked for, is Petunia's story. As she doesn't interact with the main story until quite late in the piece, there's a lot to catch up on, so I have resorted to a rather lengthy flashback.

**79 The Return of Petunia Dursley**

"EVANS! ROOM 14! ON THE DOUBLE!"

The chambermaid sighed. Three months she had been there. Three months of unremitting drudgery. Three months of cleaning up after people who didn't spare her a thought; or, if they did, seemed to go out of their way to make an enormous mess.

She reached Room Fourteen to find that the toilet had overflowed. Again. Almost gagging, she got the plunger and mop and bucket from the mop closet. Really, of course, this was the handy-man's job; but she knew perfectly well there was no point in mentioning that. He would be 'far too busy doing important work to tend to such minor matters'. Far too busy, she knew, sitting on his arse reading the paper. But again, she knew better than to raise that point, either.

It hadn't always been like this. Back when she first came here, when her name was Petunia Dursley, she had been told that, if she behaved well, and treated the customers with respect at all times, she would find working there pleasant enough. And, for three days, it had been. Three days when she had buttoned her lip and done what she was told…

**[Start of Flashback]**

Four days. Four soul-destroying days she had been here. Playing nice to spoilt, fat bitches. Petunia had never had time for fat women. Fat men were different, of course; like her Vernon and her Dudley, fat men were successful men. Men who could, and did, enjoy the fruits of their labours. Though lately she had been rethinking this a bit: her Dudley had taken up exercise, and, she had to admit, looked much better and healthier for it. And, if she was honest with herself, 'her Vernon' was a bit of a myth, really, that she perpetuated because, despite his faults, she was still married to him and that demanded her respect. But she wasn't particularly honest with herself; and anyway, fat women, she would insist, were always sponging off other people.

Of course, it never entered Petunia's head that her view of life was sexist; nor that she was actually insanely jealous of ladies who lounged and lunched. Or, as now, came in to the – admittedly very nice and beautifully presented – hotel for no other reason than to have morning coffee with one another and discuss the latest doings of their dogs and children (generally in that order of importance).

Petunia hated the hideous old cats with a passion; but so far she had managed to hide that beneath a smiling façade. As she entered the dining room, carrying plates of thinly cut cucumber sandwiches with, yes, the crusts cut off, her eyes narrowed for just a moment before she put her bounty down and turned to return to the kitchen.

And then she saw her. Her least favorite of all these ghastly women: a fat, loud, rude, self-opinionated bossy old busy-body, was sitting with a group of her acid-tongued friends around the very nice French table that Petunia had spent two hours polishing the day before. Quite a pleasant chore, actually; the table had come up beautifully. And now this horrible woman had placed her scalding hot cup on the beautiful polished table. Petunia knew that this one thoughtless act would leave a hideous white mark, and there would be nothing for it but to strip the polish off and start again.

Petunia didn't even think.

"NO!" she yelled, rushing at the woman, holding a coaster out for her.

"I **beg** your pardon?" the woman asked snootily, looking down her nose at Petunia as though she were a rather wilted side-salad she hadn't ordered. Petunia instantly stopped dead as the cold realisation that this was not 'respect at all times' went through her, and she had hoped against hope that the manageress had not heard.

Fat chance.

"My office! Now!" a voice hissed behind her, and Petunia placed the coaster on the table and almost ran out of the dining room.

It was at least fifteen minutes before the manageress returned to her office. Fifteen minutes, Petunia discovered, was more than ample time to work oneself up into a lather of worry; indeed, she found she had time to decide that she was doomed anyway, and replace it with a lather of anger.

Coralie Carstairs had known this moment was coming from the instant that Petunia Dursley walked in to the hotel. She could see straight away that the woman would not keep her anger in check; she had, in fact, been rather surprised that Petunia had lasted so long as three days. But now the moment had come. It was going to be interesting, she thought, as she re-entered her office, to see which way she went – all apologetic and groveling (which would have been no fun at all) or feisty and fighting (lots of fun).

As she took her seat, she could see that Petunia was just spoiling for a fight. The manageress smirked inwardly.

"Well," she began briskly, and just a touch forcefully – not too much, she wanted to enjoy this – "and what do you have to say for yourself?"

"What?" Petunia responded petulantly, her face set in a mulish cast. "I stopped the fat bitch from staining the table. You should be thanking me."

Coralie schooled her features into an impassive mask.

"That 'fat bitch', as you so _charmingly_ call her," she began, her tone so cold it was a wonder it did not freeze the very air they breathed, "just happens quietly to be a Marchioness, a Muggle-born witch married to a Muggle aristocrat who is, very quietly, one of the most influential people in the country. I'm sure that Mr Malfoy, our employer, would not be at all pleased if she were to take her custom elsewhere. And I assure you, if Mr Malfoy is not pleased, he will let me know in no uncertain terms; and you can be most certain that I will let you know in equally blunt words."

At this point, Petunia's resolve was starting to crumble. She had told herself that she would brazen it out; but it seemed that her infraction might be rather more important than she thought. For, as she was learning, while her instincts and manners were quite appropriate for the coffee mornings she was used to, occasions with her neighbours where marking a table would be considered unspeakably rude, they were in no way up to the task of dealing with the hotel's clientele. She was, quite simply, way out of her depth.

Coralie was like a shark who could smell blood in the water, and pressed on.

"On the other hand, the table is reproduction, and I'm sure it will only take you a couple of days to get it back to pristine condition."

"A couple of days!" Petunia gasped.

"Oh yes," the manageress replied with a very false innocent look on her face. "Well, after all, it's not as if you have anything else to do."

Petunia's face fell at this pronouncement, but the manageress continued, "Thanks to you, I've had to sweet-talk the 'fat bitch' into staying, and part of the price is that she won't have to see you any more. So you're not going to be around the coffee mornings at all. No, you'll be out the back, doing all the maintenance work for us that no-one ever sees."

Petunia, who an hour before would have given anything to get out of serving at these events, suddenly realised, now that she was rid of them, that this was probably not a good thing at all. At least, if she was actually present, she could kid herself that she belonged there, that this was Her Set. But to be hidden away like a dirty little secret was just shameful.

With this thought, shame and anger started to build in her equally, and she fixed the other woman with a steely, albeit a touch wobbly, gaze.

"How dare you!" she spat out. "And what's this all about, anyway? I've been brought here against my will, forced to work a menial job, and no-one has discussed pay, or terms and conditions, or what my actual Position Description is, or anything!"

Coralie cocked her head. The woman had spirit. This was very entertaining.

"And what, pray, is a Position Description?" she asked archly, deciding, for the moment, to play dumb. Being a half-blood witch who had worked in both Muggle and Wizarding environments, she knew perfectly well what a Position Description was, of course; but Petunia didn't know that.

And indeed, as Coralie had rather hoped, the question drew out even more rage from Petunia. Coralie had pegged her as the kind of woman who was going to insist that everything be done by the book; now, of course, she was beginning to discover that the problem was that they were using entirely different books.

Petunia forced down her temper, distracted by this stupid question. "A statement of what I am expected to do," she replied.

"Oh!" the other woman said brightly. "That's easy. You're expected to do anything I tell you to. Is there something else?"

Petunia had to force herself not to grind her teeth together in frustration. "Remuneration," she said hoarsely. "Time off. Holidays. I am entitled to them. I know my rights."

The other woman looked at her as if she were mad. Clearly, Coralie thought, Petunia Dursley was still rather deluded about her exact position. It was definitely time to sort that confusion out.

"Petunia," she said, spitting the name out, "let us get one thing straight between us. You are not actually my employee. You are my responsibility. I am not your employer; I am your guard. You are not here as a job; you are here because you were given a simple choice between going to prison, or accepting Mr Potter's mercy. You threw yourself on the latter; this is the result. We will keep you fed, and housed, and safe. In return, you do what I say. If you manage to do that, you'll find I can be perfectly reasonable and pleasant to deal with. But I told you to show respect at all times; you have failed to do that, and there are going to be consequences. You are going to learn that I mean what I say.

"But let there be no more of these ridiculous thoughts of entitlement. No more 'rights'. You can accept what I give you, or you can go to prison. That's it. Now, go back to your room and think about it. I expect you to be in the maintenance room after lunch."

And with that, the manageress picked up some paperwork and proceeded to ignore the other woman altogether.

Petunia, seeing that the interview was clearly over, got up and returned to the small room she had been given, intending to at least lie down in the hope that some of her frustration would go away. As she entered the room, she paused. Surely it hadn't been this small before? And there had been roses on the wallpaper? Which had been a delicate pink, not that horrid mustard colour?

She lay down, more than a little afraid that she was, indeed, going mad.

-#-

She spent the afternoon with the three men who worked on maintenance.

At first, she had thought she would rule the roost. After all, she was a housewife from Surrey, a white-collar executive's wife, while they were just blue-collar workers.

It took about thirty seconds for her to realise that that wasn't going to get her anywhere.

"Oh, hello, love," one man said as she entered the room. "Put the kettle on for coffee, would you?"

"I beg your pardon?" she demanded, putting as much hauteur into her voice as she could muster.

"Oh," said one of the other two, smiling at her. "You think tea, instead? You're probably right. Our Bert always did 'ave ideas above his station."

Petunia looked around, aghast at their familiarity.

"Chop chop, Evans!" the third man said. "That kettle isn't going to boil itself! Now, be a good girl and see if you can't scrounge us a packet of biscuits from the kitchen."

-#-

Two days later, she had been called back into the manageress's office. In the day between, all her self-delusions about 'fat men being successful men' had fallen away entirely. At first she had comforted herself with the idea that the three men in the maintenance office – who, as far as she could see, did no useful work of any kind, and spent the whole day reading the newspaper and drinking tea - were nothing like her Vernon; but on the previous evening she had had the very disturbing epiphany that, on the contrary, the three were **exactly** like him. She had gone to bed with a hollow feeling inside, all of the respect she had had for Vernon ebbing away as she realised that she had been making excuses for him for the entirety of their married life and the stark truth was that he was really a nasty, boorish, racist piece of work.

And when she had got up in the morning, the epiphany had widened to include her nephew; all of her mental defenses had been ripped away and she now had to admit to herself that, under the guise of being a 'good wife' she had in fact been a despicable sister and aunt. The boy was her own flesh and blood, had come to them as a baby, and they had treated him worse than dirt. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that had the position been reversed, had she and Vernon died and Lily taken in Dudley, her sister would have treated her son as her own child.

In this mental turmoil, she entered Coralie's office and sat as she was bid.

"Now," the woman said, all brisk and business-like, "I hope that you have had time to reconsider your position here, and the terms under which you are invited to remain?"

Petunia nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Good," Coralie continued crisply. "And will you be staying with us?"

Petunia nodded, then, feeling that something a little more definite was required, said "yes"; the word came out more timidly than she had intended, but Coralie smiled at her anyway.

"Bravo!" she said. "That's the spirit! Now, a little house-keeping," and she couldn't help the smirk that came on her face at this word and how apposite it was.

"Firstly, there's the small matter of your name. According to this document" – here she passed Petunia a set of very official looking papers – "you are no longer a Dursley; and we can hardly call a staff member 'Petunia'. So from now on, you will be known as Evans."

"W—what?" Petunia said, stunned, then looked down at the papers. She could see, as she started to read them, that they were in fact divorce papers; and somehow, despite all the time limits that were built into the rules for divorce, both the decree nisi and the decree absolute were included in the pile.

It was over, then.

Petunia sighed. It was, she realised, quite a weight off her shoulders.

"Secondly," Coralie continued when it was obvious that Petunia wasn't going to say anything, "you will not be continuing to work with our handymen. They did not seem to quite think you were the 'right sort'."

Petunia snorted.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Coralie asked, her voice becoming a touch menacing.

"Sorry, no, ma'am," Petunia replied, not wishing to make things worse than they already were.

"Good," came the reply. "So you will be joining the housemaids, as a junior chambermaid. See Miss Cooper, in the laundry; she will be responsible for assigning and overseeing your duties from then on."

And, this being delivered in a way that made it a clear dismissal, Petunia nodded, and left the office.

Once her office was empty again, Coralie smirked. She **had** had lots of fun!

-#-

Miss Cooper turned out to be quite a dragon. She had looked Petunia up and down with a very sour expression, and eventually sighed as she handed her a mop and bucket.

"We'll let's see what you're made of, girl. Go and clean the public restrooms in the restaurant."

And that had been her main job for the next week. To begin with, she was rather angry about being given such menial work; but there was no-one to vent her anger on as all the people she worked with were, in her opinion, beneath her, and she did not see Miss Cooper or Mrs Carstairs again during the week.

However, it seemed that her work was noticed; for, at the end of the week, she found a note on her tiny desk asking her to see Miss Cooper at eight o'clock in the morning sharp. She made the appointment, with about fifteen seconds to spare, and noticed the very fleeting hint of a smile on the old dragon's face before she spoke. Petunia didn't know it, but even that mockery of an expression of amusement was so rare an event that it would be a topic of gossip amongst the chambermaids for days to come.

"Ah, Evans," she said. "I have been reviewing your work, and consider it to be acceptable. I now need someone to take up chambermaid duties for the ground floor rooms." Here she pointed out one of the other ladies who was standing next to a large trolley heavily laden with linen, towels, soaps, little bottles of shampoo, and all the rest of that particular variety of items that hoteliers put out for their clientele to steal, and continued, "so I want you to tag along with Parsons here and learn the ropes this week. Alright, Parsons?"

Rosalie Parsons looked none too pleased at this, but gave a crisp "yes, ma'am" in reply, and gestured to Petunia that she should wheel the trolley and follow her.

"Well, get on with it, Evans," Cooper said to her impatiently, and Petunia jumped a little, grabbed the trolley and followed her new workmate.

Since that time, Petunia had barely said ten words altogether to Carstairs; but she had gradually earned a grudging respect from the rest of the housekeeping staff, as she managed to get her daily chores done efficiently and, at great personal cost, kept a firm hold on her tongue.

But the grudging respect never, at any time, resulted in words of praise, from her co-workers, from Miss Cooper, or from the manageress. It only took Petunia a few weeks to work it out: it was a simple tit-for-tat. She had never praised the freak, not ever, no matter how good a job he had done; and now she was finding out exactly what that felt like.

It hurt. It was so childish, so ungenerous; at the same time, it was so perfect a punishment that she was almost giddy at the thought of it. Not that that made it any easier to bear …

To begin with it brought out a bout of childishness from her. It was so unfair! After all, the freak was … well, a freak. He had that freaky magic. It was just wrong! They had to beat it out of him, for his own sake.

And then her thoughts turned to self-pity: all right, they'd make the freak do all the cleaning, but he had magic and she did not; how was that fair? She had to do everything by elbow grease, while he could just wave that stick of his.

It took a couple of days for her to accept that these thoughts were self-serving rubbish. Of course Harry hadn't used his wand; they'd locked it up when he was home. And he hadn't used magic: he hadn't been allowed to. As for him being the freak, that one was not quite so clear to her. But as she sat in the maids' common room in the evening, in the few leisure hours she had, she learnt that they were all what the magical world called 'squibs'. Moreover, they had secured jobs here because they wanted to be close to magical folk, but couldn't bear to be patronised by them. At first, she had thought they were mad; but in truth, she realised, they saw themselves as the freaks, and, in the Wizarding World, perhaps they were. Perhaps, then, here at least, Petunia herself was the freak; not Lily, not Harry.

At the same time, she learnt that the hotel was designed for both magical and non-magical clientele; and that was why there were none of those hideous bat-eared creatures she had seen at Malfoy Manor here, and all the menial tasks were done by human servants. Human servants who, apart from her, seemed to really enjoy the access their jobs gave them to magical folk.

As the weeks went by, a strange transformation took place. Petunia found herself beginning to understand the depths of the ignorance and arrogance she had lived with. She began to see that, apart from using magic, the magical people weren't really any different from her. To be sure, the maintenance sat on their behinds all day; and they were terribly sexist; but they weren't ever cruel. She had met plenty of people in the building trade just like them: salt-of-the-earth, can't-do-enough-for-you people. Even though she had looked down her nose at them, they still waved at her cheerfully, and from time to time, knowing that the chambermaids never got to eat any sweet treats, would smuggle her a piece of fruit cake.

So it was a rather different Aunt Petunia who received the news, on July 31st, that she was to be given a half-day off in honour of Harry Potter's birthday. Overcome with emotion, she had spent most of the precious free time in her room, thinking back on all the awful things they had done to him on his birthday: or more exactly, all of the lovely, kind things that they simply neglected to do. Like buy him a present, or make him a cake, or even simply wish him a happy birthday.

Well, that last, at least, she could do now.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she whispered. And somehow the weight of guilt she still carried around felt slightly the less for it.

**[End of Flashback]**

Petunia roused herself back to the present. The toilet in Room Fourteen was only going to get worse if she didn't deal with it, after all. She sighed, squared her shoulders, took up her mop and plunger, and went once more to do battle with the plumbing.

Over the next two weeks, Room Fourteen seemed to have far more than its fair share of plumbing problems; and somehow, always when she was on duty and nearby. It was almost as if the room had it on for her …

-#-

Harry came awake very slowly. He blinked a couple of times, raised himself with great care so as not to rouse Draco, who was snuggled into him, and looked around him. Last night, he had thought they were in the Chateau that they had stayed in before; mostly, he supposed because the man at the desk had spoken in French. But as he looked around, he decided he must have been more out of things than he thought. In the morning light, he could see quite clearly that this wasn't where they had spent that unfortunate holiday; the detailing of the room, the smell of the place, the very quality of the light streaming brightly through the French doors leading to their own private little patio area, were all quite different.

He lay back down with a contented sigh, and pulled his still-sleeping husband closer. He still didn't know where he was; but, on the other hand, he was in a warm bed, sharing a cuddle with the man he loved best in all the world, and he had nothing that he had to do all day. What did it matter where they were, really?

Time passed; ten minutes, fifteen, half an hour, it didn't matter much. All Harry knew was that suddenly there were hands being smoothed along his body, and it was the most wonderful thing he could imagine.

"Good morning, my love," he said, and Draco's eyes popped open. A moment later, he was almost bowled over by a very enthusiastic morning cuddle and kiss.

"Good morning, husband," Draco said as they came apart for a breath, and Harry's heart leapt to hear him say it.

"Mmmmm," Harry replied, any more articulate reply being rather curtailed by Draco resuming the kiss.

-#-

"Mmmmm?" the sleepy voice said, as its owner felt long, strong fingers massaging her awake.

"Morning, love," Ron said. "How did you sleep?"

"Mmmmm," came the inarticulate reply; but Hermione was smiling, and Ron could hear it in her voice. He got the hint, though; clearly, she was in no mood to get up yet. Well, there really was no need to, after all; they had no plans for the day, and, after all the stress of the events during term-time: Harry being attacked; Hermione being given cursed candles; the wonderful – but scary – discovery that their one night of unprotected sex was going to result in a baby a bit before they had planned; and then, of course, exams and exam results and preparing for the wedding, being allowed to laze the day away sleeping with his beloved was a rare and welcome luxury.

There was just one thing he could do with, though. And while Hermione was still half asleep would be the perfect time, Fortunately, they were in the firmly Wizarding part of the hotel, so house-elves were allowed; and the two they had met so far had been visibly healthy and happy, and delighted to serve however they could; but even so he wasn't quite ready to summon one with the President of the Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare lying next to him had she been awake.

"Titchy!" he called quietly, and the aptly-named elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Weasley?" the elf asked softly, clearly having spotted that Hermione wasn't quite awake so keeping quiet would be wise. "How can Titchy be helping you this fine morning?"

"Tea and toast, please. And perhaps something to go with them."

Titchy's face fell a little. She had hoped for a chance to show the Weasleys that she was a good cook; if she impressed them, they might even take her on, and she would get to look after the young one she knew the Mistress was carrying. But she pulled herself together; no doubt a chance would come in time.

"Something being jam and preserves? We is having some excellent raspberry preserve," the elf replied with a note of eager-to-please in her voice that made Ron chuckle inwardly.

"Yes, that will do for Hermione," he replied. "Bacon and eggs for me."

"Yes master!" the elf chortled happily. Her chance was here!

-#-

An hour later, the Dragon and the Raven were enjoying their first meal at the hotel: a delightful al fresco breakfast served on their patio by very eager house-elves. Draco ordered the food, and Harry was tickled to find that they had pancakes to share. As well as maple syrup, there was a very fresh, cleansing lemon sauce that Harry found went very well with the pancakes, even when Draco grated some dark chocolate over the whole lot.

"So," Harry said once they had shared a pancake, "just exactly where are we?"

Draco looked at him askance, and then realised that of course, Harry hadn't known anything about his plans.

"This is Tuscany," he replied, adding "in Italy," when Harry still looked confused. "We are staying in the Hotel Malfoy di Siena, a very old establishment that's been in our family for about eight generations. One of the most discreet hotels in Europe. All the usual things: unplottable, anti-apparition wards, anti-portkey wards, and barriers around every room so no-one can perform any magic with intent to harm. Nor even attack physically. We've had fierce political rivals stay here and find themselves totally unable to hurt one another."

"So, posh then?" Harry asked.

Draco grinned. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh," Harry said, and Draco was a little disappointed to see that his husband looked a bit crestfallen.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well, it's just … I don't really fit in to posh places. Don't really have the right clothes or bearing or anything."

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "You're part of our family now, bonded and all, and the Malfoys **define** posh. And anyway, like all really posh places, the people here don't give a damn what you wear or whether you use the right cutlery. As long as you're pleasant and thank them politely, they'll love you."

"You're just trying to make me feel better," Harry said, a touch grumpily.

"Is it working?" Draco said with a brilliant smile, and Harry couldn't stop himself from blushing and grinning back.

"Er … yeah, a bit," he admitted.

Draco leaned over and trailed his hands underneath his husband's bathrobe.

"Let's see if we can't improve on 'a bit', shall we?" he said.

They didn't eat much more breakfast; and in the end Draco managed to make Harry feel a lot better.

-#-

Kreacher was absolutely overjoyed. He had expected the house to be sad and empty after the wedding; but no, Mistress Pansy and Master Theo had returned that night, and Pansy had made it quite clear to the old elf that she was a pure-blood witch, brought up to the proper ways, and expected things to run as they should in a pure-blood household, never mind what had happened recently.

Theo was a bit worried that she might have offended the poor elf; but Kreacher could barely contain his delight. Working for Harry was, he had to admit, a damn sight more pleasant than working for Sirius had ever been; but this, a return to standards that his late lamented (if only by him) Mistress Walburga Black would have understood and approved of, this sent him into raptures of delight. This was How Things Should Be.

Accordingly, he apparated into the bedroom and served tea and toast bang on seven o'clock.

"Mmrff," Theo said indistinctly when he heard the 'pop!' of apparition. "Whassup?"

Pansy, rather more with it, cast a quick Tempus charm and smirked.

"Very good, Kreacher," she said imperiously. "Right on time. Breakfast at eight thirty, please."

"Yes Mistress Pansy!" Kreacher said ecstatically, and went off to prepare.

"What?" Theo grumbled as the elf left. "You mean I have to get up in an hour and a half?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, then remembered that such things were supposed to be beneath her, and gave him a sharp rap on the shoulder instead.

"Silly," she said. "You know the customs; 'eight thirty' breakfast means sitting down at nine o'clock."

"So why say 'eight thirty' then?"

This earned him another rap.

"It's the custom," Pansy said as she got up to fetch the tray that Kreacher had left on the desk as was proper.

"And you call **me** 'silly'," Theo muttered.

"I heard that!"

-#-

Harry and Draco had had a late lunch and were lounging on their patio drinking lemonade and enjoying the sunshine when a piece of parchment appeared next to Draco's glass. He picked it up, and the motion caught Harry's eye.

"What's that love?" he asked.

"It's an invitation from the manager," Draco replied. "We're invited to afternoon tea in the Terrace Bar at three o'clock. Apparently there's someone from the Ministry who wants to talk to us."

Harry groaned. "We're on our honeymoon!" he wailed. "Can't they leave us alone?"

"Apparently not," Draco replied drily. "We don't have to go," he added cautiously.

"Yeah we do," Harry replied, somewhat despondent. "Otherwise they'll keep badgering us forever. How long have we got?"

"Three quarters of an hour," Draco replied. "Just time to shower, don't you think?"

Harry looked at his lover. There was something in the tone of voice that caught his interest; and he saw a certain gleam in Draco's eyes and knew he had not misunderstood the blond's intent.

"Well, we might be a little bit late," he replied.

And in the event, they were indeed ten minutes late; but no-one said anything.

-#-

The Terrace Bar was, as its name suggests, situated along the side of the hotel, and had a stunning view of the local mountains. It was on the other side of the hotel to Harry and Draco's rooms; their suite was very private, but this was a place to be seen.

Harry was rather overawed at the opulence of the place: velvet chairs and damask tablecloths greeted them, and there seemed to be an abundance of beautifully dressed waiters and magnificent nude statues.

"Ah! Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter!" the manager called to them, and they walked towards him. "Allow me to present …"

"Ambassador Banks!" Harry said, remembering the man from the funerals that seemed so long ago – could it really be only four months? He was glad it was him; he had fond memories of their meeting.

"Mr Potter!" Banks replied genially. "I'm impressed that you should remember me."

"How could I forget Robin's father?" Harry asked. "Though I suppose you are more famous for other things."

"Oh, I don't mind," he replied, as he indicated to them to sit down and the four men all took their seats. "I'm very proud to be Robin's father. But I fear I must correct you – I am no longer the British Ambassador to the Bundesministerium der Magie; the Minister himself asked me to take over the Department of International Magical Co-operation."

"We are honoured that a Head of Department would want to have tea with us," Draco said diplomatically.

Banks chuckled. "Please, call me Viridis – an appalling name, I know, but my father chose it for me."

At this point a waiter arrived, and everyone was invited to place their order for afternoon tea. Harry didn't quite know what he wanted, not being used to formal afternoon teas; but Draco happily forestalled the problem by suggesting they have a plate of sweet treats to share.

"Now," Viridis continued once the waiter had taken their order, "it is delightful to see you again; but there is also an official component to my visit here today; with your indulgence I thought we'd get that out of the way so we could enjoy our afternoon tea."

"Oh," Harry said, and then a rather awful thought popped into his head. Draco was still, officially, on probation; so that possibly meant that he was not technically supposed to leave Great Britain. "Does this have anything to do with Draco's probation?"

"Not at all," Viridis replied. His sharp eyes had not missed the concerned look that had flittered across Harry's face. "No, you haven't done anything wrong. Were you, perhaps, worried that Mr Malfoy should not leave the country?"

"Er – yeah," Harry replied.

"No, no," the other man replied, with a large, comforting smile on his face. "The letter you were sent by Chief Warlock Doge, which is all quite official and registered by the way, specifically stated that you would take over any and all limits on Mr Malfoy, so as long as you're happy that he's here, there's no problem. Um, you **are** happy that he's here, I take it?" he asked with a wink.

"Er – very," Harry replied, blushing a shade of crimson as he thought about exactly how happy he was that Draco was here. His husband grinned, finding the display positively endearing. Even the small amount of sun they had caught today seemed to have tanned Harry's skin beautifully; while Draco's pale skin never tanned and, as he always did as a matter of course, he had used charms to avoid it burning.

"Very good. Now that you know why I'm not here, perhaps I should tell you why I am?" Banks continued with a twinkle in his eye.

Harry and Draco both nodded in agreement, and Viridis continued, "as you can imagine, the Ministry was a bit put out when you were awarded titles by the Goblin Nation; you may remember that the Prophet rather took us to task."

Harry looked a bit doubtful at this. "Doesn't worry me, I must admit," he said. "Anyway, I thought Kingsley said I'd get an Order of Merlin?"

"Oh yes," Viridis replied with a deprecatory wave. "But really, let's face it, that's just a piece of frippery. Very desirable and laudable, of course, but it hardly compares in standing or effect with the Goblin title of 'Goblinfriend', which every Goblin will use when they address you and gives you the right to come and go in the Goblin Nation with the status of a hero. What has been decided by the Ministry and the Wizengamot in concert is to revive the old idea of having Lordships, something that has been rather in abeyance ever since the end of the First Wizarding War."

Draco's eyes lit up. "So, Harry would be Lord Potter?" he asked.

"Just so," Viridis replied. "There was a Potter lordship at one point, but once Harry's grandfather died it pretty much fizzled out."

"Why didn't Dad use it?" Harry asked.

"Ah, normally, Lordships vest at the age of twenty-five," Viridis replied. "As your father was only twenty-one when he was murdered, he never got the opportunity. In our world, the Lordship becomes extinct if there is no-one of age in the family. But the Ministry has decided, in celebration of the happy occasion of your wedding, to revive the Potter Lordship and ask you to accept it, effective immediately, waiving the age requirement. And we will be asking the other Lords to take up their titles as well; which means that Draco's father will be formally reinstated as Lord Malfoy."

Harry gulped, and Draco laid his hand on him. "You have to do this, Harry," he said simply. "It means that you get a seat on the Wizengamot; and it lets the Wizarding World honour you. They need that, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I'm not really one for titles," he began, and Viridis chuckled.

"'Lord Potter' is really no different to 'Mr Potter' unless you want it to be," he said. "It'll just be how you are referred to formally. And I suspect that your father-in-law will lean on the Prophet and make them use it. I think a lot of their tricks won't work half so well if they have to call you 'Lord Potter' rather than, say, 'the Boy who lived twice'."

"All right," Harry said, with a small grin. "That's a good point. And if Lucius gets his title back too, then that will make a statement about us all getting together. What do I have to do?"

"Nothing, really," Viridis replied. "I just give you this," and he drew a large flat stiff cardboard folder out of the bag he had placed discreetly at his feet. Harry opened it; inside he found a very stiff and formal piece of parchment outlining the 'Revival of the Ancient and Noble Title of the Lord Potter' in such legal language that Harry despaired of understanding it. But clearly, he didn't have to.

"Thank you, Mr Banks," he said as the man shook his hand.

"A pleasure, Lord Potter," Viridis said with a grin.

At this point the manager, who seemed to have decided to take a back seat throughout the conversation, signaled to the waiter, who brought over their afternoon tea. They sat at the table happily eating and talking for another hour.

As they made their way back to their suite, Harry felt strangely pleased. It was nice to be recognised officially by his own society, he realised. And the food had been amazing. He vowed that afternoon tea at the Hotel Malfoy di Siena was going to be a regular feature of their stay.

-#-

Ron and Hermione finally emerged at seven o'clock, having spent the day snacking and sleeping. Now that the pressure was off, Hermione found it almost impossible to rouse herself; fortunately, the pregnancy seemed to be progressing well and there had been no bouts of morning sickness during the last week; but she had been taking a pregnancy-safe Pepper Up potion for a fortnight now, and Draco had warned her that she should expect to crash after the wedding and should plan to take it easy.

He was, she discovered, quite right. By the time they had walked from their room to the hotel's restaurant, she was ready to sit down and very glad they didn't have to go any further. Within seconds of their arrival, they were shown to a very intimate table seated in a very quiet corner which commanded a lovely view out over a small stream that was artfully lit.

It was a delicious meal. They sat together afterwards, lingering over coffee, watching the water cascading down a little artificial run. Ron sighed. Being here with the love of his life, with nothing to do but enjoy one another's company was pure bliss.

-#-

It was mid Tuesday morning before Ron and Hermione re-appeared, having decided to go out for a walk. As Ron walked down the hall, he passed a trolley laden with linen and towels. Since there were such trolleys in every hotel, he took no notice until he heard a sharp intake of breath from the woman propelling it.

"You!" she said.

Ron stopped and looked at her. He looked at her; it took him a minute before he recognised her.

"You're Harry's Aunt!" Ron exclaimed.

"That's right," Petunia replied. "Petunia Dursley. Though here they call me Evans. And you're one of those friends of his who came through the fireplace."

"Yeah," Ron replied, his lip curling as he thought of all he knew of what the Dursleys had done to his friend. "I'm Ron Weasley. Can't say I'm pleased to meet you, though."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her tone chastising.

"What?" Ron replied. "Why should I play nice? They were horrid to Harry."

"We were," Petunia admitted. "And I'm really very sorry about that. Look, I can't talk now, but can I come and see you at eight when I get off? Please?"

"Yes, all right. Can we meet in the private lounge just off our room?" Hermione replied. Ron did not look happy about it; but he was quickly learning that, if Hermione had been bossy before their marriage, she was, if anything, worse now. He'd watched his parents' marriage over the years; nothing good ever came of gainsaying one's wife.

-#-

There came a timid knock on the door.

"Come in!" Hermione sang out. The door opened quietly, and Petunia shuffled in.

"Thank you for agreeing to talk to me," she began, and her tone sounded so down and defeated that even Ron felt bad about it. "I just wanted - I just hoped -" and here the woman broke down in tears, and Hermione took her gently and guided her to a seat.

"Oh!" Petunia said once she had got herself under control. "I'm not really supposed to sit in the presence of guests..."

"It's all right," Hermione reassured her as she gave Petunia a handkerchief, "we won't tell anyone."

"Oh," Petunia replied, stifling back tears, "you're too kind. I don't want to take up your time, I know you're on holiday; and I know that you really have no reason to listen to me or to care what I think. I know ... I know that what we did to Harry was wrong. Vile. Unloving. I think maybe I knew that all along. But somehow I got caught up with being a good wife and mother, and Vernon convinced me that I couldn't do that and allow Harry to stay in your world."

Ron fixed her with a glare.

"And that excuses you, does it?" he asked coldly.

For the first time, Petunia lifted her eyes and looked at him, fixing her gaze on him, as she gathered up all of her courage in both hands.

"No!" she all but shrieked. "Are you listening to me? Of course it doesn't! What we did, what I did was plain wrong! I was a horrible person! I realise that now. I wake up every day wishing I could go to that boy and fall at his feet and apologise! To really throw myself on his mercy and beg for a chance to make good. Not just to waste my life here cleaning rooms for people who don't give a toss!"

Ron looked stunned, and Petunia, clearly regretting her outburst, bowed her head.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess you'll go and tell Mrs Carstairs about this and she'll find some horrible job for me to do. Or maybe you'll go straight to the owner and he'll throw me out. I don't deserve anything more, I suppose. But really, I just want to get back to Dudley. I want him to have a mother. Is that too much to hope for?"

Hermione looked at her, and her heart suddenly went out to this poor woman. Yes, she had made her friend's life hell; but it wasn't for them to judge her for that. She didn't know if Harry could ever forgive her; but he was the most generous, forgiving man she knew, she had watched him forgive Draco and Lucius and the Slytherins; even more, he had got that forgiveness to extend to the point where they were all practically one big family. If he could do that, maybe Petunia would get another shot.

The very least they could do, she decided, was ask. She looked at Ron, who nodded at her.

"Look," he said, "we won't tell anyone about your outburst. Harry's our friend, but we can't tell him what to do; and we won't try to manipulate him, not for anyone. We're not going to try to persuade him; you'll have to do that yourself. But we will see if Harry will talk to you and maybe give you another chance."

Petunia looked at them, speechless, and Hermione continued, not unkindly, "and now I think you'd probably best go before you're missed."

"Yes," she said, gathering herself together, "right. I don't know what to say. But, thank you! Thank you, thank you!"

Petunia left the room in a little flurry of hope; and for the first time in months there was even the beginning of a smile on her face.

-#-

While she was in Australia, Margaret Granger had woken up one day to find the sun streaming in through her windows, making delightful patterns of the dust particles in the air, while the light breeze that moved the dust also carried gentle and delightful scents from the flower-bed beneath their window. She suddenly woke up to herself. The simply joy of the moment helped her realise that she had spent her whole life being altogether too serious: studying, working, being the good student, the proper intern, the stern and strict parent, the proud housewife. But what was it for? She found herself – quite literally – waking up and smelling the roses, and decided then and there that her life needed a bit more living in it. Accordingly, ever since returning from Australia, she had made a point of having Wednesday afternoons off to do whatever she wanted – and she made a point of doing various different things that interested her: visiting little towns, going to galleries and having long walks competed with the time she spent in the garden. Initially, Peter had thought she was mad, but eventually he had come round to the idea, and now, as often as not, he accompanied her on her little outings.

At the wedding, she and Narcissa had spent a lovely half-hour discussing roses; and she had found herself invited to visit Narcissa's garden whenever she liked. She decided not to do the polite thing that her pre-Australia self would have done – that is, to agree but never bring it up again – but instead invited herself to afternoon tea the following Wednesday afternoon. It was, she knew, a little cheeky; but Narcissa had been quite genuinely delighted, and asked her to come, and to bring Miriam with her. Margaret discovered, when she arrived at the agreed hour of two thirty, that Narcissa had made quite a party of it. Set out on the lawn in an artfully haphazard way were several small tables, each groaning under the weight of an enormous tea service complete with a truly impressive selection of sandwiches and cakes. About a dozen people were there, sitting and talking animatedly; Margaret smiled to see that everyone was obviously enjoying themselves very much. She realised that she recognised the faces of most of the witches – apart from herself, she was quite sure they would all be magical - if not their names, as most of the people there had been at the wedding the previous Saturday.

Narcissa, who had brought her out of the Floo room, and chatted almost non-stop since then, took her over to one table where Molly, Andromeda, and another lady she did not immediately recognise were all seated. Teddy was sitting on Andromeda's lap; but as soon as he saw Miriam, he squirmed and wriggled, and Andromeda set him down on a blanket she had obviously brought for the purpose, and Margaret set Miriam down next to him.

The two children immediately started talking to one another in the incomprehensible babble of six-month olds, and all five ladies watching cooed at the sight.

"Now," Narcissa said brightly, "introductions. Of course you know Molly and Andromeda; this young lady here is my very dear friend Marianna Zabini; Marianna, this is Margaret Granger, Hermione's mother."

"I am zo delighted to meet you," Marianna said as she rose and took both of Margaret's hands in her own, touching each cheek in the continental style. "Please, sit with us; would you like some tea?"

"Thank you, that would be lovely," Margaret said, finding herself just a little flustered. Marianna's voice was low and seductive, the voice of a woman who always got her way and generally did so while making people feel that they were the ones being spoilt. "You are Blaise's mother?"

"Ah yes!" she said, her eyes suddenly coming to life. "Of course, you will know my darling son! I do hope 'e too will be 'aving a wedding soon – you know that 'e and that lovely Angelique Delacour, they are sweet on each other?"

Molly chuckled. "You need to watch Marianna, Margaret. She'll have Teddy and Miriam betrothed to one another before you can say 'matrimonial obligations'. She's been a matchmaker all her life; including quite a few husbands of her own."

Margaret's eyes widened, thinking that such a comment was rather insensitive; but Marianna tossed her head back and roared with laughter.

"Um, ah," Margaret stammered out, feeling deeply embarrassed for the other woman, and very confused at her response to Molly's remark.

"Oh, do not worry," Marianna said, placing her hand on Margaret's arm in that little intimate 'bringing you into the circle' gesture. "Molly and I, we have known each other a long time, and I cannot take offense at her. You know," she continued, a pensive look coming into her eyes, "it 'as always made me sad that I knew and liked and admired both Molly and Narcissa, but they were cut off from each other by the silly War and feuds and nonsense. Thank Merlin for Mr Potter and his friends putting a stop to all that!"

This was said quite seriously, and Margaret nodded. It was ridiculous how much faith the Wizarding World had placed in the small group of school students; but she had to admit, it had paid off handsomely. They didn't deserve it; but it was clear that there was a new society being forged and she agreed that it was good to see Narcissa and Molly able to be friends; indeed she felt that the two of them were probably her closest friends.

Her little reverie was interrupted by Marianna, who had clearly had enough being serious, for she clapped her hands together and announced, "now! We must consider the important things. What colours do you think Miriam and Teddy should wear to this betrothal?"

It didn't take Margaret long after that to realise that she now had three very special friends who were witches.

-#-

While Narcissa was busy entertaining at the Manor, Lucius, to his chagrin, was busy dealing with his burgeoning business empire. Right now, he would much rather have been being social. Not that he considered that to be an easy option: he knew, none better, how hard Narcissa worked at all of the events she staged. And there were times when saying polite things to rude people really stuck in the craw. Not, of course, that Narcissa's guests for today were at all rude; but he thought back, in horror, to some of the banquets he had been at, with people who could bore for Britain being positively encouraged to do so.

Anyway, he had a job to do. Today he was juggling all of the different building firms he needed to have lined up; some of the CEOs were getting a bit big for their boots, and starting to try to throw their weight around. It was nothing he couldn't handle; but it did need the personal touch. So now he was sitting in his office with a pile of reports in front of him.

Sighing, he picked up the next file. Betty's Building Supplies. The situation there was quite simple: Betty wanted to increase her prices by ten percent. Lucius had smiled sweetly at her and told her to go ahead; and that of course, at the same time, he would go ahead himself and find another supplier. Betty had tried to dig her heels in, believing that she was the only place in Britain from which he could get the wood he needed at the quality and price he wanted. She probably was right in this belief; but Britain was not the only market, and he was now importing through a supply chain in the Magical world that was better quality and five percent cheaper than Betty. She had now taken to sending him letters that managed simultaneously to threaten to sue him and beg for his business back. She would probably go under; he doubted anyone in the industry would mourn her.

He turned to the next report, and smiled. Grunnings Drills. He skimmed the most recent report from the Managing Director. As always, Michael Collings was brief, succinct, and informative. The company, Lucius could see at a glance, was going from strength to strength. Reading between the lines, he got the impression that George Grunnings, the former owner, was still trying to push his weight around a bit; but Collings seemed to be dealing with that all right, and on the whole Lucius was delighted that here was one company he didn't need to make a huge effort with. He made a note to take the man out to dinner to thank him for his sterling work; he was sure the continuing success of Grunnings Drills was largely down to him. He wondered where the company would be if Vernon Dursley had been made Managing Director; and he shuddered at the thought.

At that moment came one of those events that give co-incidence a bad name. The Floo roared into life; and to his surprise, Hermione Granger – no, Weasley now – 's face appeared.

"Mrs Weasley!" he said in surprise, and Hermione blushed to be so addressed. "To what do I owe the unexpected honour of a Floo-call when you should be enjoying your honeymoon?"

Hermione chuckled. Lucius did have lovely manners now that he wasn't working for a madman any more.

"I was hoping to speak to you about one of your employees," she replied.

"Not to complain, I hope?" he replied.

"No, no," Hermione said. "No, Harry's Aunt Petunia is here, and-"

Lucius's face darkened. "She has been giving you trouble?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Hermione said quickly, trying to defuse his evident anger. "No, it's not like that at all. We met up with her by accident, and she was terribly apologetic and contrite. She's hoping that maybe Harry will talk to her, just her, without Vernon to muck things up. Do you think there's any chance? Could you maybe transfer her to their hotel and see if anything happens or something?"

Lucius looked pensive. This was an unexpected development. His instincts were to just shut it down; the woman had had plenty of time to show just how nasty she was, after all. On the other hand, Harry was a fantastically generous wizard; who knew what he might do?

"I'll think about it," he replied. "Leave it with me, forget about it, and go off and enjoy yourselves."

"Yes sir!" Hermione replied, giving him a mock salute and terminating the Floo call.

Lucius sat back. How to handle this? After a few minutes, he made up his mind. It would do no harm for her to have experience of the hotel in Italy, he supposed; anything else would be up to her. He reached for the Floo powder, and made a couple of calls of his own.

-#-

On Friday morning, it was hot. Harry woke up at half past six, sweat dripping off him. He got up quietly, and considered taking a shower; but he remembered the hotel had a small swimming pool that he could use, and decided that would be much more refreshing.

It was about a quarter past seven when he finished up in the pool area, and wandered back towards his room. The staff were moving around, he noticed; it was apparently a bit of a lull between the very early breakfasts and the late sitting that he and Draco preferred on the two occasions when they had actually made it out of their room. He smiled at them as they walked past; and then his face froze.

She couldn't be here. It just couldn't be true.

Could it?

"Aunt Petunia?" he said.

The woman he had spotted, who had not been looking in his direction, turned to face him; and he saw at once that it was indeed his aunt.

"Harry!" she exclaimed without thinking.

"EVANS!" the woman standing next to her hissed, "it's 'Mr Potter' to us! When required!"

This was a clear warning to remind her that she was not supposed to talk to the guests, much less address them in such a familiar fashion. But Petunia held her head up defiantly. Of course she was going to address Harry familiarly; he was, after all, family.

Harry turned to the other woman.

"Actually," he said, somewhat apologetically, "technically it's Lord Potter. But it's all right, she is my aunt; and she's called me a lot worse names. So," he continued, turning to Petunia, "you work here now?"

Petunia nodded, not sure just how much trouble she was in, and not trusting herself to speak as that would probably only add to it.

"Sorry, I guess I'm stopping you both from working, aren't I? Or do you just not want to talk to me?"

"Oh please," Petunia burst out, "yes, please can we talk? I just—" and here Petunia's nerve failed her, and she finished her sentence in a whisper, "—want to say sorry …"

"OK," Harry continued, mindful that he was interrupting the staff while they were on duty, which was not likely to endear him to them. After all, they had jobs to do, and only so much time to do them in, and they'd probably have to work extra to make up if the guests kept them from their work; and while he was quite sure that no-one would say anything about such a matter to him, there was a good chance they'd take it out on Petunia. Which was exactly the sort of unfairness he was most dead set against. "Can we talk sometime soon? When are you off duty?"

"I'm sure we can make Evans available at your convenience, sir," the other woman replied.

"Evans?" Harry said, confused; then, deciding explanations could wait, continued, "all right, can you come to our suite at ten o'clock?"

"We shall ensure she is there, sir," came the reply.

Harry wasn't entirely pleased that Petunia was not being allowed to speak for herself; but he looked back at her and could see in her eyes gratitude for the invitation together as she gave the barest of nods as if to say 'this is good, please leave it like this'. He decided that that was probably for the best. Right now, it was unlikely that Petunia would suffer much for the conversation as it would get back to him when he saw her at ten thirty.

"Thank you," Harry replied to the other woman. "Um, I don't know your name?"

"Busby, sir," she replied; and then, as his demeanor clearly wanted her to say more, "Kate Busby. Kitchen under-manager."

"Thank you, Kate," Harry said with a smile, and left for their room to snog Draco and get ready for the day.

-#-

Lucius and Narcissa sat eating breakfast in the informal dining room, watching the rain falling on the garden. Lucius found it rather soothing; his day of paperwork had finished with a round of meetings at the Ministry, so he had come home very late and feeling rather worn out. Today he was having a day off, and there was a mesmeric quality to the persistent beat of water on soil that he found very relaxing.

"How was your party yesterday afternoon?" he asked as he poured himself another cup of tea. "I hope the weather was kinder to you."

"Oh, the weather was delightful," Narcissa replied, "as were the guests. Though I think Margaret Granger found Marianna a bit much to begin with."

"Everyone does," Lucius replied drily. "Marianna is a force of nature. I assume she whipped Margaret into shape?"

"Oh yes," Narcissa replied with a smile. "I believe that the betrothal between Teddy Lupin and Miriam Granger is now all planned out."

It was a trifle unfortunate that Lucius had taken a mouthful of tea just as Narcissa said this; the image it brought to mind caused him to snort, and tea sprayed over the table. Narcissa, who had rather been aiming for this effect, snickered as she calmly cleaned the mess with a wave of her wand.

"I'm sorry," Lucius said, then noticed the smirk and realised he had been set up. "It's all right for you," he pouted. "You had enjoyable company. I had to read reports. Though I did get a Floo call from the new Mrs Weasley."

"How nice!" Narcissa rejoined. "Are they having a pleasant honeymoon?"

"We didn't actually discuss it, but yes, I would say so, from her demeanor. And no, it wasn't really nice; she wanted to talk about Petunia Evans."

Narcissa's face went blank; it took a moment for her to register whom he must mean, as she remembered that of course Evans was Harry's mother's maiden name, so must have been his aunt's as well.

"Harry's aunt? Wasn't she Petunia Dursley?" she asked by way of seeking confirmation, her expression rather sour as she remembered the horrible woman.

"Indeed," Lucius replied. "But we organised a divorce. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with him, which I must say shows at least some good taste. It seems she wants to apologise to Harry and try and make up with him. And Mrs Weasley was interceding for her, asking if I could get them together; or at least transfer her to the Malfoy Hotel di Siena."

"I see," Narcissa replied, her eyes hard, and Lucius rather suspected that she did indeed see. His wife was very protective of both of her sons, after all. "And are you planning to acquiesce?"

"Yes," Lucius replied simply.

Narcissa arched and eyebrow at him, and the message was clear: elaborate. Or else. And he knew from experience that he really didn't want to know what 'or else' entailed.

"I can't not, really," he said apologetically. "After all, you know Harry. He's too kind-hearted. If it got back to him that Petunia wanted to see him, and I stopped it happening, he would not be pleased. Hermione Weasley is a Gryffindor; she is bound to mention the episode to him, and he would feel hurt that I hadn't given her a chance. And, however much the debt between us is more love than duty now, it is still there, and I can't hurt him."

Narcissa's face relaxed, just a little, and Lucius knew that the immediate danger was past. Though he would have to tread warily.

"Very well," she replied. "So what will you do?"

"It's already happened," Lucius said. "Evans was moved to Siena last night."

"Indeed? And are you going to do anything else?"

It was Lucius's turn to smirk.

"Oh no," he replied. "Now it's all up to her. And good luck to her."

-#-

Draco woke up, and looked around for Harry. His husband was not in their bed; and a cursory check of the rest of the suite showed he wasn't anywhere in there either. His rational mind knew perfectly well that Harry would be fine, no matter where he was in the hotel, and that he wouldn't leave the hotel without letting Draco know where he was. But he still felt worried, and a little bereft.

 _This is insane,_ he thought to himself. But however much he knew Harry loved him, and was perfectly safe, and would come back soon, he still felt a little bit alone, a little bit lost, and a little bit abandoned.

What the hell was going on?

At that moment, he heard the door to their suite open.

"Harry? Where were you?" he called tentatively; though in his mind he knew perfectly well that it wasn't going to be anyone else.

"Dragon? I went for a swim," he heard the answering call, and he did not miss the concerned tone Harry asked in. His Raven came into their bedroom and took stock of him, still in bed. "Are you all right?"

Draco decided not to say 'yes, I'm fine'. After all he wasn't, really, and his husband deserved to know that.

"I missed you," he said softly, and to his delight Harry smiled at him, divested himself of the bathrobe and swimming trunks he had come back from the pool in, and crawled into bed with him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"That's better," Draco said after a minute of just lying there, soaking up Harry's love and attention as his Raven stroked his hair and showered him with kisses.

"All right now?" Harry asked, and Draco just purred to hear the love behind the question.

"I don't know what's going on," he answered. "It was stupid; I just … I just wanted you to be here."

"And now I am," Harry replied simply, stroking his husband's arm.

"Yes, but …" Draco raised himself on one elbow and looked Harry in the eye. "Why am I being so stupid? It's like I need you with me, all the time."

Harry pulled Draco down into a deep hug. He really didn't know what to say; but his Dragon clearly needed some reassurance.

"Well, while we're on our honeymoon, I don't mind being with you if that's what you need. It's not like it's any kind of hardship!"

"Yeah, but what about when we have to go back to Britain?"

Harry paused for a moment. It would be too easy to give a glib answer, he thought, so he took his time to say what he felt as carefully as he could.

"We'll just have to see how it goes, I guess," he said eventually, easing the cuddle a little and stroking Draco's sides. "In the meantime, is there anything else? Do you feel at all sick or anything?"

Draco thought about this for a moment, then replied, "no, actually, I feel really well. There's just one thing, though …"

"What?" Harry asked, and then found himself thrown over onto his back.

"You've had your exercise this morning," the blond replied, "now it's my turn."

-#-

It was about an hour later that Harry remembered he had a matter to discuss with Draco.

"We're going to have a visitor at morning tea time," he said as they sat in the hotel dining room eating a late breakfast, Draco having decided today was a day to be seen rather than to hide away. "So we'll need to be in our suite then, if you don't mind."

"Oh yes?" Draco asked. "I had thought of Flooing to a lovely Wizarding restaurant in Lake Garda, and then going for a trip round the lake; but we could do that for lunch, that would be fine. Who is the visitor?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"My Aunt Petunia."

Draco looked at him sternly.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "She works here now. I met her when I was coming back from my swim. I don't want to go around pretending I don't know her, or ignoring her, or trying to stay away from her; so I thought we could have a single conversation with her and sort things out."

"Have you forgiven her?" Draco asked, his expression unchanged.

"No, not yet," Harry admitted. "But I think I want to give her a chance. To see what she has to say when Vernon is not around."

"All right," Draco said, "But if she tries anything …"

"… we ask your dad to move her somewhere else and never talk to her again," Harry promised, and Draco seemed to be mollified by this.

Harry sat back. It actually felt quite nice that his Dragon was being so protective of him. As he thought back on his life, he realised that in all probability the only other people who had loved him for himself, and looked out for him like this, were his parents, Sirius and Remus. Even the Weasleys, who he adored, had never questioned why he was kept practically caged by the Dursleys. Not that he blamed them; the war had been horrible for everyone, and things had not been noticed that should have been. Now was not the time to rehash them; that wasn't the kind of world he wanted.

He wanted people to get along. He wanted people to forgive one another, and to accept other people and not judge them just because they were different. He wanted people to be judged for the choices they made now, not from some position of prejudice.

Was that really so much to ask?

-#-

Petunia knocked on the door bang on ten o'clock. She could hardly bring herself to do it; she was so apprehensive and hesitant about the whole thing that the strokes she made were not spaced evenly. But if her knock was strangely unrhythmical, that was nothing compared to the frantic fluttering of her heart. For a staff member to have morning tea in the hotel with a guest was unprecedented; and so she had Been Coached, in definite capital letters: she was to show appropriate respect at all times; she was to stand unless told she might sit; she was to call Harry 'my Lord' and Draco 'my Lord Consort'; she had been dressed in her finest clothes and had her hair styled by the hotel's resident hairdresser, which was at least one positive thing, she thought. There wasn't much else positive to hold onto: it had been made very, very clear to her that a lot hang on this interview and if a word of criticism came back, the whole staff would take it very much to heart; their lives would be miserable, and each one of them would make it a personal goal to ensure she shared the full extent of their misery.

Well, she thought, pulling herself up straight, her superiors had said pretty much the same things when she went to see Mr and Mrs Weasley at the other hotel; and she'd come through that all right. But of course, this was more important: if Mrs Granger had said no, she could have hoped for other opportunities; but if Harry rejected her pleas, that would be it.

She was woken from her reverie by a sharp "come in!". Opening the door, she wheeled in the tea trolley that she had been given. Of course, the trolley could just as well have been brought by a house-elf; but Petunia suspected the managers had made her bring it so that any guest who might see her would not entertain any suspicion that she was doing anything other than being the proper servant bringing room service.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said in greeting. He then took the other end of the tea trolley and wheeled it out onto their patio. Petunia, having nothing else to do, followed him out, finding Mr Malfoy already sitting outside at a low table, obviously enjoying the sunshine and light breeze of the day. Harry levitated the tea service off the trolley and onto the table; while Petunia, her eyes going wide as she watched her nephew performing magic without word or wand, stood just outside the door, waiting to see how he would react.

"Please, take a seat," Harry said, indicating the third of the three seats grouped around the table. She hurried to comply, sitting very formally on the edge of the seat.

Harry and Draco had chatted further; Draco was clearly worried that Harry was going to be a pushover. Harry had thought over all the horrors he had endured at her hands; horrors that she could have, should have, spared him, and had managed to feel quite hard and cold towards her. But as he looked at her now, obviously petrified that she would do the wrong thing, his heart began to thaw again.

"My Lord, I—" she began.

"Harry," he insisted softly. "I may be Lord Potter, but I'm still your nephew."

"Thank you," she said, her body visibly reacting. "Yes, and I am still your aunt. And I was a terrible aunt to you all through your childhood, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought –" and here she seemed to stop and take stock of herself. Harry took the opportunity of the break in the flow of conversation to hand her a cup of tea. For a moment she looked scandalised; it was her role to serve, not his. If it got back to the staff …

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, she decided; or in for a lire, in for a million, here; and she ploughed on.

"Well, I didn't think, not really. I was Vernon's wife and he insisted we needed to beat the magic out of you, the – well, you know." She didn't dare say 'freakishness'; but Harry nodded his understanding, so she continued, "and I thought I should obey him. But the truth is, he was a bastard, and I was a bitch, and you were a poor, innocent, defenseless child. We failed you, Harry; I failed you, all because I was stupid and jealous that your headmaster had stolen my sister when she was eleven.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so, so sorry; I ruined your childhood, and I know that I can't ever give it back, and there's really nothing more I can say, is there?"

"And what do you want?" Draco asked snidely. "Do you expect that Harry will just forgive you? Sweep away all of the pain and hurt and say it's all right?"

"Of course I want him to forgive me, my Lord Consort!" Petunia all but wailed. "But really, I don't expect anything. How can I? What we did was wrong, criminally wrong. If you went to the police, I'd be in gaol. And probably dead by now; prisoners hate child abusers more than anything and I'm sure the fact that we didn't actually molest Harry wouldn't count for anything! Instead, I'm alive, and well fed, and work with people who don't know how bad what I did was, so my shame is not in my face every day. I just want him to know that I acknowledge how wrong I was, and I'm so, so sorry. And if I could have anything else, I would want to see my son again. To tell him how sorry I am, and to try to mend fences there."

"Draco," Draco replied.

"Pardon?" Petunia asked.

"Draco. Call me 'Draco'. You can't call Harry 'Harry' and me 'my Lord Consort', it's just ridiculous."

Petunia looked abashed; and then suddenly realised that if she was being given permission to call Draco by his first name then he must have warmed to her, if only a little; so she favoured him with a bright smile.

Draco sighed. He didn't like the woman one little bit; but she seemed to be sincere. And if he knew his Harry …

Almost as Draco thought it, Harry spoke.

"All right," he said. "I guess when I saw you at the Manor, you didn't get a chance to speak; Vernon just rode rough-shod over you. And you did try to stop him, I remember. So yeah. I don't know if I forgive you yet; but I think you have accepted you were wrong, so you get a second chance. That's something in our world called the 'Potter Code'; it would be kind of hypocritical of me not to apply it to you."

Petunia looked at him in awe. "And that's part of your legal system?"

The two men nodded. Petunia lowered her head, trying to come to grips with this.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "My nephew, the F- - well, you know what we called you, the person we thought was worthless has his name on a piece of your legal system?"

"Yes," said Draco, holding his temper only by dint of supreme effort. "He's not worthless. He defeated the most evil wizard of our time, he was prepared to give his life for our society. And he's been a major part of rebuilding our world since. The Potter Code has been an important part of stopping everyone just going all out for revenge and perpetuating the madness we've been in for the last fifty years. And what is more important right here and right now is that I love him with all my heart. So let's all forget what you used to call him and remember that he's really your only hope, right? You have turned to him for protection. I think it's far too generous of him to give you another chance after what happened at the end of June, when that pig of a man attacked him verbally; but that's my Harry."

"There is one thing more," Harry added. "Dudley."

Draco looked at him a little confusedly, so Harry continued, "I know he's given up his family, Draco, but I feel he deserves to have his mum. Well, maybe not deserved," Harry corrected himself, as Draco gave him a very skeptical look, "but I know I would have loved nothing better than to have my mum around, so I really want to give him that chance."

Draco smiled ruefully at his husband. Harry said nothing; and Draco, realising that he wanted some sort of direction, shook his head and then said, "like I said, I wouldn't. But you would; and I'm OK with that."

"Really?" Harry asked, longing to know for certain that this would not put any strain on their relationship.

"Really," Draco answered, with a warm, genuine smile as he realised the insecurity that was driving Harry, something he never wanted to see again. His beloved deserved to know that he was behind him one hundred percent.

Harry, pleased, turned back to his aunt.

"So here's the deal," he said. "I don't know if I forgive you yet, not entirely; but I'm willing to ask Lucius for a second chance for you, for Dudley's sake if nothing else. In the meantime, you stay here. I'll let the management know that you are not to be singled out for punishment; but apart from that, you do what you've been doing and we'll see what eventuates. I'm sorry, but I don't really feel I can offer you any more at this point."

Petunia beamed.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "That's far more than I thought I'd get, to be honest. The thought that I might see Dudley again … I don't know what to say."

"Well, for now, we'll say goodbye," Draco replied, and taking the hint immediately Petunia set her cup down on the table and rose.

"Very good," she said. "Thank you so much for seeing me, and for everything. Please, you stay here, I'll see myself out."

A minute later, she was gone. Harry breathed out a huge sigh, and Draco, realising how emotional the whole interview must have been, sidled onto his lap and kissed him passionately.

"Thank you," Harry said once he had got his breath back five minutes later, a big grin on his face. "Now, I believe you said something about lunch and a trip round a lake?"

-#-

Harry and Draco left the hotel for Lake Garda at about quarter past ten. Harry had no idea what to expect; he had been imagining something like the Black Lake at Hogwarts, and was completely boggle-eyed at the size of Italy's largest lake. It was a pleasant, sunny, day with a light wind, and there were lots of little boats out sailing. Harry sat down on a bench by the lakeside and spent ten minutes just watching them all zoom across the water.

"All these people out having fun!" he said. "Draco, it's just amazing!"

"Now you see why we have to go for a ferry-ride," Draco told him, and Harry could not but agree.

As they were early, they managed to fit a ferry ride on the lake in before Draco steered them to a truly delightful family-run trattoria perched on the top of a small hill by the lake's shore. The view was spectacular, and the food magnificent, as they feasted on fresh pasta with amazing tomato and clam sauce.

Harry closed his eyes and moaned as he ate the ravioli.

"I'll be in trouble for saying it," he said, "but this is every bit as good as the pasta you have at the Manor."

"It's hardly surprising that you think so, Harry," Draco told him with a smirk, "since it is the very same. We have this pasta brought to the Manor at least once a week."

"Oh," said Harry. "That's a shame."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Well, it robs us of an excuse to come here often," Harry replied.

Draco grinned at him. "We don't need an excuse, love," he replied, as he snagged a piece of ravioli from Harry's bowl. Not to be outdone, his Raven twirled some of Draco's spaghetti on his fork; but Draco could hardly begrudge him it, especially given the noises of delight it elicited from him.

They spent the afternoon wandering along the lakeside, eating gelati, sitting drinking in some of the many cafes dotted around, and generally fitting in to the late summer tourist crowd. Harry enjoyed himself immensely; and Draco found that his husband's face smiling was all it took for him to do the same.

It was gone midnight when they finally arrived back at the hotel, exhausted from all the sun, fresh air, good food, and fine wine but very, very happy. Within half an hour, they were in bed, snuggled together, fast asleep.

In one corner of the room, all forgotten since he had unpacked it, sat Harry's trunk. As they slept peacefully, a red mist seem to emerge from the trunk and slowly billow out and take shape; it was not quite recognisable yet, but it had the promise of becoming the form of a young man. He wasn't quite solid; but as the mist grew, he bent himself as though he were sitting on top of the trunk itself, watching the two young men fast asleep.

A feeling of peace and contentment flowed through him, and he reached out with his magic, just brushing the blond's body. Yes, all was well. His handiwork would show itself soon enough.

Harry's magic, amplified by Draco's, was feeding him, helping him to become a physical entity again. He could feel himself growing stronger by the day.

He smiled.

Soon, he would be able to walk around in the real world, not just in their dreams.

Soon, he would have enough strength to be fully formed and visible.

Soon, his work would be finished.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks to Starlight Massacre, who gave Signora Zabini the Christian name 'Marianna', which I adore, and gave me permission to use it, for which I am grateful.
> 
> Thanks to Padfootette, Tigereey, Torria, Snapeisthebest, Slmncpm, BAFan and Diddleymaz for their kind words.  
> KillJoy7772 : ooh a home-baked cookie all for me? As for your questions, next chapter, I’m afraid!  
> Flora : I put a comment about this on facebook, but no-one seems interested.


	80. Returning from Honeymoon

**80 Returning From Honeymoon**

_Saturday 3 October 1998_

The four honeymooners finished up their stays in their respective hotels at three o'clock English time on Saturday afternoon. By prior arrangement, they flooed to the Burrow, to find that Molly and Narcissa had not been idle while their sons and children-in-law were on their honeymoon. As the reception had been at the Manor, Molly had practically insisted on hosting a 'Welcome Home' party at the Burrow, and Narcissa had been delighted to help.

Accordingly, as Ron and Hermione came out of the Floo, they were mobbed by what seemed like a cast of thousands, though the room was too small for there to have been more than twenty or thirty people. It seemed that practically all of their friends had come to welcome them home and wish them well. The din was deafening; and Ron wondered how anyone could stand it.

Then the volume went up from stupidly loud to impossibly loud as Draco and Harry came through the Floo. Harry stumbled as he came through, and Hermione stifled a grin; he was the most graceful man ever to ride a broomstick, but the Floo network defeated him every time. She was pleased, though, to see that Draco took it in his stride and effortlessly caught his husband before he could hit the ground. She grinned at him, and was surprised to see that his eyes were sparkling with delight.

"Had a good time, then?" she asked cheekily.

Draco just smiled, but his eyes were most eloquent. Harry was less reticent.

"Loved it!" he said. "Hermione, you have to visit Italy, it was amazing!"

Hermione smiled back in return as he gushed on about the little towns they had visited, and their time at Lake Garda. She forbore to tell him that she had visited Italy three times already; he was too full of joy for her to want to squash it so, and it made her heart ache as she remembered that this was her friend's first real holiday abroad; she couldn't count the week he'd had before school started, that was a rest cure, not a holiday.

Harry moved on to talk to other friends, and Hermione grasped Draco lightly by the arm.

"Thank you for helping him have a good time," she said.

Draco's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"He's my husband," he replied, his face becoming serious as he tensed up a little under the unexpected interrogation. "Of course I want him to have a good time."

"You're going to take him there again, right?" she asked, and all at once Draco grasped what this was really all about. He relaxed and allowed a little smile onto his lips.

"Oh yes," he replied. "In fact, don't tell him, but I've already booked us a week at Lake Garda for his birthday next year. The pensione we lunched at had a cancellation so I snapped it up."

Hermione grinned widely. "Good," she said. "Thanks," she continued awkwardly. "Um, better go and meet people," she finished lamely, and went off into the throng.

Draco smiled as he watched her go. He didn't tell her that the booking had been for three suites; he suspected that Harry would want the Weasleys nearby, and he quite fancied spending a week in Italy with Blaise Zabini to call on. Now he just had to work out how to word it so that they wouldn't refuse. Blaise was easy, Draco would just tell him that he was being selfish and wanted a fellow Slytherin around; it would appeal to him, and it was the truth, more or less. Ron and Hermione would need a little more thought; he'd have to present it as a present to Harry somehow. Something horribly corny about 'time together with his friends was the best thing he could give his husband' might just work, he thought.

* * *

Harry was pleased to find that Mrs Weasley had managed things so that while their really close friends were there the whole evening, other people came and went as they needed to.

Pansy and Theo turned up a little after five. Harry and Draco invited them to sit and chat; but Pansy would have none of it.

"Come on, Draco," she said to the blond, dragging him away to a far corner. "I want to hear all the gossip on Potter, you won't tell me if he's listening."

Harry smirked. "She's quite a handful," he said to Theo, who grinned in reply. "How's the week been?" Harry continued by way of making conversation. "Is Grimmauld Place comfy?"

Theo snorted. "Not the word I'd choose," he confessed. "But actually, it's been quite a fun week. Your house-elf is as mad as a manticore, but Pansy seems to have got him in line."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Theo replied. "She's been banging on about being a proper pure-blood, and he's been lapping it up."

Harry chuckled at this. "That figures," he said. "Kreacher and I get on alright, especially as I'm the Lord Black, but I'm still a half-blood."

Theo's eyes went wide. "Hang on," he said, "I didn't think you could claim a lordship till you were twenty-five?"

Harry looked at Theo critically; he had expected that the Prophet would have trumpeted his Lordship all week, but Theo genuinely seemed to know nothing about it.

"Er, yeah," he replied. "Normally that's right. But the Ministry made an exception 'in celebration of the happy occasion of your wedding' as Viridis Banks put it."

"Did I hear my father's name?" a familiar voice said, and Robin Banks sat beside him. "What's he been up to?"

Harry greeted Robin warmly, and proceeded to tell him and Theo the story of how he came to have afternoon tea with the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation.

"Crafty bugger!" Robin said as Harry finished. "He told us he was having a set of boring meetings with his European counterparts."

"Well," Harry replied, "I'm sorry to hear he thinks Draco and I are boring, but we were on our honeymoon, so a bit pre-occupied. Anyway, are you two really telling me that this hasn't been in the Prophet? It's been fact for nearly a week! Normally I can't keep anything secret for two days."

"That would be my fault," another familiar and friendly voice said as Lucius Malfoy hove into view. "How are you Harry? You look splendidly well."

"Thank you," Harry said, while his friends shuffled chairs to allow his father-in-law to sit next to him. "I feel wonderful. Draco and I had a marvelous time."

"So I hear," he replied. "I've been chatting to Mrs Weasley, who had heard all about it."

Harry looked a little surprised, as he wondered just how Molly had heard all about it; but Lucius spotted his confusion and easily worked out the reason for it.

"Mrs _Hermione_ Weasley," he explained, and Harry grinned in understanding. "Now, as for the Prophet, that's easily explained. Barnabus Cuffe is walking a very narrow path after the stunts he pulled just before the wedding; so Kingsley and I sat down with him on Sunday and made it very clear that if he published anything at all about you without your explicit, written consent, he was going to become intimately acquainted with the furnishings of Azkaban."

"So that's it!" Theo said. "I wondered why their coverage of the wedding petered out after Sunday's edition."

"Good," Harry said firmly. "And thinking of weddings, are we going to have another one announced soon?"

Theo blushed bright red.

"Well, er, as it happens …"

"Hush!" Lucius admonished him. "The ladies always prefer to make the announcement."

"So true," Robin said, thinking back to Ginny's birthday party, where she had announced their engagement; not that they had a date yet as Molly had insisted they wait until Ginny was out of school, something Robin agreed with; he didn't want to have to share Ginny's time, especially not with the students he taught. "And, life lesson, Theo, we prefer to defer."

Lucius smirked. The lad was gold.

* * *

Teddy and Andromeda came at six o'clock, and only stayed for an hour; which meant that Harry felt he needed to make the most of it, and probably said more to Andromeda during that hour than he ever had before in total, while Teddy was ensconced firmly on his lap, though that might have been because Lucius, having greeted his sister-in-law, had wandered off to find Narcissa to let her know her sister had arrived, and Hermione, wandering around with Miriam in her arms, had availed herself of the seat he vacated, sitting down with Miriam on her lap. The two babies had gurgled and giggled at each other, and made an adorable sight.

"Hello," the voice Harry was most wanting to hear said behind him as Draco reached over him and cuddled both him and Teddy at the same time. "Aunt 'Dromeda," he continued, acknowledging his aunt.

"Hello, Draco. I'm disappointed in you – come over here and show Harry what a proper pure-blood greeting is like."

Draco chuckled, having now at last got the measure of his aunt and knowing that she was chiding him because she loved him, not because she meant him any harm. In a single fluid motion, he moved around Harry's chair; scooped up Teddy in his arms, rubbing noses with his cousin; leant over his aunt and kissed her firmly on both cheeks; deposited Teddy in her lap; and finally sat down on Harry's now vacant lap, leaning back and nuzzling his husband's cheek.

Andromeda threw back her head and laughed at the sheer exuberance of the display.

"Magnificent!" she cried.

"Thank you," Draco replied, looking like the kneazle who got the kippers as Harry wrapped his arms around him and kissed him gently on his neck.

It was around seven o'clock when Arthur Weasley rose to his feet.

"Well everybody, this isn't going to be a speech; I just hope you've all got a glass of something so we can toast the happy couples on their return," he said; and, true to his word, he offered the toast and sat down, ignoring the general hoorahs and other catcalls, especially those from the twins demanding a real speech.

"Well," Blaise said, standing to his feet, "I haven't got a speech; but I do have an announcement: Angelique has graciously consented to be my bride, and we will be getting married in six weeks' time, on the fourteenth of November."

This announcement brought out a round of congratulations; Harry was touched to see that everyone, even the Gryffindors present, seemed genuinely delighted at the news. Everyone that is, except Pansy Parkinson, who stood up, glowered at Blaise, and called for quiet.

"Well," she said, "in that case Theo and I will have to cut short our honeymoon; I wanted to go away for a month but it seems it will only be a fortnight."

"You have set the date?" Blaise asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

"The thirty-first of October," Pansy answered. "After all, what better night for a witch to get married than Halloween?"

* * *

Both couples stayed the night at the Burrow; Molly had insisted they stay over, and Harry was quite glad not to have to travel any further than to their room in the annex.

"And don't you worry about the morning," she had told them, "you sleep as long as you want."

Ron had taken no notice of this; there was no way he was going to pass up one of his mother's breakfasts. But Harry and Draco took her at her word, and did not emerge from their room until eleven o'clock. It was just as well that they did not leave it any later; Lucius and Narcissa emerged from the Floo not ten minutes after Harry and Draco had finished a very late breakfast, if not early lunch.

"Good morning, Lucius, Narcissa," Molly said in greeting as she bustled around. "Tea?"

"Thank you, that would be lovely," Narcissa said as they all made their way to the front room and took seats while Molly busied herself in the kitchen. Draco was once again amazed at the easy friendship that had grown up between the two women. His father still looked just a little uncomfortable; but that was really not surprising, he had after all lived all his life in a carefully controlled environment where everything was in its place and everyone behaved with decorum; the chaos that the Weasleys seemed happy to live in was quite alien to him.

"You all right there, Dragon?" Harry, sitting beside him, asked, stirring him from the reverie he had fallen into. Draco came to himself, and looked around.

"Not really," he said with an evil grin, and moved to settle himself on Harry's lap.

"That's better," he said, as his Raven reached around automatically to cuddle him close. And it was. He wasn't sure what it meant; but he still felt the need to have Harry close to him at all times. Fortunately, before anyone could comment, Molly reappeared and mugs of tea were passed around. Draco found it hilarious to watch his pure-blood father drinking tea from an enormous mug instead of the bone china that his parents usually preferred. Though, to give him his due, he did it with aplomb.

Lucius did not fail to noticed his son's amused face, and had no trouble working out the reason for it.

"There are different kinds of tea, my son," he told the blond. "There is no shame in drinking different blends in different places. This is the strong sweet tea, as one gets on building sites, which belongs in sturdy mugs, not fine bone china. And an excellent example of the genre," he said in compliment to Molly, while surreptitiously lifting his mug slightly in Draco's direction.

"Building sites?" Draco mouthed. Since when had his father ever descended to such things?

"Yes, my work with the Ministry includes visiting the housing that is being built for the Muggle-borns that the Dark Lord left dispossessed of their houses."

"Oh! Thinking of people working," Ron said quickly, "you'll never guess who we saw at our hotel."

Everyone turned to look at him, and Draco gave him an encouraging wink. He could see at once that Lucius's words could have turned things ugly, and Ron had rescued them from a discussion that could have got all too serious and heated.

"Go on then," Molly asked breathlessly, "who was it then?"

"Harry's aunt," Ron said, suddenly wondering if this was a smart conversation change after all as his mother, who had heard quite a bit about Harry's treatment at the Dursleys' both from Harry and from Narcissa, set her face in a stern expression.

"She seemed to be very contrite," Hermione said quickly, noticing Molly's disapproval. "So much so that we asked Mr Malfoy if perhaps she could talk to Harry."

"'Lucius', dear, please," the Malfoy patriarch said. "We're all friends here. Petunia has been working for me since the very unfortunate interview the Dursleys had with Harry just before school started. And yes, I agreed that Harry might wish to speak to her, so moved her to the Hotel Malfoy di Siena, where they were staying."

He turned to Harry. "Did she get in touch?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "And I'd like to get together with you and discuss the future for her, if we could."

"Harry," Molly said sternly, "you're too kind, young man. Don't you let that woman off lightly. She treated you abominably for sixteen years, she can't undo that overnight."

"Oh, I'm sure Harry will do the right thing," Lucius said smoothly. "Perhaps we could have lunch at the Manor and discuss things after that?"

"Thank you, that sounds nice," Harry said. "And er – could Dudley come too? He is involved, after all."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Narcissa said. "We could have lunch in your garden, if you wish, and you could see it in Autumn. It's changed colour quite a lot over the last week."

"That would be lovely," Draco said.

* * *

The Malfoys stayed for perhaps half an hour, chatting happily with everyone, before leaving for the Manor to fetch Dudley and prepare for lunch. Harry and Draco followed about twenty minutes later, to find that Narcissa had called Kreacher to get Dudley, and the elf and his unlikely companion had just arrived.

"Ah! Kreacher!" Harry said. "I have something to discuss with you."

"Yes, Master Harry?" Kreacher said, sounding a touch fearful on hearing Harry's firm tone. "Has Kreacher upset Master Harry?"

Harry smiled at the old elf. _Kindness and compassion,_ he reminded himself.

"Quite the contrary," he replied. "I hear that you have done an excellent job showing the hospitality of the House of Black to Miss Parkinson and Mr Nott."

Kreacher grinned; it was a frightening sight. "Thank you, Master Harry!" he said, puffing out his chest in pride.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry replied. "And thank you for bringing Master – I mean, Dudley here."

"Of course Master Harry! Kreacher will be taking him back home when Master Harry calls!"

Harry chuckled. "That's fine," he said, and the house-elf bowed so low to him that his forehead might almost have hit the ground, before disapparating away.

Draco chuckled. Harry never did anything the way you were supposed to, he ruminated; but the way he treated Kreacher seemed to work, so there was no point in saying anything about it. And Kreacher was Harry's elf after all; one didn't comment in public on how other people treated their elves, even if said other people were married to you.

"How are you, Dudley?" he asked, by way of greeting the other lad and bringing him into the conversation, and the three of them progressed out to the cottage garden, finding that it was every bit as delightful as Narcissa had suggested, the leaves on the tree starting to turn orange. They found their hosts already in the garden, waiting for them, and a table set beautifully with crisp linen tablecloths and napkins.

"Dudley!" Narcissa exclaimed as she saw him, striding over and giving him a kiss on both cheeks.

"What, don't we get a greeting?" Draco asked, pouting.

"Of course, dear!" Narcissa said, coming over to her sons and kissing each in turn. "But I saw you this morning, I haven't seen Dudley since the wedding."

"And how have you been, Dudley?" Lucius enquired, shaking the rather nervous young man's hand while these greetings were going on. "Still enjoying lectures?"

"Oh, very much so," Dudley said, as the five of them took their seats at the luncheon table. "Though living in hall is a bit wild – people seem to have nothing to do but party. I thought it would settle down – but two weeks in, it's still just as bad."

Harry was very amused by this statement – the Dudley he remembered from living at the Dursleys' would have been right in the thick of the partying, that was for sure. But clearly Dudley Potter had other ideas, and wanted to knuckle down and get serious about life.

"It's interesting you should say that, Dudley," Lucius began, but didn't get any further for the moment. Narcissa frowned at him; he was clearly about to discuss the matter of Dudley's mother, which of course needed to come out, but not right off the bat. Surely her husband could see that the lad was still rather nervous and uncomfortable around them and needed to be eased into serious matters?

"Soup?" she enquired of the party at large, neatly cutting off the discussion. When they had all been served and were enjoying the first course, Narcissa asked Harry how he had enjoyed Italy, and Lucius, taking the hint from his wife, allowed the discussion to wander along in general. The soup was delicious, as was the roast beef that followed it, and it did not take long for the subject of Petunia Evans to come up.

"Oh, Dudley," Harry said, once they had discussed their visit to Lake Garda, "one thing that happened before our trip that would interest you: I met your mum at the hotel."

"My mum?" Dudley replied. "How is she? I mean," he said, blushing rather red, "if you don't mind talking about her."

"Of course not," Harry said. "She is still your mum, after all. And she seemed to be very sorry for what she'd done."

"Of course she did," Draco said quietly but with some venom. "Wants to get into your good books again."

Harry looked at his husband in mild surprise.

"I'm sure she does," he replied. "But we discussed this. In the Wizarding world, she'd get a second chance because of the Potter Code; I can hardly not give her one just because she's related to me."

Dudley looked shocked; an expression, Harry noticed with some amusement, that Narcissa, the normally inscrutable pure-blood, seemed to share. "Really?" he asked. "You'd let her go scot-free?"

"No, not quite," Harry replied. "I told her that I don't know if I forgive her yet, not entirely; but that I'd ask Lucius for a second chance for her. And that was really for your sake."

"My sake?" Dudley asked. "How do you mean?"

"I know I would have loved nothing better than to have my mum around," Harry replied, "so I really want to give you that chance. If you want it, of course."

Dudley gulped.

"Yeah, I do, I guess. I mean, like you said, she was horrid to you, but she is still my mum. But I'd only want her if she's prepared to accept that I'm a Potter now."

"And quite right, too," Lucius interjected smoothly. "Harry and I discussed this when he floo-called during the week, and I thought what we might do is to purchase a flat or small house or other suitable accommodation somewhere in Swansea for you, and install her as the landlady, so to speak. She would then be able to look after you, I was thinking, given what you said earlier, that this might solve the issues with your – how did you put it? 'wild'? - classmates."

Dudley's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, that would be brilliant," he said. And then a second thought struck him. "Um, there is one other student at the hall who feels the same as I do; is there any chance that maybe…"

Here Dudley petered out in evident discomfort. Lucius, understanding that the lad must feel he was asking too much, smiled at him, and replied, "I'm sure we could find a place that would be large enough to accommodate them as well."

"Thanks," Dudley said, now simultaneously blushing just a little in embarrassment at having dared to ask for something more when he was already being given so much and beaming in appreciation at his wishes being taken into consideration. "I mean, um, I'm sure they'd pay rent and everything …"

Lucius waved a hand. "Not important," he said. "You can keep it and add it to your spending money."

Harry smiled. This, he felt, this was how families should work. And this was his family. The feeling of belonging was almost overwhelming, and he grasped his husband's hand under the table in an attempt to stop himself getting emotional about it.

"Now," Narcissa said, seemingly oblivious to Harry's emotional moment, all brisk and business-like as a cloche appeared on the table in front of them. "For pudding, I understand that Kreacher has made something rather special for us."

She lifted the large cover, to reveal a Spotted Dick steaming underneath, to loud 'oohs' and 'aahs' from all four of the males at the table. She snickered. The boys making such a noise was amusing in itself; but it was a long time since Lucius Malfoy had allowed his secret love of all sweet treats to be expressed so openly.

* * *

It was half-past two when they had finished lunch and Dudley was ready to return to Swansea.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, and the house-elf appeared.

"Is Master Harry Potter wishing Kreacher to be returning the Muggle boy Dudley Potter to his veeheecul?" Kreacher asked.

Harry held back a laugh at the pronunciation of "vehicle"; it was quite impressive that the house-elf had tried at all, he told himself.

"Yes, but first I'm sure that we would all like to thank you for the magnificent pudding you made for us."

Kreacher went bright pink.

"Kreacher lives to serve Master Lord Harry Potter Goblin-friend and Master Lord Consort Draco Malfoy-Potter Goblin-friend," he said adamantly. "No thanks are required."

'Goblin-friend?' Dudley mouthed.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "it's a title they gave me, and Draco got it when we got married."

With no further ceremony, Kreacher grasped Dudley by the arm as soon as Harry had finished speaking, though Harry noticed he did so quite gently, and Dudley didn't seem to mind, and apparated away.

"Hang on," Harry said, trying to remember what had happened at the wedding ceremony. "That's hardly fair, you taking my name. That wasn't part of the ritual, was it?"

"Well, I am your consort, Harry," Draco said. "We did discuss this. McGonagall just announced us as 'Harry and Draco', so it got glossed over, But the Debt does put me in an inferior position."

"And I told you that was poppycock," Harry replied. "If you're Malfoy-Potter, so should I be."

The three Malfoys drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"Harry," Lucius, the first to regain composure, said. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry asked.

Lucius took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had, for a moment, forgotten that of course Harry, having been brought up without any input from the Magical world, had no idea about how important names were.

"It would be a great honour to the Malfoy family," he said, forcing himself to speak calmly. "At the moment, because of the Debt, Draco is seen as your Consort. That puts the Malfoy family beneath the Potter family in the social ranking. A galling fact, I must admit; we have always been proud to bow to no-one. Though I admit my father rather ruined that by kowtowing rather shamelessly to the Dark Lord. Regardless, for you to take our surname as well as your own would be seen by the pure-bloods as a political statement. It would make Draco your equal."

"That's exactly what I want," Harry replied, looking like he found it hard to believe that Lucius didn't understand that. "All this superior and inferior sh—stuff needs to go away. Draco is not my inferior, he's my husband."

"Thank you, Harry," Narcissa said. "That means a lot to us. And in return, there is another matter we need to discuss – your wedding present."

"Oh," said Harry, wondering what sort of a present they were going to give that needed to be discussed; surely one simply gave presents? Not that they were particularly important to him: he had Draco; any other gift the Malfoys might give him would be a bonus.

"Yes," Narcissa declared firmly. "Draco, we were thinking of The Lodge."

As Harry looked, the most unaccountable thing happened: Draco's jaw literally dropped open.

"Dragon," he gently chided, "better hope there are no flies around…"

Draco took the hint, and closed his mouth.

"Yes, mmm, well, ah - that is quite a wedding present," he said, and Harry was even further astonished to hear how tongue-tied his normally unflappable husband was.

"You are our sons," Lucius pointed out.

"Er, excuse me, but what are we talking about?" Harry asked, feeling that the conversation was rather getting away from him.

"There is a charming cottage in Surrey that we own, known as The Lodge," Narcissa replied. "It has not been occupied for nearly a century; we thought that you might prefer to live a little more in the countryside and keep Grimmauld Place as a townhouse."

"A cottage?" Harry asked, stunned at so lavish a gift. "You want to give us a cottage?"

"It's not really a cottage," Draco chipped in, missing Harry's point entirely. "It's a two storey detached house, and plenty large enough for us even if we do adopt."

"Wow," Harry continued, exactly as if Draco had not spoken. "I was thinking maybe, I don't know, some nice furniture or something, but you want to give us a whole cottage?"

"Yes," Narcissa said firmly. "We thought you could go and view it tomorrow and see if you like it."

"Er, perhaps we should go and look today?" Harry asked, a little timidly, as he was still getting his head around the idea of such generosity. "I mean," he added hastily, not wanting to appear grasping or ungrateful, "we should be getting back to school tomorrow. We have to finish our Muggle Studies project, and Draco has to start his apprenticeship, and I have to find out about the Auror training programme…"

Harry was getting more worked up as he thought about all the things he had to do, and Draco started out by stroking him, trying to get him to relax; but as it wasn't working, when Harry finished he sat on his lap and held him close.

Narcissa smiled. It was good to see that her Dragon, or their Raven's Dragon now, really, was able to be so openly demonstrative. She had worried during the war that that lovely sweetness was being crushed out of Draco, and it was nice to see that that was not so. Even Lucius was giving the pair an approving smile, and it made her heart sing. But there were also practical matters to attend to, so she took a moment to compose herself.

"We are aware of these things, Harry," she said calmly. "That is why we have invited Potion Master Borage and Minister Shacklebolt for afternoon tea. And that is why I think you will be better off looking at The Lodge tomorrow."

"Oh," Harry said again. There really wasn't a lot else to say. Except one other thing. "Thanks."

* * *

The two guests arrived punctually at half-past three, and, as it was getting rather cool and breezy outside, afternoon tea was served in the drawing room.

"Well," Kingsley said once everyone was seated with a cup of tea, "I hope you boys had an pleasant honeymoon? Viridis Banks tells me you looked to be enjoying yourselves very much."

"Er – yeah, we had a wonderful time," Harry said, managing not to blush for once, Draco noticed. "And thanks for all that stuff about the Lordship – I'm guessing you had a bit to do with it?"

Kingsley chuckled. "Well, I had to agree," he replied, "but most of the work was done by the Chief Warlock. He was actually scandalised when a mutual Auror friend of ours pointed out that you had a Goblin title but not a Wizarding one. Apart from 'the Destroyer of Voldemort', of course."

Harry winced. "Yeah, right, thanks for that," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Kingsley chuckled again. "Oh," Harry continued, "thanks for keeping it out of the Prophet, too."

Lucius and Kingsley both looked quite stern at this remark.

"We did have a discussion with Mr Cuffe, yes," Lucius said.

"He did ask if you might be interested in giving the Prophet an interview," Kingsley added. "Not that he knows about the Lordship, of course;" he added hastily, "but just in general."

"It might perhaps be an opportune time to give an interview somewhere else," Draco suggested. "The Quibbler was on your side, wasn't it?"

"Now, this is all very pleasant," Borage interrupted, "and it's a lovely place you have here, Mrs Malfoy," he continued, with a polite nod to Narcissa, who smiled and nodded in return, "but I do think we have some matters to discuss with regard to your future careers."

Lucius smirked. This was the no-nonsense Libatius Borage he had sparred against in the past. It was good to learn that the man was still as direct and forthright as ever; it was just the sort of teacher Draco needed.

Draco was rather conflicted. Of course, he knew that they had to get back to normal life: Harry was going to go off into Auror training, and he was going to be an apprentice to Borage. That was all sorted out, and exactly what he expected, and rationally he was looking forward to it. But emotionally? That was a different thing altogether. It was ridiculous; but he still felt that he needed Harry to be around him all the time. Unconsciously, he shifted in his chair, moving closer to his husband and twining their hands together.

"Yes," Draco said, a note of reluctance in his voice, "will you be wanting me to start tomorrow, sir?"

"Good heavens lad!" Borage said, his tone amused, "firstly, save the 'sir' for the potions lab; as a Lord Consort yourself you have no business calling me it. 'Libatius' will do nicely, in present company at least. And secondly, no, it will take me a little while to prepare for your apprenticeship. As you have just got married, I think it would be wise for you to have some time to settle down together; you will find the apprenticeship will cut into your time a good deal."

"Thank you," Draco said, visibly relieved. "How long do you think it will take?"

"Let's say four weeks. We can start formal lessons on Monday the second of November."

"And the same goes for you, Harry," Kingsley added smoothly. "We won't be starting the next round of Auror training until the twenty-sixth of October and the first week is always a quick revision and assessment week, which is rendered moot given your NEWT results. For which, both of you, hearty congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," they both said together.

Kingsley glowered at them.

"Thank you, Kingsley," Harry said, catching on.

"That's better," the Minister said, his face returning to its former good-humoured expression.

"Will the four weeks apply to Ron as well?" Harry asked.

"I don't see why not," Kingsley replied. "Now, there will be residential components in both of your courses; Harry, Auror training requires Monday to Friday of what will be your second week to be spent in a field exercise. No doubt Libatius will also have requirements."

"Hmm," the Professor replied. "Well, I'm afraid we won't quite be synchronized; I will need Mr Malfoy's time during his first week. But perhaps I can take him the second week as well, to keep him busy. But we can deal with these things when we get there."

"Where will this be, Libatius?" Harry asked, as it suddenly hit him that he had grown very much accustomed to having his husband around all the time over the last few months, and that he was not looking forward to having to spend time apart. Not that he would stop it, of course; Draco deserved the chance to become a Potions Master. "Will Draco be staying at your home?"

"Well," the man replied a little slowly, "I had thought that, as I am currently employed at Hogwarts, I might have a chat with the Headmistress and see if I could use Hogwarts' facilities, at least for the start of the apprenticeship. I think that would be a lot more pleasant for Draco to live in the castle with some people his own age rather than being stuck in a house with only an old fussy man and house-elves for company. Not that he will have a lot of time to socialise, mind! And that way I can also get him to do some fill-in teaching in Potions as well; we tend to insist on apprentices doing some form of knowledge sharing from the second year on."

"But this will be Draco's first year?" Narcissa asked, a little confused.

"Draco has been excused the first year due to his Mastery grade in Potions," Kingsley reminded her. "What exactly we'll do with Harry hasn't been decided yet."

Draco and Harry shared a rather pointed and long-suffering look.

"We are still in the room, you know," he said.

"Well!" Narcissa replied, smirking inwardly at the small discomfort Draco's remark had caused. Not that she approved of causing her guests any discomfort, but given that they had been discussing Draco and Harry's careers while they were present, she thought they rather deserved it and let it slide.

"I think that that's quite enough serious career talk for the moment. Tell me, Kingsley, when are you thinking of getting married and settling down?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a dark-skinned man, and as such one might not expect to see much change when he blushed. But it was abundantly clear to all in the room that he was doing so now …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I’m sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter, but it just kept on growing; so much so that I revised my original plan and have separated it into installments.
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks to **Padfootette** , **BAFan** , **KillJoy7772** , and **dragonstar01** for their kind words.  
>  **BAFan** Baseball, my sources suggest.


	81. Returning to more Secure Accommodation

**81 Returning to more Secure Accommodation**

_Monday 5 October_

After spending the night at the Manor, the two Malfoy-Potters Apparated to The Lodge first thing.

Draco, well aware of his husband’s difficulties with magical transport, went first, and made sure to catch Harry as he arrived. Not that it was really needed, at least for Harry; but Draco rather liked the opportunity to hold his husband perhaps a little more tightly than was strictly necessary.

As they turned to look at the property, Harry’s eyes went wide. In front of him stood a two-storey building built from light stone and rather beautifully proportioned, with large windows that seemed to beckon him in. In front were flower-beds that seemed to be very well cared for despite the fact that, if Narcissa was right, no-one had lived here for almost a hundred years.

“They’re lovely,” he said bending to smell the roses, which seemed to respond to him immediately as the fresh fragrance of old roses seemed to suddenly fill the air around them. “But how –?“

“House-elves,” Draco said in answer to his unasked question.

_Of course,_ Harry thought. “Are they still here?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Draco replied. “Tiny!” he called.

A house-elf immediately appeared in front of them. Harry wondered again at the strange names pure-bloods gave their elves; though in this case it was well-deserved, as Tiny was easily the smallest house-elf he had ever met.

“Master Draco!” he said excitedly. “Master Draco is come to stay!”

“Yes, that’s right,” Draco replied. “And this is my husband, Harry Potter.”

“Master Harry Potter!” Tiny replied, a note of awe in his voice. Even house-elves were aware of his status, Harry thought ruefully.

Harry coughed meaningfully, and Draco added, “now Harry Potter-Malfoy.”

“Harry will do fine,” Harry continued.

“Yes Master Harry! Is Master Harry wanting to be meeting the other house-elfs?”

“How many are there?” he asked in wonderment.

“There is being Tiny, and Dibby, and Twinkle,” Tiny replied happily. “Tiny is being the senior elf.”

Harry turned in wonder to Draco. “How come there are so many?” he asked. “Surely we only need one; after all, the Manor is easily three times the size of this place and seems to function fairly well with just two?”

Tiny looked pained.

“Twinkle is being in charge of the grounds of both manors!” she explained. “Before the War, Dibby is being at the manor, and Tiny here with Twinkle coming twice a week. Then Dibby and Twinkle is being sent here.”

“When the War ended, my parents sent all the Manor elves except Mappy and Dippy to various other properties,” Draco explained. “They thought that if the Ministry found them all at the Manor, they might do something stupid, like sell them off or try to set them free or something.”

Tiny looked as if she was in physical pain at this.

“No, Master Draco, we is being Malfoy elfs! We is not wanting to work for anyone else! You must not be letting them sell us or free us!” she said, her voice beginning to sound hysterical.

“No, no, we won’t do that,” Harry reassured her, wondering, as he did so, just exactly how he was going to explain all of this to Hermione. “Perhaps you could introduce us to Dibby and Twinkle, and then show us around inside?”

“Of course Master Harry!” she replied, swelling up in pride and happiness at being given proper orders by a master. She snapped her fingers, and two other house-elves appeared and were introduced. Dibby was visibly taller than Tiny, while Twinkle dwarfed both of them, and Harry had to stifle a giggle at the incongruity of their sizes.

“These is being Master Draco and Master Harry,” Tiny said to the other two. “They is being living at The Lodge, and they is not sending us away!”

“Of course not,” Draco agreed, and the three elves visibly relaxed.

“Tiny will be showing the Masters around,” the little elf said, and this was clearly understood as a dismissal by the other two, who apparated away, no doubt returning to whatever they had been doing before Tiny had summoned them. She went up to the front door, opening it with a wave of magic, then stood waiting for her masters.

Before he followed her, Harry took a moment to turn around a full circle, drinking in the view as he did so. From where he stood, he could see that the house was nestled in fields, with a grove of trees along one side through which he could hear the chattering of a small stream. He turned to face the house, already half in love with it.

Draco watched him doing it, enthralled by the sheer pleasure showing in Harry’s eyes.

“Shall we go inside?” he asked, his eyes smiling.

“I’d love to,” Harry replied.

 

* * *

The interior of the house was everything Harry could have wanted. The rooms were spacious, without being ostentatiously large, and as he wandered through the downstairs entertaining areas it took very little time for him to fall in love with the house.

Draco wandered through with him; but he had been in The Lodge before, his father having brought him here a couple of times when Narcissa was entertaining some of the more doughty pure-blood women and the Manor was not safe for men. So the house itself was not new to him; but the expression of pure joy on his husband's face was, and Draco was left in no doubt that this would be their house.

Upstairs was naturally more private, and the decoration reflected this, with warm, dark colours providing a sense of intimacy that contrasted with the bright and breezy ground floor. The final room they visited was the master bedroom, where Harry kicked off his shoes and sank down onto the king-size bed, looking like he never wanted to leave.

"So," Draco dead-panned, "do you like the house?"

Harry lifted his head off the bed and stared at his husband as though he had gone mad. But it only took him a very few moments to realised that Draco was winding him up, so he decided to respond in kind.

"It will suffice," he said, a touch dismissively, his face a mask of boredom which lasted perhaps a second or two before they both broke down into laughter. Draco took his own shoes off and then launched himself on top of his husband.

"'It will suffice'?" he queried while tickling his now helpless husband mercilessly. "Merlin, Potter, what does it take to give you a present you like?"

"It's magnificent," Harry admitted through howls of laughter. "But what are we going to do with Grimmauld Place?"

"That's a good point," Draco said. "Are the Weasleys staying there? And what about Pansy and Theo?"

Harry looked up at his husband, a serious expression on his face. "Good point," he said. "We really should find out what's going on there. We have, after all, abandoned our friends for a week, seen them for an evening, and run away again."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Draco asked.

Harry looked at the mischievous grin on the blond's face.

"Er… no," he confessed, and then, quick as lightning, seeker-reflex-quick, he rolled over, trapping Draco underneath him. "Not when I get to do this!" he said as he proceeded to snog the breath out of his Dragon.

* * *

Harry and Draco flooed to Grimmauld Place that evening to find Ron and Theo hunched over a Wizarding chess table. Draco immediately pulled a foot-stool over to the table they were playing on and sat watching the game with evident avid interest. Harry stood watching for a couple of minutes; but no-one said anything, and as he was not the least bit interested in the game, he decided to go and see who else was here.

He went to the kitchen where he found Hermione reading a book.

"Oh, hello!" she said as he walked in. "Are those two still at it? I bet they didn't say a word to you, they've been ridiculously serious about that silly game all day. Anyway, what have you two been up to since yesterday morning?"

Harry sat down, ruminating on the vastly different receptions he had received from his two best friends.

"We spent yesterday at the Manor; as you know, Narcissa and Lucius practically demanded our presence. And it turned out they wanted to give us our wedding present."

"Goodness!" Hermione said, and paused to let Harry continue. He did not; he simply sat there, smirking at her.

"Well, come on!" she said. "What is it then? What does a pure-blood family give the son and heir when he gets married?" she asked, her thoughts turning to rare jewelry, or perhaps some ridiculously expensive potions ingredients.

"We're planning on staying there tonight," Harry replied drily.

Hermione's eyes opened so wide that Harry marveled that there was room on her face for them.

"They gave you a house?" she whispered.

"A cottage, really," Harry replied. "We'll have to have you over to see it. You can help plan the house-warming party. And what about you two? When did you come over here?"

"Oh, we left the Burrow after lunch yesterday. Pansy insisted on taking me shopping," and as she said this she raked her hand up and down her body, drawing attention to the new outfit she was wearing; "she said my wardrobe needed a bit of pizzazz."

"I don't really know what that means," Harry admitted, "but those clothes do suit you, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said. "Pansy, it turns out, has a pretty good eye for clothes, though you wouldn't have thought it from the way she dressed at school."

"Looks like the four of you are getting along all right then. Where is Pansy just now?"

"She and Blaise started their Healer course at St Mungo's today," she reminded him. "Theo should have gone to Hogwarts, but his arm was very sore yesterday, so he was told to stay home today. I don't think he and Ron have stopped for anything but meals all day. Thinking of which, are the two of you here for dinner?"

Harry nodded, and Hermione called Kreacher.

"Kreacher is coming," the elderly house-elf grumbled as he ambled out of his little den in the corner of the kitchen. "What is the Muggleborn wanting from Kreacher now?"

At this point, Kreacher spotted Harry and his whole demeanor changed.

"Master Harry!" he said, his voice animated. "Is Master Harry and Master Draco being dining at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes thank you, Kreacher, if it's not too much trouble."

Kreacher recoiled as though insulted; but before he could say anything, a new voice spoke up.

"If what's too much trouble?" Pansy Parkinson asked as she appeared through the Floo, followed by Blaise Zabini. "Oh!" she said, spotting Harry, "so you two have turned up, have you? Will you be gracing our dinner table with your presence?"

"Yes, Mistress Pansy, Master Harry and Master Draco is being dining here," Kreacher said, a touch sniffily. "Master Harry and Master Draco are never too much trouble."

And with that he proceeded to pull out some pots and pans and start cooking, making rather more noise than was strictly necessary.

Pansy sighed and came over to Harry.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked, mystified at Kreacher's sudden change in attitude.

"He doesn't like you to appease him," she explained to him. "It's his job to serve. If you tell him you're dining here, he'll make sure you get fed, and that's all there is to it. Now, I suggest we leave him to his cooking. Don't worry about him, he'll get over it."

She signaled to Hermione to go upstairs with them, and the four made their way to the drawing room, where Harry found the other three still hunched over the table in exactly the same poses they had been in when he left. He let out an involuntary giggle, and Draco looked daggers at him, putting a finger to his lips in the universal 'quiet!' gesture.

All of a sudden, Theo lifted his arm and tentatively pushed a pawn forward. Ron immediately, lightning-quick, took it with his bishop, and the two made three moves each in rapid succession after which Theo grimaced.

"Checkmate!" Ron announced gleefully.

"Well done," Theo allowed.

"What's the score?" Pansy asked, and Harry wondered if her evident interest was real or feigned.

"Fifteen games apiece," Ron replied.

Pansy groaned. "You've played thirty games already? Have you moved from the table?"

"Well, we did have lunch," Ron replied; his tone making it very clear to all present that not much else would have stopped them from playing. He looked a little bewildered when the others all laughed at this.

"Come on," Hermione said, "time to get ready for dinner."

Half an hour later, Kreacher called them to the table and they sat down to an enormous, and delicious, meal of stew with dumplings, washed down with the last bottles of the elf wine that Lucius had given Harry. The conversation flowed very pleasantly, though there was a noticeable hush when the food was on the table and everyone devoted themselves to eating.

"So, Blaise," Draco asked, "is Angelique back at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Blaise said with a frown. "She is busy there. We will see each ozer on ze weekends – though I 'ave been thinking about looking for another place. My flat, it is a little small."

"I've told you, I'm sure you'd be welcome here," Pansy chipped in.

"That is very kind," Blaise replied, "but there are already four people staying here, I think maybe we would be in the way."

Which, Draco suspected, was Blaise's way of saying that there was no way he wanted to be in a house with both Pansy and his fiancée to gang up on him.

"There's Spinner's End," Harry chipped in.

"Pardon?" Blaise asked politely.

"Professor Snape's old house. No-one is living there now; you're welcome to use it if you wish."

"You are serious?" Blaise asked, and Harry nodded. "Again, you are so kind; but I could not impose."

This time, Draco knew, Blaise meant 'I do not wish to be beholden to you'.

"Actually, you'd be doing us a favour," the blond said, and Blaise looked at him quizzically. "Yes," Draco continued, "the place is empty; it would be better for someone to live there. Take care of the place. All the décor needs reworking, too. Professor Snape did not have the most up-to-date taste …"

Draco could see that phrasing it that way had made the offer that much more acceptable to Blaise; but there was no need to over-sell the idea, so he changed topics.

"Anyway, how was your first day at St Mungo's?"

Pansy's eyes lit up. "Oh Draco," she said, "it was wonderful! We learnt so much!" And with that introduction, the two medical students discussed their day, and what was coming up, and what they hoped to specialise in.

"So how are you going to get time off for your wedding?" Ron asked.

"Oh," Pansy said, "that's why we chose Halloween. We came to the class late, most of the students have set up work placements in various hospitals and during the four weeks of November they will be spending time there. But of course Blaise and I don't know enough to make that worthwhile, so we'll get most of November off."

"Nice," Draco observed, and Pansy grinned at him. "Fallen on your feet there."

Then it was Hermione's turn to be interrogated; she was asked what she had been doing while her husband and Theo played chess and Pansy was at the hospital; Harry was not at all surprised to learn that she had been working on her Muggle Studies assignment. They all groaned at her studiousness; but Harry made a mental note to at least pull out his notes and get them into some sort of order on the following day.

"And what have you been up to today, Harry and Draco?" Hermione asked, a sly grin on her face as she already knew the answer. Harry knew perfectly well he was being fed a line; but he was quite grateful for the opening, and happily described The Lodge to the assembled company.

"And what are you up to, Theo?" Harry asked.

"Oh I'll be back at Hogwarts," Theo replied. "I would have been there today but my arm was playing up, and the healers told me I had to stay home and not do too much. So I've been playing chess with my left arm all day."

"I thought it looked a bit odd," Draco said pensively, finishing the last spoonful of the very delicious steamed pudding that Kreacher had made them, He looked around to see that everyone had finished eating.

"Shall we have coffee in the drawing room?" he suggested.

* * *

They had been sitting in the drawing room for about twenty minutes when there was a floo-call; it was the Weasley twins, calling to see what everyone was up to. Harry insisted on them coming over; and George brought Neville, and Fred Angelina, so that it was a large party that played cards until ten thirty, when Harry excused himself and Draco.

"Oh," Pansy pouted, "why don't you stay here?"

"We can't," Draco said with a too-innocent air. "We have a bed to christen."

Blaise groaned. "I did **not** need to know that," he said mournfully, and everyone laughed in agreement.

* * *

As they lay together in bed that night, Harry with his arm around Draco, Draco with his head nestled on Harry’s left shoulder, the raven could feel how tense the blond was; the waves of anxiety coming off him were almost palpable.

“What’s wrong, Dragon?” he asked softly.

Draco looked up at him, and Harry could see the apprehension in the silver eyes he loved so much; he leant over and kissed him, smoothing his hands up and down Draco’s body in an attempt to soothe him.

“It’s just –“ Draco started, then stopped himself.

“Yes, love?” Harry asked after a minute of silence.

“Harry,” Draco began again, “are you happy here?”

Harry was surprised by the question. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s just – with Grimmauld Place, you surrounded yourself with people. And it struck me that you’ve always had your friends around you at Hogwarts, and you so hated being alone with those horrible Muggles. I just thought maybe that’s what you really wanted? To share your house with your friends?”

“Ah,” said Harry, realising what this was really about. “It’s true that I’ve always had people around me. But this is the first place I’ve had that’s really mine – ours, I guess.”

“How do you mean?” Draco asked.

“Well, at the Dursley’s, I had the cupboard-under-the-stairs, and I had Dudley’s-second-bedroom. Never ‘Harry’s room’. Then there was the dormitory at Hogwarts; I had space there, yeah, but it was ‘the year group’s dormitory’, never just mine. The room at Grimmauld Place – I still think of that as Sirius’s room. And of course, there’s your room at the Manor. So the first room I ever had that was specifically for me was the one that Molly and Arthur gave me at the Burrow. But this is even bigger. This is the first house that I feel is my own – our own, I guess.”

“Oh,” said Draco. “It doesn’t bother you that someone used to live here a century ago?”

“Nah,” Harry replied. “I didn’t know them. No, Grimmauld Place is lovely when there are people there, but it’s pretty ghastly without. This place – this place is special. It’s ours, really ours. I feel secure here. I almost feel like I don’t want our friends to come here – well, not all the time, anyway. This is our space, just for us. Does that make sense?”

Draco roused himself and rolled over on top of Harry.

“Yeah, I think it does,” he replied, the tension in his muscles visibly relaxing. “And I agree. This is ours, all ours, and we don’t have to share it. I’m glad that it makes you feel this way," he said, peppering his love with soft kisses.

 

* * *

 

_Friday 9 October 1998_

When Dudley finished classes on Friday, Kreacher brought him to Malfoy Manor for an important meeting. He was ushered into a rather formal sitting room, to find Mr and Mrs Malfoy seated, looking relaxed, and his mother standing beside them looking anything but.

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Mother," he said in greeting.

"'Lucius' and 'Narcissa', please, dear," Narcissa said at once, "you are part of the family now."

Dudley smiled at her.

"Hello, Dudley," Petunia said. She kept her voice neutral, but she found it quite a considerable effort to do so. This was a moment she had been longing for and dreading in equal measure for days. Here, at last, was her son, and maybe, just maybe, she might be allowed to stay with him, and she was being eaten up by the hope that it would happen and the fear that she would say or do something wrong and muck things up entirely. Added to that, she couldn't help remembering his last letter to them, in which he had referred to her as 'Petunia'; it was hard not to read a lot into the fact that he had acknowledged her as his mother. Maybe, just maybe …

"Hello," Dudley replied.

"Dudley," Narcissa said, feeling that this wasn't going terribly well, and that the Malfoys were rather _de trop_ , "why don't you take Petunia out and show her Harry's garden?"

"May I?" Dudley asked. "I mean, it's his."

"I'm sure he'd be happy for you to," Lucius replied, waving them off.

* * *

"This is a beautiful garden," said Petunia, unwinding a little once they were outside and away from the Malfoys. "Did I hear Mrs Malfoy say it was Harry's?"

"That's right," Dudley said, as he seated his mother in a garden chair and sat down himself on one of the benches. "They made it for him specially."

Petunia sat up stiffly. "Oh," she said, as she looked around again. It really was a delightful garden; even in October, she could see that. Most of the flower-beds were dying back now; but the trees had beautiful Autumn leaves. "It must have been really something in high summer."

Dudley smiled awkwardly. "If all goes well, maybe we can come here next summer," he said. "But I guess that rather depends on you."

"Me?" she asked. "What about me?"

"Yeah. Well, for a start, I meant what I said; I'm Dudley Potter now. No more Dursley."

"And I'm Petunia Evans," his mother replied. "Your father divorced me. So no more Dursley for me, either. At first, I thought it was dreadful; but I've rather changed my mind. Look, Dudley, I've done a lot of thinking over the last few months, and I have to say I agree with you. What we did to that poor boy was monstrous. We thought we were being so generous by taking him in; but your father was always totaling it up, working out just what we were spending on him. We were his family; we should have been treating him as such, not leaving it to these people! When I think that we gave him nothing, and these people, who are no blood of his, would give him a garden like this …"

Dudley blinked. He wondered if that was why Narcissa had sent them out here: for here was tangible evidence of how the Malfoys thought about him.

"All right," he sighed.

Petunia cocked her head, wondering just exactly what he meant. But she knew her Dudders; he would tell her in his own time, and prompting would just make him angry.

"You can be an Evans; as long as you accept me as a Potter. Harry wants us to be together; he can't have his mum, but he wants me to have mine."

"He is a very generous man," Petunia said. "I hope, one day, he will be prepared to see me again, and we can put the past behind us."

Dudley looked skeptical. "That might take a while. Anyway, has Lucius discussed the plan with you? To get a house in Swansea?"

"He said something about it, yes," she replied. "I'm to be the 'landlady', or something like that?"

Petunia had said the word 'landlady' with evident disgust; for her, the word was about obese women running houses in sea-side resorts. Not her sort of people at all. Of course, these days, she wasn't her sort of person, either; but that thought did not occur to her.

Dudley smiled.

"Yeah, well he just means you look after the house. And me, and maybe my friends."

"But we'd be living together?" Petunia asked. "In the same house, I mean?"

Dudley nodded.

"Are you happy with that?" he asked.

Petunia sighed a sigh of pure relief.

"When do we start?"

* * *

_Saturday 10 October 1998_

The following weekend the good citizens of Swansea were treated to the bizarre sight of an immaculately dressed man and a rather shabbily dressed teenager out house-hunting, as Lucius searched for a place for Dudley and Petunia.

The first two real estate agents had been no help whatever; they had taken one look at Dudley and obviously decided that he must want a student let. The first agent they approached told them point blank that his firm did not handle such things; Lucius, taking an instant dislike to the man, simply thanked him coldly and walked out again. The second was not much better; an obviously harassed young lady explained that she had a couple of lets, but they were in the more expensive bracket.

"Thank you," Lucius replied, "but I was looking to buy."

"Oh," she said, obviously taken aback. "I don't think so."

Whether she meant 'I don't believe you', or 'no-one would sell to you', or simply 'I don't have anything' was unclear; what was clear, to Lucius, was that they weren't getting anywhere and once again he thanked the agent and left.

The third agency was much better. The properties they dealt with were more expensive; as a result, other than Dudley, who was rather stunned by the prices, there were no students in evidence, much to Lucius's relief. And the staff were extremely helpful; they actually bothered to discuss with Lucius what he wanted, and very quickly earmarked three properties that might interest him. One of these was discarded immediately as, while it was marketed as a 'four-bedroom terrace house', only two of the bedrooms were large enough to be used as such in Lucius's opinion.

The agent, spotting a man who knew what he wanted, happily discarded the errant property, and arranged to meet them for viewings of the other two during the rest of the morning.

In the event, they only saw the one property. Dudley walked in the door of the semi-detached house and fell in love instantly. Even though it was cold and teeming with rain, the house felt warm and inviting and not the least gloomy; and as they were shown through, his initial impression was confirmed with everything they learned. The only problem with it, as far as he was concerned, was the price: he was shocked when he learned how many hundreds of thousands of pounds the vendors wanted.

"It won't be a problem," Lucius assured him, and then told the agent he would be happy to make an offer subject to contract. They returned to the real estate office, where Lucius happily filled out the paperwork for an offer at the asking price, subject to survey and contract. The agent was very excited to learn that there was no finance clause and no chain: this was likely to be a quick sale as she was selling the property on behalf of the owner's family, the owner himself being an octogenarian who had just moved into a nursing home following a nasty and debilitating fall. And her excitement turned rather to shock during the following week: the owner's family happily accepted the offer on Sunday afternoon, Lucius's solicitor turned around the paperwork on Monday morning, the survey was completed by Tuesday afternoon and the sale was completed by Friday afternoon, making it by weeks the shortest sale she had ever had anything to do with.

* * *

_Saturday 17 October 1998_

Petunia span herself around in her new room, amazed at the size of it. It was what most people would think of as a normal size; but for her, having lived in maid's quarters for months, where a room contained a bed, room for clothes, and not much else, this was enormous. She sank down on the bed, feeling blissful as she did so: the mattress was so comfortable!

Lucius had dropped her off at the house in Swansea that morning and Dudley and his friend were due to drive over from the hall that afternoon; so now she had something truly unusual these days – a few hours all to herself, with nothing to do, no horrible patron demanding things of her, no overbearing supervisor breathing down her neck.

It was Heaven. Well, for the first half-hour, anyway, as she just lay on her bed. But then she found herself feeling unsatisfied. She needed to **do** something. She got up and made sure everything was in order throughout the house; she scrubbed the kitchen bench, one could never be too clean; she ran over the pantry with a critical and experience eye, and made up a shopping list of things she thought Dudley might want; she made herself a cup of tea; she drank her tea; she made some scones fresh for when Dudley go there; she scrubbed the bench again.

All of a sudden there was a pleasant 'toot' and Dudley's Toyota Corolla drew up. Petunia finished up her cleaning and went to go outside to introduce herself to Dudley's friend; but they were at the door before she got outside, so she held it open for them, welcoming them inside and noticing, a little to her surprise, that Dudley's friend was female. Not that she minded; it was just that her boy had always been rather shy around the opposite sex.

"Welcome," she said with a big smile. "Now, Dudley, your rooms are the two at the end of the passage there," she said pointing, "so go and dump your things and I'll put the kettle on."

The two students did as they were bid, and five minutes later they reappeared in the kitchen.

"Now," Dudley said, "mother, I'd like to introduce my friend and fellow engineering student Megan Llewellyn; Megan, this is my mother, Petunia Evans."

"Lovely to meet you," Megan said, and extended a hand.

"Likewise," Petunia said, shaking it, and they all then sat down at the kitchen table where a tea-tray was ready waiting for them, complete with scones and raspberry jam and cream. "Is that an American twang I hear in your voice?" she asked by way of conversation.

Megan blushed a little. "Yeah, I'm trying to get rid of it, but apparently I haven't succeeded yet!" she said with a nervous little laugh. "I was born in Swansea, but my parents took me to the States when I was six months old."

"Oh, I hadn't realised that," Dudley said, rather amazed that his mother had known his friend for two minutes and found things out about her that he had no clue about despite having known her for weeks.

"It never came up," Megan agreed. "Well, there was this mad-man on the loose at the time, and my parents were very concerned he might attack us, so they up and left Britain. He's been active all this time, but got caught earlier this year, so Dad said I could move back to study if I wanted to. So here I am!"

Something went 'pop!' in Dudley's head. A mad-man? Getting caught recently? Could it be?

"Um, this man," Dudley began, wondering how to continue; then a way forward occurred to him. "Some of his victims wouldn't have been my cousin Harry's parents, would they?" He looked at his mother. "What were their names?" he asked, feeling rather ashamed that he didn't know.

"Lily and James Potter," Petunia answered swiftly.

"No way!" Megan said. "You're related to Harry Potter? As in, **the** Harry Potter?"

"He's my nephew," Petunia admitted.

"Wow!" Megan said. "Hang on, how come you're a Potter then, if your mother is his aunt?" she asked Dudley.

"I took his surname," Dudley said. "My father … wasn't very kind to him. I felt I was in the position of having to choose between them; and I chose Harry. So, are you a witch?"

Megan snorted. "Come right out with it, why don't you," she asked. "What would my dad say; he told me to hide all of that away and here we are talking about it openly. Yes, I'm a half-blood witch; my dad is a Wizard but mum is a Muggle. But what about you two? I don't think either of you can be magical or I would have felt it; though there is a faint trace of magic here."

"Neither of us is magical," Petunia admitted. "My sister Lily was, and her husband James of course, and my nephew Harry. The trace would be from the man who brought me here this morning, Mr Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Megan asked, stunned. "Like, Lucius Malfoy?"

Petunia nodded.

"No way! My folks used to tell me stories about him. He was the mad-man's right-hand-man or something. You're not on his side, are you?" she said, suddenly wondering if perhaps her dad had been right to be ultra-cautious after all and this was some kind of trap.

"It's a long story," Dudley said. "Perhaps we had better have some more tea."

* * *

Vernon Dudley didn't say very much anymore. The man who had never been shy of giving his opinion on any and every topic now found that there really wasn't a lot of point. No-one here was interested in what he had to say; they told him what he had to do and he did it, to the best of his ability. To begin with, it hadn't been like that; he had slackened off occasionally; that had not gone so well. The Director knew spells that meant he couldn't sit down comfortably for days; they didn't interfere with him doing his job, but they made everything else Hellish.

Johann Ries was pleased that it seemed Vernon had learnt his lesson after only being hexed twice. His staff never commented on Vernon's work to the caretaker, but they certainly let the Director know how he was doing, especially when he stuffed up. Since that wasn't happening all that often, he was being allowed the things that Lucius Malfoy had made clear were special privileges: meat once a day, a hot shower twice a week, and being allowed to sleep till eight o'clock on Sunday morning. Things that the rest of his staff would have regarded as barbaric, but were heavenly to Vernon, who had known the lack of them for his first two months working at the orphanage.

Vernon, for his part, hadn't seen the Director to speak to for three weeks, and he was happy with that; if the man didn't talk to him, he didn't get into trouble. And mostly, these days, he got to eat, and he was left in peace. Sometimes, to be sure, one of the children would decide they needed to prove themselves, and would prank or attack him; but he no longer retaliated. He had learnt that the Director knew pretty much everything that went on; if he responded to their taunts, he got chewed out; if he just left them alone, a day or two later words would be said at an assembly about 'being kind to one another', and the offender would look particularly uncomfortable for the next couple of days. Vernon had a bit of a light-bulb moment one day when a couple of the older boys were discussing something called 'stinging hexes'; it seemed that the Director would use them against misbehaving students as much as underperforming staff, and somehow Vernon found he felt much better about things. Until he reflected that Harry Potter had never had such evenhandedness shown to him, not by the Dursleys; and then he would feel awful, and retreat into the cleaning cupboard for a little while to gather himself together.

The worst thing about Vernon's life at the moment was that horrid woman, Dolores Umbridge, who had been wished on them. She seemed to have it in for Vernon, making snide remarks about him whenever she passed him. Until the Director heard one, and invited her to his office for 'just a little chat about staff morale', after which hers had plummeted. She hadn't said much to him since; but it was obvious to him that, while he was resigned to his lot, she was full of anger and aggression. To be sure, she smiled sweetly enough to the children, but it was quite obviously false.

It was mid-November when things came to a head. It started simply enough; Vernon was busy cleaning windows in one of the corridors used by the younger students, while Umbridge was prowling around, having been goaded by the students, which in itself was nothing new. And then one poor kindergarten student, running down the corridor after a happy session of finger-painting, happened to crash into her and – horrors – wipe paint all over her pink dress.

"You brat!" she hissed, looking daggers at the girl, whose eyes popped open in surprise. "Look what you've done to my beautiful dress!"

Vernon privately thought that the paint was a distinct improvement, but chose not to say so. He really did not need the aggravation it would cause. But, on the other hand, he wasn't about to let the child suffer; she was one of the nicer ones, and occasionally would sidle up to him and offer him a sweet. But what to do?

"Please don't," he said softly.

Umbridge turned to him and looked at him with her most disdainful look.

"What is it to you?" she said imperiously. To Vernon's relief, little Maisie seized the opportunity and scampered away while Umbridge was no longer looking at her.

"Oh, I think it's commendable that our caretaker actually takes care of our students," a voice drawled, and they both turned to see the Director, who had, it seemed, materialized out of thin air behind them.

He looked at Umbridge, his face like granite.

"My office," he said quietly. "Now."

Umbridge dropped her head and rushed away. Johann Ries turned to Vernon.

"Well done," he said simply, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Vernon beamed at the simple praise; they were the first kind words he had heard in months.

* * *

It was not a pleasant interview. Dolores had not been offered a seat, so she had to stand there, her cheeks burning at the indignity of being called out in front of that filthy Muggle. She felt humiliated, livid with rage, and ashamed that she was being seen in clothing with paint on it. Paint! On her beautiful skirt!

To add to it all, the Director sat and looked at her, coldly and critically, and did not say a word for what seemed like hours. And when he did speak, his question startled her.

"Are you happy here, Dolores?" he asked.

She looked at him as though he were mad.

"Happy?" she shrieked. "Of course not! Azkaban was better than working with filthy Muggles and abominable brats!"

The Director nodded his head slowly, as though she had confirmed some suspicion he had.

"Are you serious about that?" he asked. "If you go back to Azkaban, there is no other choice for you. Ever."

"Better than being here," she hissed.

"So be it," he said sadly.

* * *

Most witches and wizards dreaded the thought of Azkaban; but Dolores Umbridge was not most witches or wizards. For one, she had actually been there. She knew the ropes. She had set up a complicated network of people who owed her favours; she had managed, with Rosier's help, to smuggle in various contraband and so make allies.

So when she returned to the island prison, she was actually in remarkably good spirits. Spirits that were no longer dimmed by Dementors, as their use was banned. She could make this work, she was sure of it.

Except for one small problem. Azkaban has a variety of "special" cells, for different classes of dangerous criminals; thus, the former Death Eaters were housed in their own high-security area, a virtual prison within a prison. She was not taken there, having never been a Death Eater.

No. She was taken somewhere worse. Much, much worse.

She found herself housed in a small, gloomy cell, with bed, and toilet, and washbasin. There was no chair but rather a somewhat uncomfortable three-legged stool. No table, but instead a low stone shelf projecting from the wall. There were what could laughably be called windows: dirty, tiny specks of glass that let in a mockery of sunlight. But worse of all was that there was no door. She was apparated in by a prison house-elf, and then left alone in a cell for one. Completely cut off. There was no-one to talk to, not ever; even meals were delivered magically to the shelf, twice a day.

When she had been told about the feared Solitary Confinement cells, she had dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The Ministry, she thought, would never stoop to such depths. How wrong she had been, she realised, about everything, as the final vestiges of her blind devotion to the Ministry were finally peeled away as she came to see the awful truth that there was probably no-one who knew, or cared, if she was alive or dead.

To begin with she yelled and screamed and demanded that she be allowed to talk to people. That this was cruel, and inhumane. There was no answer; only the stones of the wall, mocking her with their silence.

She had been there – two days? A week? Ten days? She had no idea, really – when she decided she had to do something different. Hoping that there had to be somebody listening, surely, or some monitoring spell, or something, she made a new demand.

"All right!" she yelled. "I demand to be allowed to write letters! I have that right! I demand parchment and quill!"

Nothing happened.

But the next day, when she awoke, she found, to her great surprise, her request had been granted: next to the bowl of meagre gruel that constituted her breakfast was what she had asked for: a (very small) stack of parchment and a quill.

It was, unfortunately, exactly what she had asked for, she discovered, as she absent-mindedly picked up the quill: there was no ink. She hadn't asked for any. Whoever was listening was clearly the sort of pedantic idiot who took everything literally; well, she could work with that.

And then she looked carefully, and understood. There didn't need to be any ink, she realised bitterly. Her jailers had had the last laugh.

She was holding a Blood Quill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More handrubbing glee as I stick it to Umbridge again …
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> **Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook and AO3. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> **Thanks:** To all who are reading! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and scones with jam and cream to those who commented on chapter 80. 
> 
> Thanks to slmncpm, dragonstar01, diddleymaz and Padfootette for their kind words.  
> Not your Beth comments on Chapter 78, “It really reads like a fairy tale” … close. So close.


	82. Returning to the Schoolroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time frame of this chapter overlaps the previous one a little; I hope that that does not cause any confusion.

**82 Returning to the Schoolroom**

_Saturday 10 October 1998_

In the event, the Malfoy-Potters did not have a huge housewarming party; Hermione came to visit on the Thursday evening after work and worked out fairly quickly how Harry felt about The Lodge: that this was their own, private space. This only confirmed a suspicion that she had had for a while: that Harry was rather more introverted than people realised, and didn't actually enjoy large parties all that much. Accordingly, she suggested that, rather than a single huge party, they hosted a series of small dinner parties, an idea that Harry leapt at.

Accordingly, the first party was held on the same Saturday that Lucius and Dudley had found the house in Swansea. Draco was rather shocked when Harry suggested the first guest list: rather than his friends, he wanted their parents to come. Which, it appeared, included all of the parental figures he had: Lucius and Narcissa, Arthur and Molly were invited of course, but apparently 'parents' included Peter and Margaret Granger, and Andromeda Tonks as well.

The dinner was a great success; but there was something that Draco couldn't quite put his finger on. Something felt … he couldn't put it into words; but somehow, the fact that his pure-blood parents, the Muggle Grangers and the blood-traitor Weasleys were sitting at the same table, together with the disowned pure-blood Andromeda and his half-blood husband, and getting on so well did strike him as rather hard to believe.

As the two of them lay together in bed that night, Draco pointed out to Harry that it was strange how their friends and family contained all the different permutations; as though differences in magical status were irrelevant.

"Well," Harry pointed out, "I've always thought that they were."

"Fair enough," Draco replied. But he lay there thinking for a while.

It was lovely that what Harry had always felt was becoming the reality; but was it just the way things were going? Or was there something else at work?

Eventually, he fell asleep, convincing himself that he was just being paranoid.

* * *

As October rolled along, there seemed to be a strange divide between the group as they went about their daily routines: some seemed to get more excited as time went on, the others more stressed.

On one side, Harry and Ron, having bought all the text books for the Auror course, drilled each other happily for hours on end, and seemed to thrive on it. Robin Banks, who visited Grimmauld Place every now and then, at Kingsley's behest, to make sure that they were alright, sat in on their training several times and offered them a few pointers from his experience of Auror training. He even managed to procure them some practise dummies that the Ministry used for Aurors, telling them that they were doing very well and getting too good to practise on each other. In fact, as he confided to his father, he rather thought that the pair were more advanced than a graduation-level class; their repertoire of spells, and the power they could put behind them, was truly impressive. Viridis Banks had pointed out to him rather drily that this was hardly surprising given that their skills had been honed while fighting for their lives, rather a powerful incentive to do well.

When Ron wasn't training with Harry, he was playing chess with Theo, who was attending Hogwarts about half the time now that his arm was nearly as good as the healers thought it would ever be. He would have been there more often, but he was finding that it really did not like the cold, and the castle was large, cold and draughty; so he would often come back to Grimmauld Place in the afternoons after spending the mornings in classes, and sit by the fire to warm up.

Blaise and Pansy seemed to be equally happy, busy learning all they could at St Mungo's and, as often as not, coming home late, having been invited to go on rounds with the specialists who were secretly rather pleased to have two such enthusiastic students.

But on the other side of the divide, Hermione was finding her pregnancy was hitting her hard again; not with morning sickness, but more with tiredness and feeling weepy a lot of the time. Her mother had ferreted out of her that she was indeed pregnant; Margaret Granger had had her suspicions, and set her lips firm when she heard.

"Are you disappointed in me, Mum?" a teary Hermione asked her, and Margaret's heart melted.

"How could I be?" she asked, swallowing the fact that she had been, a little. Right now, her daughter needed her full support, that was clear. "I'm going to be a grandmother, that's wonderful news, and I think you need your mum, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, smiling through her tears as she realised her mother was on her side.

"Well, you'd better start bringing that young man of yours around regularly for dinner. How do Mondays and Thursdays sound?"

"Wonderful," Hermione admitted.

Also on the stressed side was Draco. The headmistress had agreed that he could undertake his Mastery at Hogwarts, as least for as long as Borage was employed as a Professor there. They dined at the Manor the day that Draco heard this, and Lucius chuckled when he was told.

"How very Slytherin of her," he said.

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, bristling slightly; the divide between houses was still a rather touchy point for him.

"Oh, it's clear that Borage wants to use the Hogwarts facilities," Lucius answered calmly, "and by this arrangement McGonagall gets him to keep teaching there for very little cost, quite a feather in her cap given Borage's international prestige."

Like Harry and Ron, Draco had also been working on his skills, taking advantage of the well-equipped Potions Lab at The Lodge. When he heard that Hermione was finding her pregnancy hard, he started brewing some special pick-me-up potions that were pregnancy-safe, which she appreciated very much.

_Saturday 31 October 1998_

By the end of October, when Harry and Ron were feeling rather good about their preparation, Draco was rather panicking that he would start with Borage on Monday; indeed, the pick-me-up potions disappeared at quite a rate, as he had started taking them himself, and sharing them with Pansy, who was beginning to find her work load at St Mungo's hard to manage, especially as she was organising a wedding at the same time.

Happily, Pansy and Theo's wedding helped to take his mind off the following Monday a bit; Narcissa had roped him in to help with the decorations, and Pansy had deputised him as a second groomsman to help Blaise perform his best man duties, as the Italian seemed to be quite clueless.

For the Malfoy-Potters, the Parkinson-Nott wedding had a large sense of déjà vu; Theo and Pansy did not have a lot of money, so Narcissa had offered to host their wedding, which took place in the Pavilion at Malfoy Manor in the weak sun and rather chilly wind typical of a late October day. There were all the usual touches: Narcissa and Draco's immaculate and amazing decorations; Molly's wonderful food; Neville's lovely flowers, now in more colours than ever; and the grand finale, the twins' fireworks, finishing off with two silver and green snakes sliding over each other and forming a love-heart in the sky.

When the evening was over, Draco and Harry naturally chose to stay in Draco's room at the Manor, and Draco tried to convince himself that it was just like every other time that he had gone to sleep the night before going back to school. But it wasn't, and he knew it: this time, it wasn't just his parents he was leaving behind. This time, he was married, and he would be returning to Hogwarts without Harry being there full time. He was still feeling rather possessive about Harry, and not at all looking forward to being away from him for days at a time; but he was a Malfoy, he told himself, and he pushed those feelings down hard. Though he did hold on to Harry very tightly in bed that night; though, if the Raven noticed it, he did not comment.

_Sunday 1 November 1998_

After the cool, dry Saturday, the weather turned, and they woke to find Sunday a cold day, pouring with rain and blowing a gale.

"Good morning, boys," Narcissa said as they entered the breakfast room.

"Lovely day for staying indoors," Lucius commented.

"I'll bet Pansy's glad it wasn't like this yesterday," Draco commented.

"I doubt she'll think about it, given where she is now," Narcissa said.

Harry looked at her, a little amazed. He was used to his mother-in-law keeping tabs on what everyone was up to, but knowing where a non-family couple had gone for their honeymoon was exceptional, even by her standards.

"You know where they went?" he asked.

"Of course, darling," Narcissa replied. "They're in South Africa. Your father organised the travel for them."

"That figures," Draco said. "Theo has family in South Africa."

The conversation went quiet as everyone sat down to breakfast and was distracted by food. Harry had to grin when their breakfast turned out to be stacks of pancakes; he would have liked to feed Draco in their now traditional manner, but he didn't think that would be quite the done thing at the Malfoy breakfast table.

"So, all ready for the return to study?" Lucius asked as he finished eating and drained his cup of tea.

Draco shuddered. "Don't remind me," he replied, "It's going to be a shock to the system."

His voice was light and bright, but Harry could tell it was a forced sentiment. Something was … well, perhaps not _wrong_ , not exactly, but definitely _odd_ , he thought. As he was thinking this, Draco rose to his feet.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I should make sure everything is packed in readiness. Harry, will you be accompanying me?"

"Of course I will," Harry replied. It hadn't taken any particular empathy to hear the apparently off-hand question for the plea that it really was, and Harry's formerly mild concern was tending towards the level of panic that Draco felt. But the rest of the morning was uneventful; Draco seemed happy enough as he looked through his wardrobe critically, discussing whether he really should take more robes, or whether the cerulean blue outfit might be better than the navy one he had settled on earlier; but in the end, when they went down to lunch with Draco's trunk packed, it contained exactly what it had when they had arrived at the Manor the day before.

By invitation, they flooed to the Headmistress's office at three o'clock for afternoon tea. McGonagall looked, to Draco's eyes, as prim and proper and unbending as ever; but Harry, who knew her better, could tell she was actually very glad to see them, if not proud of them. This impression was confirmed when, as they sat on her tartan chairs, she offered them, not cakes or pastries, but a biscuit from the tin she kept on her desk.

Draco chuckled and relaxed a little; he remembered Harry telling him that she only offered people biscuits when she was pleased with them. It seemed that the small ease of tension had not gone unnoticed.

"Now, Mr Malfoy," the headmistress began, "or Lord Consort I should call you, I suppose."

"That would be Lord Consort Malfoy-Potter Goblinfriend, I believe," Draco replied teasingly.

"Just so," the Headmistress agreed, giving him an approving nod. "I confess I had forgotten that the 'Goblinfriend' title was to be yours at marriage, but you can be sure that the Goblins have not, so it will be an excellent idea to insist upon it. They place great store in such things. But I was going to say, you look a little more relaxed than you did when you arrived; I hope that will continue. This is to be your home-away-from-home for quite a while, I suspect, and, as I do for all students, I want you to be happy and safe here. Accordingly, you will of course have the same room in Dumbledore Tower; and Mr, rather Lord, Potter –"

"Malfoy-Potter," Harry added cheekily, getting a stern look from the Headmistress.

"—and _Harry_ ," she continued, glaring at him as if daring him to contradict her again, "will be welcome to visit at any time, both as a student while he continues his Muggle Studies assignment, and afterwards."

"Thank you," Draco said. That particular issue had been one of the things concerning him – if Harry managed to get time to do so, it was nice to know that he would be welcome to visit Draco in what was going to be his second home.

"Now," McGonagall continued, "Professor Borage did ask me if you might be allowed to do some teaching to the lower years on his behalf, and that seems an admirable idea to me; are you happy to do so?"

"Ah, well, I don't know about _happy_ ," Draco replied, "but yes, I'll certainly have a try. I don't know how good a teacher I'll be."

"Well then," the Headmistress replied, putting down her now empty teacup, "this will be an excellent opportunity to find out, won't it? Now, off you go and get settled in. Professor Borage will be here for dinner, so will no doubt catch up then. Mr Potter - and let's just stick with that," she added, before anyone could make any smart remarks, "teachers always think of their students by the names they had when they first met them - I hope you will join us for dinner?"

"I'd love to," Harry said, as they rose to take leave of the Headmistress for the time being.

* * *

Dinner was pleasant enough, and Hogwarts' treacle tart was every bit as good as it always had been; but all too soon, they parted, as Borage took Draco to his office for a chat and discussion for the morning, and Harry returned to Grimmauld Place. Ron had suggested they could go in together from there and Harry had decided that on the whole he would prefer not to stay at The Lodge all on his own, at least not for the first night.

Accordingly, Draco, having kissed his husband farewell at seven o'clock, spent a surprisingly enjoyable three hours discussing the future arrangements with Libatius Borage, who was quite pleasant company one-on-one. They decided, as Harry had a residential week from the ninth to the thirteenth, that Draco might as well get his second residential week done at the same time; Borage explained that the idea was to have him learning several medicinal potions that required near constant supervision for four days solid as otherwise they could explode, or worse, become rather toxic. After that, he would be brewing a series of potions that needed supervision overnight, but they could be spaced out. There were six four-day potions in all, and only three could be brewed together at any one time, so two weeks spent at Hogwarts with the weekend off in between would see Draco able to have every second night away after then if he wished.

Draco went to bed that night with conflicting emotions. At least the panic he had felt the previous day had now evaporated and he was really looking forward to the morning; he could see that working with Borage was going to be very educational, and he got on well with the man, so far at least. But that really didn't touch the deep feeling of loss he had that Harry, his Harry, wasn't there in his bed.

Far away in Grimmauld Place, Harry was feeling similarly bereft. It had been lovely to catch up with Ron and Hermione, even though he was no replacement for Theo (nor for Draco, come to that) as a chess partner for Ron, losing three games on the trot in embarrassingly short order. The two trainee-Aurors-to-be had then tested each other once again on the things they were supposed to know before they began, which brought home to Harry that he really was about to begin to be an Auror, that the dream of his teenage years might actually come true; but as he lay in his bed, he couldn't muster any excitement about it because Draco, his Draco, wasn't there in his bed.

_Monday 2 November 1998_

By Monday morning, the rain had settled down to a near continuous drizzle. Draco looked out the window as he got up; he couldn't see the Quidditch pitch at all, just grey sky as the water hit the window panes keeping up a steady dull drumming as it did so.

He sighed. The weather, he thought, was almost a perfect representation of his state of mind – grey, boring, just keeping on a steady pace. He went through the motions of his morning routine, but his mind was elsewhere. Truly, he just wanted to find Harry and curl up with him under a blanket and read a book all day.

"You're being pathetic," he told himself. "Since when did the Ice Prince of Slytherin let himself feel so maudlin and self-pitying?"

And, forcing himself into a more definite state of mind, he went down to breakfast, finding somewhat to his chagrin that Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were already there.

"Morning," Dean said, with surprising warmth, Draco thought. "Nice to have you back. Will we see you in classes today?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Draco replied, which was a polite lie – he would be sequestered in a Potions lab by himself for most of the day, he knew perfectly well, so that part was true; but the truth was, he was rather looking forward to being all on his own. He didn't really feel like interacting with anyone else. Well, anyone else who wasn't Harry. "I'll be brewing by myself a lot for the next two weeks."

"Oh," Seamus said, "that's too bad. If you've got time in the evening and want to play exploding snap or something, we're always up for a game."

"Thanks," Draco said with a crooked smile.

He was rather surprised after breakfast when Millicent Bullstrode, who had heard the whole exchange, pulled him aside.

"You can trust them, Draco," she said cryptically. "They've been very good to me over the last few weeks."

Draco looked at her a little skeptically, then realised that of course Millicent had been here, a lone Slytherin amongst the Eighth Years, and he had not thought of her once. It made him feel two inches tall.

"I'm sorry, Millicent," he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't be silly. I understand you and Potter were getting used to being married. It's OK. They looked after me; they'll look after you, too, if you let them."

Draco took a deep breath. "Thanks, Millie," he said, smiling at her, then made his way to the dungeons while she went off to her Charms class.

* * *

"Right you lot!" the instructor bellowed at the Auror training class. "Today we welcome two new boys into our midst. I'm sure you'll all give a warm welcome to Mr Potter and Mr Weasley," he said, an evil grin on his face. The class, who were well aware that Ron and Harry had joined them, and were clearly in awe of them, gave a polite round of applause.

"Oh yes, a warm welcome. Especially since they are the reason why we're mixing things up this week. We're going to have two solid days of theory classes, discussing advanced shielding; then there will be a day of testing, to see if I managed to drive anything through your thick skulls. After that, perhaps we'll have two days of practical training, to see if you can actually use the skills you've been taught."

The class groaned, and Harry knew that they were going to be unpopular. But the instructor began writing on the board, and droning on, and Harry dutifully wrote down all that he had to say.

* * *

At lunchtime, they sat in the Ministry canteen as a group; Harry was pleased to notice that the other trainees seemed happy enough to sit with them, and there was no overt hostility.

"Is he always this bad?" Harry asked Thomas Parris, one of his new classmates.

Parris snorted. "That was tame," he said. "You'll notice that no-one asked him anything. Our Mr Tachygloss loves the sound of his own voice, and thinks that the sun shines out of his backside. Anyone who challenges him gets cut to ribbons. There are a couple of students who suck up to him all the time: Adam Johnson and Petrus Jufeus; but you've probably worked that out already. They will answer his questions and laugh at his pathetic jokes while the rest of us just sit there, and write down whatever he says, and learn it religiously for his little tests."

"And they're always stinkers – half the things he tests us on, he never even tells us, he just says 'it's in the manual, you should have read up yourself'," another boy chipped in.

Harry sat there fuming. It was bad enough being treated as a child at Hogwarts; he wasn't about to stand for it here. During the rest of the lunch break, he reviewed his notes from the morning, comparing them to the books on Auror-level spells that Robin had lent him. He went back into the classroom an hour later having to keep a very tight hold on his temper; he had realised that pretty much everything he hadn't already known was actually wrong. He'd decided to keep his head down for a little while; but there was no way he wasn't going to have something to say if the man kept prating nonsense.

* * *

The afternoon's class lasted just half an hour before Harry had to step in. Their instructor had decided that they needed a refresher on the theory of shield charms, and insisted on teaching them as though they knew nothing at all. It was bad enough when he had his simpering toadies performing a Protego, pointing out to everyone how the wand movement was to be just so, and the incantation had to be precise; but then he decided to go one better.

"Of course, there is the more powerful Protego Maxima," he said, in a condescending tone that Umbridge would have been proud of, "we shall discuss the theory; though I'm sure that will be entirely beyond you – it takes years of practise and a good deal of power to cast one."

Harry put his hand up.

"Do you think you can cast one, Mr Potter?" the man asked, his tone sneering.

"Half the eighth year students at Hogwarts can cast one," Harry replied, making it clear that this was no big deal to him. "I should know; I taught it to them. I can even do it wordlessly and wandlessly."

"Nonsense!" the man said sharply. "A Protego Maxima is far too complex to be cast wand–"

But he broke off; for the whole class, save for the instructor and his two toadies, had suddenly been encased in a solid green light.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, his tone making it clear he was not sorry at all, "did you say something?"

"Bah!" the man said. "It's a cheap trick. It must be!"

"Try it," Harry said nonchalantly.

"All right," Tachygloss said with an evil smirk as he raised his voice.

"STUPEFY!" he shouted, putting a lot of power into the spell.

Rather too much power, really. Because lesser curses simply bounce off a Protego Maxima. the instructor and his two acolytes spent the rest of the afternoon in the infirmary, recovering from the sheer force he had imbued the spell with; while the other students had a very pleasant afternoon learning all about shields from Harry and Ron. By the end of the afternoon, all of the students could cast a strong Protego, and most were well on the way to a good Protego Maxima.

* * *

The next day's training was a little better; Harry learnt later from Robin that Tachygloss had been taken aside by some of his colleagues who thought it was a great joke that he had been bested by a student. He was, of course, fuming because of it; but it had been explained to him very clearly that Harry Potter was pretty much untouchable; pretty much literally so when it came to shield charms, given that the Haussmann shield was known to boost all other shield casting as well. So Harry was left alone; and the instructor showed that, when he wasn't being a sarcastic bastard, he could actually manage to teach with some competency.

The following day, though, he walked into the class with an evil grin on his face.

"Test time!" he said.

There was a general groan, and Harry could see why as Tachygloss passed out test papers that were half an inch thick each.

"You have three hours," he announced once everyone had a paper in front of them. He then smirked at Harry and Ron, saying quietly, "you two will probably need every minute."

An hour and a half later, Harry was bored. He had, after all, really earned his Mastery grade; there was nothing in the syllabus that he didn't know, and he was able to answer every question without even really thinking about it. Accordingly, he got up and walked to the astonished instructor at the front.

Tachygloss narrowed his eyes at him, then smiled.

"Defeated you, have I?" he asked.

"Yeah, something like that," Harry answered. He really wasn't interested in an argument right now.

"Perhaps you'll think twice about coming into my class trading on your reputation, Potter," Tachygloss replied.

Harry held his tongue and left the classroom. He felt strangely bereft; it had only got worse since Sunday evening. He had promised himself that he wouldn't interrupt Draco; but his resolve was definitely wavering. As he had a couple of hours to himself, his feet took him to the Head Auror's office; he had been told to drop by if he needed anything, and right now he rather thought he did.

"Something you want, Trainee Potter?" Gawain asked him.

"I was hoping for permission to floo to Hogwarts to visit my husband," Harry answered.

Gawain gave him a grin. "Finished your exam early then?"

Harry nodded.

"I'm not surprised," the other man answered. "He's a pompous windbag is Emmet, but he does actually know a thing or two if he can only get over being too old to be in the field. Anyway, of course, the Floo is yours."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, and meant it.

* * *

Draco was in the library, researching fungi useful for potions in the Restricted Section, to which he now had unrestricted access. Harry entered quietly, Madam Pince the librarian having decided that she could hardly keep him out if Draco was allowed in. He watched his husband fossicking amongst the shelves for a couple of minutes, transfixed by the beauty that was Draco Malfoy. It is said that distance makes the heart grow fonder; certainly, the few days spent without him brought home forcefully to Harry just how much he loved this man, how much he needed him, how lucky he was to have him in his life.

Draco must have sensed his presence; for he suddenly whirled around, wand drawn, face pinched. And then he saw who it was, and his face relaxed into a grin as he raced into Harry's arms, wand and books forgotten.

"Miss me, much?" Harry asked.

"You can talk, Potter," Draco replied. "After all, you're the one skiving off. Aren't you supposed to be having a test or something?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "but I finished it in half the time, so I thought I'd come and see you. Unless, of course, you're too busy."

Draco blew him a raspberry.

"Actually," he rejoined with a small smile, "you can help."

* * *

Emmet Tachygloss picked up Harry's exam paper. All the other students were busy scribbling away, and he had an anti-cheating spell set, so he didn't really need to be there at all; but the regulations required it, so there he was, bored out of his mind. So, he decided, he might as well see what rubbish Potter had written. It would be a good pointer to what he taught them this afternoon.

Forty minutes later, Tachygloss was feeling distinctly ill. Like a few of the older, more cynical Aurors, he had assumed that Potter was going to prove to be a five-minute-famous flash-in-the-pan, trading on his reputation, without any real understanding of what he was doing. He had felt that Potter defeating Voldemort was more luck than anything else. But looking at the paper in front of him, he could no longer believe that. The answers given here were text-book answers; better, even, because they were so succinct and to the point in each case. There were some of the questions where he disagreed with what Potter had said; but the lad had argued his case rather cogently, and Tachygloss was coming around to the different point of view. After all, the lad had demonstrated that he was wrong about wandless shield charms; what else did he believe simply because he had been taught it, without any proof?

* * *

Harry had assumed that 'help' would involve some form of research; he was a little miffed when Draco had him carry the large pile of books he had borrowed down to the potions lab he was using, and then over the next got him to stir the three separate cauldrons that were brewing there.

"Hang on," Harry said, "if you can brew them together, why do you need more than one four-day stint in the lab?"

"Because some of the potions react badly with each other," Draco said in that patient voice that primary school teachers use with their students. "Trust me, Borage and I do know what we are doing."

It was Harry's turn to blow a raspberry.

Draco smirked in reply, then consulted the Muggle watch that Hermione had given him for an engagement present. He had, of course, made a huge fuss about his disdain for all things Muggle when she had given it to him; but Harry had noticed he was seldom without it now.

"I'm free for an hour now, and it's time for lunch. Would you like to join us?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "Then after that I'd probably better get back to class."

* * *

By the time Harry returned to the Ministry, it was just coming up to the end of the trainees' lunch break. They trooped back into class, wondering what the afternoon would hold. Their instructor came in five minutes later, holding the pile of exam papers that he had collected two hours before.

"Right! Your papers have all been marked and I'll give you a few minutes to review them," he said, as he waved his wand and the papers flew off at high speed, each one landing in front of the correct student. "After that, we'll be having a revision session, which will focus on locator charms and immobilisation techniques. I'm happy to say that you all seem to have grasped shield charms well enough. The next two days will see us practising these spells in a controlled environment. Oh, and the following students did so well they're not going to learn much this afternoon, so are excused to go and have self-study in the library: …" and here, five students were named, starting, to Harry's delight, with 'Harry Potter' and 'Ron Weasley'. It seemed that the new boys were up to the mark, after all. The five named got up and left for the library; and Harry allowed himself a little internal smirk as he saw the crestfallen expressions on the two sycophants, Adam Johnson and Petrus Jufeus, neither of whom had been named.

"You two skiving off?" a familiar voice asked as they headed to the library, and they turned to see Robin Banks smiling at them.

"Nah," Ron said with a grin, "we had an exam this morning and we got sent to the library because we did well enough not to need a revision session."

"Good," said Robin. "I have a Defense class for the Hogwarts Seventh and Eighth Years, and Professor Merrythought sent me to get some helpers from the Auror class; as you can see," he continued, showing them a parchment, "the Head Auror has signed off on it, and if you two aren't busy, and don't mind, I'm sure we'd be delighted to have you."

"Sure," they said in unison, both grinning. It wasn't much contest, after all; spend the afternoon studying quietly by themselves in the library, or actually get to have some fun with the Hogwarts students?

Which is how they came to catch up with Dean and Seamus and got to demonstrate (and practise) their shields and immobilisation techniques rather than an afternoon of boredom. Draco was over the moon when he found that Harry was at Hogwarts for dinner as well as lunch; and Borage, who had noticed that his apprentice was missing his husband, went as far as to offer to look after his potions for the evening, so that the two could spend time together uninterrupted; an opportunity that the two made the most of.

_Friday 6 November 1998_

After Wednesday's excitement, Harry found Thursday very difficult; instead of the lecture room, they were taken to a training room and given a very boring talk explaining what was going on. Today they were to be practising shields; so they would be allowed to send low-level spells at one another, tickling charms and the like, to see if they could shield themselves adequately. Harry could hardly concentrate as they were then drilled once again on the various shields they were supposed to know. Not that he really needed to; after months on the run, protecting himself was purely reflexive by now.

About an hour in to the day, he discovered something extremely useful. He had a momentary lapse of attention; when one of the other students had cast a stinging hex at him, he had easily cast a Protego, but the relaxed for a moment. In that moment of inattention he learnt that the Haussmann Shield, which he and Draco had found out at Hogwarts would protect them over a distance of a few hundred yards, was now effective over a much greater distance: Petrus Jufeus had thrown a Stupefy at him when he wasn't looking, and the Shield sprang up around him in green-and-silver swirls. He had to look closely before he could see that the red was still there; but only a tiny sliver now, and the green and silver seemed to twirl around each other much more tightly. He wondered, briefly, what that could mean; but he was brought back to the present by the sound of his classmates applauding. He looked around to see why, and grinned; apparently the Shield had reflected the Stupefy, because Jufeus was now lying comatose on the floor.

This pretty much ended any interest the day held for Harry; no-one was prepared to go up against him with such a formidable weapon in his arsenal. He asked if he could help out, but Tachygloss wouldn't let him, telling him to sit on the sidelines and watch. Which was an exercise in frustration: he longed to correct the stances and castings of his classmates, he could see that with a very little help they would be much more effective.

"Think you know everything, don't you, Potter?" a snide voice said, and Harry looked around. Jufeus. Great. It seemed that the Stupefy must have worn off Jufeus.

"No," Harry replied, "I'd be a fool to think that. But I do know a lot about shields."

"Pfft," the other answered, as though shields were unimportant. "Anyway, we'll see how good you are tomorrow at offensive spells. I've been doing a bit of training, I reckon I'll show you up."

"Knock yourself out," Harry replied equably. "After all, you've shown you're good at that, today."

So when Friday rolled around, it really came as no surprise that Harry really wasn't very interested in the proceedings.

"Gather round you lot!" Tachygloss said in his portentous way. "Today we are testing immobilisation spells, so of course the Ministry will not allow you to practise on each other. Something about being too dangerous. Mind you, the people we come up against are not so considerate. Anyway, we have some special dummies that we use for you to fire spells at. So here's the deal: until you immobilised them, the dummies fire out coloured, fake spells of their own, which will mark you if they hit you. The spells are different colours; yellow represents a painful spell, orange an incapacitating one, and red a life-threatening one. They will come in that order. Then of course there's the green one, which represents …"

He stood there and waited to see if anyone got it; when it was obvious that no-one did, Harry called out in a bored voice,

"… the Avada Kedavra spell."

"Quite right, Mr Potter," the instructor replied, sounding not best pleased that it was Harry, rather than Jufeus or Johnson, who had got the answer right. "So of course the challenge is to stop them without getting hit. You can use any of the immobilising spells that we discussed on Tuesday, or reasonable variants. Also, for today, we're not interested in your shielding, so a hit to a shield will count as a hit to you. I expect you all to incapacitate the dummy before being hit with the green spell. Has everyone got that?"

It all seemed rather pointless to Harry; he had, after all, been in the situation where he was fighting against real people firing real spells. Usually starting with the killing curse, no mucking around with this yellow, orange, red rubbish. Tachygloss must have noticed his disinterest; for as soon as everyone nodded to indicate that they had followed his explanation, the instructor continued.

"Good. Now, let's see what you're made of. Potter, you're up first. To make things interesting, we'll put you in pairs; Jufeus will pair off with you just to show you how it's done."

 _Show me up, more likely,_ Harry thought, but he squared up to the dummy nonetheless.

"Go!" Tachygloss called out, and Jufeus immediately started firing out spells at his dummy, yelling out "Immobilus!" and "Petrificus Totalis!" at the top of his lungs. He managed to incapacitate the dummy with only a yellow spell hitting him; he knew that historically most students would get a red hit, so he was pleased with that.

Pleased, that is, until he looked at Potter. The man was standing there, his wand not even raised, and Petrus realised he hadn't heard him say a word. There wasn't a mark on him, not even a bead of sweat; but the dummy at the other end was smothered in the green ropes produced by the Incarcerus spell.

"Very good, Mr Potter!" a voice called out, and the students looked around to see Gawain Robarts stride into the practise room. "I don't remember any student getting through this test entirely unscathed before. And using nonverbal spells is particularly good – can you tell us why?"

"If there's a real enemy, and they don't hear the incantation, they don't know what the spell is until they see the wand work and the spell colour," Harry replied. "And as I cast wandlessly, they would only have the colour to go by."

"Just so," Robarts replied. "Very impressive, Mr Potter. There's really no point in you being here for the other tests; take the rest of the day off."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied calmly, though inside he was full of glee. Especially as he could see that Tachygloss was particularly annoyed by this; but he could hardly gainsay the Head Auror.

* * *

While he would have liked to have lunch with Draco, there were still some of the Parseltongue books that Lucius had unearthed that he hadn't read. They were waiting for him at The Lodge, so he Flooed there first, spending a couple of hours trying to follow up some vague hints about men getting pregnant that he had found. It was very frustrating – there were some tantalising hints that seemed to fit with the bond caused by a Haussmann Shield, which would have been interesting to learn about; but the knowledge trail seemed to just peter out. It was almost, he was beginning to think, as though someone was trying to keep the lid on a big secret. The question was, was this secrecy a general thing, or was there some attempt being made to keep him in the dark?

Eventually he dismissed these thoughts as mere paranoia. Ron Floo-called him to say that he too had been excused classes, having managed to avoid being marked, and Harry readily agreed to join him at Grimmauld Place for lunch.

Kreacher was delighted to see him, and produced a very pleasant steak and kidney pudding for them, followed by treacle tart in honour of Master Harry being there. Harry was very pleased at this; Kreacher radiated a simple joy that gave him goosebumps to think of how bad their relationship had been, and how far it had come.

The two trainees were lounging in the drawing room after lunch, trying to summon up the energy to do something, when the Floo roared to life. They had not been expecting anyone; and it was a credit to their training and reflexes that both of them were standing up, wands drawn, when the visitor stepped through the fireplace.

"Pansy!" Harry shouted joyfully when he saw who it was. "Lovely to see you! But, why are you here? And where is Theo?"

"Calm down," the witch admonished him, but she was smiling. "It's good to know you care. Theo is quite well; very well, in fact, and that's why I'm here."

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

Pansy sighed. "It's a bit of a story. But I can't be gone long, so we'll have to be quick. Is Draco here?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry replied. "He's at Hogwarts; he has to be there all the time this week because he has to brew some potions that need a lot of looking after."

"Bugger," Pansy said, "of course he does. I'd forgotten about that."

"Can I help?" Harry asked.

Pansy looked at him appraisingly, and Harry wondered just what it was that she would talk to Draco about but hesitate with him. But then, they hadn't always got on as well as they did now, he mused, and Pansy and Draco had been friends for a long time.

In the end, he must have passed muster, because Pansy signed for them to sit down, and launched into an explanation.

"As you may have heard," she said, a little knowingly, "we are honeymooning in South Africa. It's a warm, dry climate, which is doing wonders for Theo's arm – it's visibly better than it was when we left; he's got family there, who have welcomed us with open arms; and there's an apothecary there who has offered him a job, He can even study while he's working, and get his NEWTs and everything."

"Wow," Harry said. "So, you're thinking of emigrating?"

"We are," Pansy replied. "And the thing is that yesterday we learnt that a property has come onto the market right in the middle of where Theo's relatives live. They've all said they'll club together and help us buy it; but I can tell Theo isn't really comfortable with that, so I came here to see if Draco would be prepared to loan us the money."

"I see," said Harry carefully. "Does Theo know you're doing this?"

"No," Pansy replied, "that's why I have to be quick. And we have to move fast on the property – we were told about it because of Theo's family, it will be advertised for sale to the public from tomorrow, and they think it will be snapped up as it's a lovely house at a great price."

"Hmm," Harry said. "Do you mind if I come and have a look?"

Pansy looked at him, a little stunned. "Erm, not to be rude or anything, but why would you want to do that? No, never mind, that is rude, isn't it. Of course you can."

And with that, she stood up, threw a pinch of powder into the Floo, and called out the address. A moment later, the pair of them emerged into the office of the real estate agent who was dealing with the property.

"Ah! Mrs Nott!" the man said, beaming at her. "And is this Mr Malfoy?"

"Potter-Malfoy," Harry replied, holding out his hand. "Harry Malfoy-Potter. Delighted to meet you."

The man looked at him, spotted the famous scar, and spluttered out, "Harry Malfoy-Potter? As in, _**the**_ Harry Potter?"

"Yes indeed," Harry agreed, rather ruing the fact that his fame seemed to stretch even this far. "I was hoping we could take a look at this property?"

"Of course! Of course!" the man said. "I am at your disposal! Shall we go right now?"

"Please," Pansy replied.

Twenty minutes later they returned to the office. Harry was bowled over by the property – "lovely" didn't begin to describe a five-bedroom house in immaculate condition, complete with swimming pool, tennis court and sauna. And the price was certainly good: about half what he had expected it to be. Accordingly, he asked the agent to draw up a contract of sale, subject to survey, and signed it once he had read it and was convinced all was in order. For his part, the agent was delighted; even more so fifteen minutes later when the banker's draft Harry signed against his account in Gringotts had been accepted by their South African branch.

At this point, Theo walked in; he had been off having his arm treated and had been a little worried when he had returned to their hotel to find that Pansy wasn't there. He saw Harry, and his eyebrows marched up his head.

"Potter?" he said quizzically. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Harry smiled. "Hello Theo," he said. "Your arm is looking a lot more relaxed than before – South Africa really is good for you."

Theo frowned, then looked at his wife. "What have you been up to?" he asked.

"Pansy came to see if Draco would lend the money for the house," Harry said.

Pansy hissed at him.

"Oops, obviously that was supposed to be a secret," he said, entirely unrepentantly. The agent's clerk handed him a file containing the paperwork for the property. "But it didn't work, anyway. Draco wasn't there. So, no loan."

Pansy looked flabbergasted. "So –" she began, but had no idea what to say.

Harry handed Theo the folder. "I don't lend money to friends," he said calmly. "This is your wedding present."

Theo and Pansy didn't know whether it was the generosity of the gift, or the fact that Harry called them friends, but they both found their eyes becoming very moist indeed …

* * *

Harry was feeling rather fearful that evening when he got to Hogwarts to dine with Draco. It was all very well being so generous, but what if Draco had wanted a say in Pansy's wedding present? Or wanted to look at the house before they bought it? Or thought it was too extravagant?

His nerves must have been more obvious than he thought; for when he arrived at Borage's office, Draco took one look at him, raced over, and pulled him into a hug.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, and the concern in his voice nearly floored Harry.

"I think you'd better sit down, Mr Potter," Borage said, and led them both to a rather comfortable sofa. "I'll see about getting some tea," he said, and tactfully disappeared.

But the two men didn't really hear him – Draco had his attention fixed on Harry, who was looking down at the floor as he tried to get himself together. It didn't help that he was feeling incredibly relieved to be back with Draco; he berated himself for feeling the lack as keenly has he did, after all he'd only been away from him for two days.

"Pansy stopped by today," he said, eventually.

"Pansy?" Draco asked, stiffening. "Stopped by where? And how come you were there? Shouldn't you have been at your testing? And why did she come? Is there a problem? Is Theo alright? Is it the baby?"

Harry looked at him, horrified as he realised how much he was freaking Draco out just because of his own pathetic insecurities. He smiled at his husband.

"No, no, Dragon, everything is fine. I did so well on the test that Gawain Robarts sent me home before lunch, and Ron at lunchtime, so we had lunch together at Grimmauld Place. Then Pansy turned up, looking for you. They're having a wonderful time in South Africa; so wonderful, in fact, that Theo's arm is much better after five days, and they feel so settled that they've decided to emigrate."

"Wow," Draco said, trying to imagine life without Pansy being around. "That all sounds wonderful. So why are you looking so bothered?"

"Well, she came to see if you'd lend them money to buy a house. And I sort of … boughtitforthemasaweddingpresent," Harry said, all in a rush.

"Slow down," Draco said, and then he caught up with what Harry had said. "Hang on, did you say that you bought it for them as a wedding present?"

Harry nodded, swallowing hard as he wondered just how Draco would react.

"And you were worried about how I'd take it, is that it?"

Again Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

Draco laughed: a real proper belly-laugh as he pulled Harry back into a tight embrace.

"You silly man," he said, his tone rich with humour, "I think that's wonderful. Thank you."

"Oh," Harry said, brightening. "I thought you might think it was stupid, or extravagant, or that you should have seen it or …"

"Hush," Draco said. "I'm really pleased. Now, never mind tea, let's go and get some dinner."

* * *

After they had dined, Borage came over to chat with them, and made it clear that, while Potions Masters would commonly expect their apprentices to give up weekends at the drop of a hat, he had no intention of doing any such thing, and that, as Draco had brewed everything perfectly and cleaned the lab thoroughly, he did not expect to see him again until Monday morning, especially as Harry would be on his Auror boot camp the following week and they probably wouldn't see one another.

"Don't forget that you're teaching on Tuesday, though," he said, as he took his leave of the couple.

"Really?" Harry asked as the Potions Master walked away. "So you're going to be Professor Malfoy-Potter?"

"Hardly," Draco said, amused but trying hard not to show it. "I'm really just the teacher's assistant anyway. So, what do you know about this week? What are you going to be doing?"

"Tell you what," Harry replied, "let's go home and I'll fill you in."

* * *

The weekend was very pleasant, but far too short: Draco felt the time sped by just to spite him, especially as both the Weasleys and his parents insisted on seeing them for Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch respectively. Monday morning rolled around, and Draco found himself brewing potions for the Infirmary. Not that he minded that so much; it was just the thought that he wasn't going to see Harry for another five days that had him feeling down.

On the bright side, it did give him a chance to replenish his own stocks of the pregnancy-safe pick-me-up potion that he was still brewing for Hermione – she seemed to get through them at a tidy rate, and he was still using them himself, so there was plenty of demand for them.

By agreement with Professor McGonagall, Draco was helping with the Third Year Potions class on Tuesday afternoon. Today, Borage had decided that they were to brew the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. As the ingredients were rather volatile, particularly billywig stings, Borage and Draco entered the classroom together before the class and put up some protective warding.

Once this was done, Professor Borage cast an information spell to check that all was in readiness, which produced a piece of parchment. He snatched it out of the air, and read it, his eyebrows rising.

"Mr Malfoy," he said, his voice calm.

"Yes, sir?" Draco replied. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Borage said, placing the parchment into an envelope and sealing it. "I just need you to take this to Madame Pomfrey, please. It will warn her of the possible outcomes of this class."

"Of course, sir," Draco said, accepting the envelope that was held out to him, and heading off to the Infirmary. He was mildly surprised that Borage had not sent a house-elf; but he knew perfectly well that, as an apprentice, he could be called upon to do any menial task, and delivering a letter was hardly a hardship.

When he arrived at the Infirmary, the Medi-witch was nowhere to be seen; for once, there were no students about. He knocked on her office door.

"Come in!" Madam Pomfrey sang out, and Draco did so.

"Oh, Mr Malfoy-Potter, how can I help you? Not sick, I hope, after all those fumes and hours in the darkness?"

Draco chuckled. Her voice sounded entirely sincere, and it was nice that she cared about him.

"No, no, it's just that Professor Borage asked me to give you this," he said, handing over the envelope.

"Oh," Poppy said. "Just take a seat while I read it in case he needs a reply, then," she said, smiling at him as she opened the envelope.

The smile faded a little as she read what was written on the parchment inside.

"I see," she said. "Well. There's no reply just for the moment; but while you're here, Mr Malfoy-Potter, it occurs to me that you're overdue for a checkup. Come along and sit on a bed, it won't take a minute."

Protesting that he was in perfect health, Draco was nonetheless bundled rather efficiently onto a bed, and Poppy proceeded to conduct her scan.

"In perfect health, you say?" she said, as she perused the parchment that her scan had produced. "Then why, may I ask, are you taking pick-me-up potions?"

"Oh!" Draco said, realising that of course the scan would pick that up. "I've been feeling rather stressed, and they've been helping. And I've really been missing Harry for the last week, I just want him here holding me; so I've had to up the dose. But it's still below any addiction levels; nothing to worry about."

"I'll be the judge of that," the medi-witch replied. "Just stay there a moment, I need to discuss something with a colleague."

Draco huffed as Madam Pomfrey went back into her office and emerged a couple of minutes later with Professor Borage.

"Sir?" Draco asked, confused. "Shouldn't you be teaching?"

"I think this is a little more important than classes," Borage replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"What is?" Draco asked, feeling lost. "What's going on? What are you hiding from me?"

"Well, Mr Malfoy-Potter," Madam Pomfrey replied, "the spell Professor Borage cast over the classroom was designed to check that, amongst other things, none of the students was pregnant, as the fumes from the

Antidote to Uncommon Poisons are mildly toxic, so we prefer to take precautions."

"You mean –" Draco said, and stopped.

"The scan showed that you are pregnant," Borage replied, bluntly.

"Which is no doubt why you've felt a little clingy, it's a common symptom. I can tell you that all is well, and that it's …"

But Madam Pomfrey did not complete her sentence. There was no point; for Draco Malfoy, the unflappable Ice Prince of Slytherin, had fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are reading! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and chocolate chip cookies to Cheshiyre, dragonstar01, diddleymaz and Padfootette for their kind words.


	83. Returning to Unexpected Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a little back-tracking, this time to pick up Harry's story.

**83 Returning to Unexpected Places**

_Sunday 8 November_

The door to his office was flung open with such force that it slammed into the wall and bounced back into the room, almost hitting the woman who had burst into the room behind it.

"Rita, what's the matter?" Barnabus Cuffe asked as he rose from his seat, his tone placating. He had never seen Rita Skeeter so livid; he might be twice her size, but the woman had a temper like nothing else when she was riled.

"This!" she replied, slamming a newspaper onto his desk. He picked it up idly. It was a courtesy print of this month's Quibbler, which would go on sale in about … he consulted his watch … three minutes. He picked it up and noticed at once that there was a new picture of Harry Potter on the front page, sitting smiling with Draco Malfoy. It turned his stomach. He didn't care what anyone said, Potter was a royal pain in the arse while the blond was from Death-Eater stock and should be hung out to dry, not feted by the cream of society.

He began to read.

 

 

 

> _The Quibbler – November Edition_
> 
> _ANNOUNCING: LORD HARRY MALFOY-POTTER and LORD CONSORT DRACO MALFOY-POTTER!_
> 
> _This paper is now able to announce exclusively that, in recognition of Harry Potter's outstanding efforts in twice destroying Voldemort during both of the Wizarding Wars, the Wizengamot, together with the Ministry for Magic, has revived the Ancient and Noble Title of the Lord Potter. This title was last held by our hero's grandfather, Lord Charlus Potter, but went into abeyance as Harry's father died before it could be vested at the required age of twenty-five._
> 
> _Additionally, this age requirement has been waived especially so that Harry James Potter, who has already been awarded the prestigious titles of Dragon-rider and Goblinfriend by the Goblin Nation, and has chosen to share his husband's surname, can inherit immediately._
> 
> _Accordingly, Harry Potter is now officially styled Harry James Malfoy-Potter, the Lord Potter, Dragon-rider, Goblin-friend, Destroyer of Voldemort. Draco Malfoy, who married Lord Potter in September, is thereby entitled to the titles of Lord Consort of the House of Potter, as well as Heir to the Lord Malfoy, and Goblin-friend, as the Goblin Nation has confirmed its proclamation that the latter title is to be shared with the recipient's spouse._
> 
> _This title is not merely a new burden for Lord Potter's business card; the Ministry has confirmed to this newspaper that it entitles him to one of the hereditary seats on the Wizengamot, a seat which Lord Potter can take up at any time._
> 
> _We are sure that all our readers will want to join us in wishing the new Lords well. We look forward to Lord Potter, who has already been instrumental in framing the Potter Code, a major change to our legal framework that has helped our society heal in this difficult post-War time, taking an active role on the Wizengamot._

Cuffe looked up. "Merlin, that's awful prose!" he complained. "So stodgy and hard to read! Old Xenophilius always did write turgid copy. But what exactly has got your knickers in a twist? Being scooped? Is that it?"

Skeeter looked at him, her eyes hard.

"Read the interview," she said.

He looked back at the paper to see that, indeed, the front page announced an interview with Lord Potter on page three. He turned to the interview and started to read.

 

 

 

> _Lord Potter speaks to the Quibbler._
> 
> _By Luna Lovegood._

And all at once, Cuffe understood.

It was an exclusive interview.

With Harry Potter.

In the Quibbler.

By his schoolmate, Luna Lovegood.

So, NOT published in the Prophet.

And NOT 'by Rita Skeeter'.

He grinned at her. Not a nice grin; a feral grin, celebrating the fact that, while he was hurt that the Prophet had been scooped, perhaps Skeeter too might be getting her comeuppance.

He read on. There was a lot of guff; but Cuffe didn't really care what the Malfoy-Potters had done on their honeymoon, nor what life was like afterwards. He didn't mind writing trashy gossip pieces, they sold newspapers after all, but he drew the line at reading them. And then he found it.

 

 

 

> _LL: Tell me, Lord Potter, I'm sure our readers would like to know why you offered this exclusive to The Quibbler, when most of the time you've published in the Daily Prophet? And most interviews are with Rita Skeeter, who has a much-vaunted 'special relationship' with you?_
> 
> _LP: Please, Luna, it's 'Harry'! And as for 'special', well, that doesn't necessarily mean 'good'. And The Prophet tends to work at a frantic pace, so perhaps the things they publish aren't as well-polished as they might be. With this announcement, the Ministry wanted the message to be very clear, and they felt this was the better paper to publish it in. And I think I agree. And, as a bonus, I get to talk to you, which is, as always, a pleasure!_
> 
> _LL: (chuckles) Thank you, Harry._

And here, rather abruptly, the interview ended.

Cuffe swore, loudly and profusely. Oh, the interview was polite enough, and nothing had been said that he could call Potter out on; but the meaning was clear – the Prophet, Potter was saying, is a sensationalist rag, and Skeeter an annoying hack. The worse of it, of course, was that it was pretty much the truth.

He looked back at Skeeter.

"Well, what are you doing still here?" he growled at her. "It's obvious you're not getting exclusives any more, so go and put some work into the gossip pages where you belong!"

 _I should have known better_ , Rita though; but she was so stung by the sudden attack from the man she had assumed would take her side that she simply turned tail and left, returning to the department where she had started out as a budding, ambitious journalist all those years ago.

And spent the rest of her career working on the Social Pages of the Daily Prophet, dreaming of what might have been.

* * *

Unfortunately, after their too-short weekend, Harry was unable to dine at Hogwarts: he and Ron had to be at the Ministry at six o'clock for a briefing about their week away. As Draco had potions to start, and wanted to get an early start if he could, they parted in Draco's lab in the Hogwarts dungeon just before half past four o'clock, and Harry Flooed to Grimmauld Place.

When he got there, he found Ron racing about fetching things.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "I thought we just had to turn up, everything would be provided for us."

Ron gave him a look that said 'yeah, right'.

"Doesn't it make you suspicious?" the red-head asked.

"Doesn't **what** make me suspicious?" Harry asked back.

"The timing," Ron replied. "It does me - **very** suspicious." Seeing Harry's rather dumbfounded look, he continued, "see, I've lived with my father, and I know very well from years of his bitching about his co-workers that practically no-one in the Ministry works outside the hours of Monday to Friday, eight till six."

"Ah," said Harry, comprehension beginning to dawn.

"Yeah. So if Tachygloss is making us turn up on a Sunday evening, he has some hideous scheme in mind. And I'd rather be as prepared as I can for whatever it is."

"All right," Harry replied, "let's take the tent."

Ron stared at him.

"You know, just in case," Harry said nervously. Ron was staring at him with a look in his eyes that made Harry think that maybe this wasn't one of his better ideas.

"Mate," Ron said, and for a moment Harry expected to be chewed out; then the red-head broke into a smile. "That's brilliant!" Sticking his head out of the drawing-room door, he called up the stairs, "Hermione!"

"Yes?" she called back.

"Can we borrow your bag? And the tent?"

Hermione made a sort of hmphing noise, then there was some stomping around on the floorboards before she came down into the drawing room, holding the requested bag.

"Why?" she asked, and they explained their thoughts to her.

"That's actually a pretty good idea," she said. "I can just see the Ministry trying to make you sleep rough or something. Do you remember all the ward charms we used? It might be a good idea not to let on that you have the tent."

"Er," Harry said, "maybe we could have a refresher?"

An hour later, after a lot of practice on warding and a very quick meal, they Flooed to the Auror training area of the Ministry.

* * *

"Right!" Tachygloss said, and there was no mistaking the nasty grin on his face, "this is your home for the next week. Make yourselves comfortable!"

Several of the trainees went white, and almost fainted. Adam Johnson **did** actually faint, after he had thrown up.

"Where are we supposed to sleep?" someone asked.

"Wherever you like," Tachygloss answered, and there was no mistaking the dark humour in his tone. "Welcome to Boot Camp, Auror style."

They had been taken by side-along Apparition to an 'undisclosed location', which turned out to be a large expanse of wooded land. It was, of course, pitch black; the sun had set at about half past four, and the moon wouldn't rise until half past eight or then abouts. Happily, the Aurors present, Emmet Tachygloss and Tom Godwin, had cast fairly powerful Lumos charms over the glade they were in, so they could see pretty well. He wondered idly what any Muggles would think; but no doubt the Ministry had that all sorted out.

He looked around him. There were no buildings; just piles of canvas and rope, clearly intended for them to construct rude shelter with. There was also plenty of soft heather, and trees that you could sling ropes from; really, with these materials you could set yourself up quite comfortably if you had to.

Not, of course, that he had any intention of doing so. He and Ron scouted around and quickly found the perfect spot to pitch their tent. It was a quiet, out-of-the-way corner that no-one was likely to stumble upon; especially after they had cast the Notice-Me-Not charms and the wards that Hermione had drilled them on.

They were a little out of practice, having not really expected to return to living under canvas; but nonetheless, an hour later the tent was up and they had settled in. Hermione had made sure it was well-provisioned with both tinned goods and fresh food under very long-lasting preservation charms, and Harry was not the least bit surprised when Ron suggested a spot of supper; by which he meant a full meal, rather than say biscuits and cocoa. Harry found, to his surprise, that he had quite an appetite now that they were in the outdoors, and managed to keep up with Ron. By eight o'clock they had consumed vast plates of bacon and eggs, and were ready to see how the rest of their cohort was faring.

They left their little spot, taking care to do so such that no-one else would see them emerge; there was no point in going to the trouble of concealing their tent if they let the secret out by suddenly appearing in front of someone. Of course, they were not worried about the snatchers, like they had been while hunting horcruxes; but stealth was a good Auror skill, and this was a good opportunity to practise it.

But they needn't have worried. Everyone else was far too busy grumbling about the lack of accommodation to pay them any mind. Ron pointed over to Thomas Parris, one of the few people who seemed to be making a genuine attempt to sort something out, and Harry nodded in agreement. They both liked the young trainee; Harry found him easy to talk to, while Ron both liked his straightforward manner and appreciated that he was one of the few people he had ever met whose hair was redder than his own.

"Like a hand, Thomas?" Harry asked as he walked over to the young man, who span around rather nervously on being addressed.

"Oh!" Parris replied, "it's you, Harry. Um, yeah, if you've finished making your bed space, that would be great."

Harry looked around. No-one was paying them any mind. He looked over at Ron and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Ron nodded in reply.

"Actually," Harry said with faked nonchalance, "we've found a nice, snug, out-of the-way place. Why don't you come over with us? There's plenty of room."

Parris looked at him. _No-one does this_ , he thought. _No-one looks after the little guy._ But maybe, just maybe, Harry was different.

He smile. "Yeah," he said, "I'd like that."

* * *

_Monday 9 November_

The trainees were rudely awakened at six o'clock the following morning by reveille being sounded. During the night, there had been some changes. It had rained quite heavily; and several trainees had discovered exactly how sub-standard their jury-rigged tents were. On the plus side, a building seemed to have mysteriously appeared. A little investigation showed that it was clearly a magical space: while it was quite small on the outside, it was much bigger on the inside, with – wonder of wonders – toilets and hot showers, which the group happily took advantage of, and a kitchen, from which issued the smells of a full English breakfast being fried.

At half-past six, as they had been instructed the previous evening, they were all grouped in the central clearing of their woodland space. Godwin and Tachygloss came out of the building; it was clear that they had had bunks somewhere inside the building as they looked well rested.

Tachygloss smirked as he survey the group of damp, grumpy, miserable trainees in front of him.

"I hope you all slept well?" he asked, with just a touch of malicious enjoyment; and then his eyes lighted on three trainees who did not fit the profile.

He wandered over to them, standing in front of Ron.

"Tell me, Mr Weasley," he asked, "I'm curious to know why you, Mr Potter and Mr Parris look like you're not quite entering into the spirit of things."

"Sorry, sir," Ron said, "but Harry and I have had quite a bit of experience camping rough."

"Is that so?" Tachygloss asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, not liking the man's tone at all. "Some of us spent a few months last year camping out while trying to win a war."

"I see," Tachygloss replied, "And that entitles you to mouth off at me, does it?"

"No," Harry replied, keeping a tight rein on his anger, "it just means that we came prepared."

"You cheated?" Tachygloss asked.

Auror Godwin, standing behind him, decided it was time to intervene.

"I hardly think so, Emmet," he said. "I know you like to teach the trainees to be prepared for anything; you can hardly complain if some of them have already learnt the lesson."

He turned to Ron and Harry.

"I take it you brought a tent?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, relaxing a bit.

Tachygloss scowled, but Godwin just smiled and winked at Harry and Ron.

"Well done," he said, and turned to the rest of the group. "You can see that, by being prepared, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley have ensured that they are alert and ready for action today – essential qualities for an Auror. This afternoon we will revisit your accommodation and teach you how to do better; but by now, you're all probably not alert, but definitely ready for breakfast."

He waved his wand, and a fly appeared with tables underneath. The cohort sat down and were served breakfast by a small group of Ministry house-elves.

It was a strange meal. Most people were content to sit and eat their meal; it was only after several cups of tea and coffee had been drunk that any real conversation started. Even then, Ron and Harry just sat and watched, not being really very interested in talking after Tachygloss's words. On the other hand, Thomas Parris, who at any other time was generally ignored by his peers, found himself the centre of attention.

"They really have a tent?" he was asked.

"Yeah, a magical tent, with a kitchen and washroom, and bunks."

"Bloody cheats," Petrus Jufeus muttered, ostensibly to himself, but loudly enough to be heard.

"Leave it out, Peety," Adrian Jordan said wearily. Adrian was the oldest of the trainees; he was also famous for giving nicknames to people, and it was clear just what he thought of Petrus by the fact that the latter _**hated**_ being called Peety, and Adrian did it all the more when he found out.

"I concur," Tachygloss said, rather to Harry and Ron's surprise. "As Auror Godwin has pointed out so cogently, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley can hardly be blamed for their good sense and foresight."

Harry nodded, accepting the point, but he still didn't quite trust the man. He was playing some game, that was a given. But there was no time to wonder what it might be; for breakfast was soon over, and they were taken off to a full day of outdoor activities, hiking, canoeing, and climbing small hills, all of it in freezing rain. It was four o'clock and the sun was low to the horizon before they returned to their campsite; lunch having been nothing more than sandwiches and fruit, they were all chilled to the bone, tired and hungry, hoping for nothing more than to hunker down for some sleep. But when they came back into the clearing, they found a group of Aurors waiting for them. In their state of exhaustion, they found themselves being forced to explain the various rude structures they had made to sleep in; and while most of the trainees found themselves being seriously told off for not setting up a decent place to sleep, they were all taught how to do so. So it was that, by five o'clock, in the dark and cold, the Aurors had ensured that at least no-one would sleep cold or wet that night.

Of course, Harry, Ron and Thomas did not have to endure being yelled at; instead, Tom Godwin took them aside and after having made sure that they could make a shelter if they needed to, asked, rather bashfully, if he could see their tent.

"It's just that we know it's here somewhere, but no-one's been able to find it. You must have set up some first-class anti-discovery wards; we were wondering where you learnt them?"

"Yeah," Ron replied with a grin. "We had to have good wards when we were moving around during the war. And we learnt them from our super-secret source of all knowledge."

Godwin looked puzzled. _Source of all knowledge?_ he mouthed.

"Hermione Granger Weasley," Ron and Harry said together in unison.

* * *

_Tuesday 10 November_

Tuesday was no warmer than Monday, but at least the rain had eased up a lot, and was now just a light and patchy drizzle. The camp was in rather better spirits at the breakfast table, largely because everyone had slept a lot better than the previous night.

For their activity, they were divided up into groups of three, and taken to a rather hilly, wooded area. In the middle was a pile of stones with a flag stuck into it. They were going to take it in turns; one team would be tasked with defending the flag, while the others would be taken some distance away and then have to make their way back to attack the flag. The activity was clearly designed to give the trainees plenty of opportunities to showcase their skills in both offense and defense. The Aurors would be watching them, usually hidden, only taking part if there were problems the teams couldn't handle. This was especially important as there were anti-apparition wards in place, so only the Aurors would be able to evacuate someone if there was any sort of a medical emergency.

For most of the morning, Harry and Ron had a pretty easy time of it; while the other trainees had also survived the war, they simply did not have the experience that Harry and Ron did. Nor, of course, did they have the benefit of an invisibility cloak.

Things got a bit more interesting after lunch. Harry and Ron were picked to partner Thomas Parris and a young lady named Susan Treyfuss; they were to try to take the flag. Harry had quite a deal of respect for the girl; while not in Hermione's league of obsessive study, she was obviously very smart and diligent, so he had no concerns about the mission, even though it was the first time they'd partnered with her. She was put in charge, and demonstrated such skill and stealth that they were soon in a quiet little copse, almost within sight of the flag.

But there was something wrong. The copse was too quiet. Harry took a step, a twig broke, there was a bird noise, and suddenly they were set upon. It turned out that Petrus Jufeus, still smarting from the morning before, had decided that the two needed to be taken down a peg or two, and quietly sounded out four of his mates to organise an ambush. The call was not, in fact, made by a bird; it was the attack signal.

But if Jufeus had expected that his superior numbers, or the element of surprise, would win things for him, he was sadly mistaken. His group had cast stunners at Ron and Susan; they were blocked by the Protego Maximus that Harry cast wordlessly and wandlessly, the familiar bright green light around them the only warning of the shield's presence.

So, frustrated, Jufeus cast a body-bind curse at Harry, hoping to catch him unawares. It might have worked; but now, it seemed, the Haussmann Shield, which was supposed to require touch but had already extended across Hogwarts, was effective at much greater distances; at least, that was the only really feasible explanation for the green, red and silver light that engulfed Harry and simply absorbed the curse, and the three or four that followed it.

"Well, good marks for setting a pretty ambush, Mr Jufeus," a familiar voice rang out as Auror Tachygloss made his appearance. "But it seems that Trainee Potter has many tricks up his sleeve. You can lower your shield now, Mr Potter."

As he said this, the Haussmann Shield did in fact disappear. And then the group collectively gasped; for so, it seemed, had Harry …

* * *

When Draco woke up, he felt very disorientated. It didn't help that the last thing he remembered, he was in the Infirmary; but that smelt of the peculiar smell hospitals have that is a mixture of the odours of strong disinfectant, overblown flowers, and potions of various kinds; while right now the air smelt sweet and clear and there was that particular smell that he knew so well …

 _Really?_ he thought, and opened his eyes to find that he was in his bed in his room in Dumbledore Tower. And yes, sitting next to him, his face a mixture of adoration and concern, was Harry Malfoy-Potter.

"Hello," Harry said.

"Hello yourself," Draco said, raising himself up on his elbows. "Um, not that I mind you being here at all, but shouldn't you be in the middle of an Auror training excursion?"

"Yeah, I should," Harry said. "But the strangest thing happened. We were playing a game of Take the Flag" – Harry had to explain the game, at some length – "and Ron and two other trainees and I got ambushed by some rather pissed-off classmates…"

"Pissed off?" Draco asked. "Would this be Jufeus and Johnson again?"

Harry nodded.

"And why exactly were they so annoyed this time?"

Harry explained about how Ron and he had taken the tent with them, and the feelings of resentment that their using it had caused. Draco, though having met neither Jufeus nor Johnson, knew the type well enough – resentment of others' superior skill was rife at Hogwarts, after all – that he had no difficulty imagining the looks on their faces.

"Brilliant!" he said with a big grin when Harry had finished explaining up to the attack. "So you were ambushed, and then what?"

"Then I set up a Protego Maxima to protect the others –" Harry began.

"And left yourself wide open?" Draco asked with a frown. "You need to watch over yourself better."

"Apparently the Haussmann Shield doesn't agree," Harry said without missing a beat. "It flared into life the moment they fired a curse at me – and then the silver and green swirls went all white, and I found myself in the Infirmary, by your side."

"Oh," Draco said, looking at him with rapt attention. "So then you brought me here?"

Harry looked rather sheepish. "Not exactly," he said. "I don't really know what happened, but I saw you on the bed, sleeping, and I went to pick you up to hold you, and we suddenly were in this room again." He looked around. "Not that I mind, of course; I just hadn't expected to return here again, at least not so soon."

"Ah," Draco said. "Perhaps the bond decided we needed some privacy? Because I have something to tell you."

"Is this about why you were in the Infirmary?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded in reply. It suddenly hit Harry that, of course, for Draco to be in Madam Pomfrey's domain, something was probably very wrong, and his face filled with concern. "Did you have an accident? Or get attacked again? Do I have to beat someone up for you?"

Draco laughed.

"Calm down, Potter," he said briskly, and Harry found both the tone and the use of his surname helped him to do just that. "No, nothing like that. I'm not hurt, injured or ill."

"So … what, then?"

"I'm pregnant," he replied.

Harry did not faint at the news. But it was a near thing.

* * *

"How…" Harry stammered out, suddenly finding himself all but incapable of articulate speech.

"How did I get pregnant?" Draco asked, teasingly. "Well you were there, you should know!"

Harry shook his head.

"How did I find out?" Draco suggested, and Harry nodded. "The third year class I was to take this afternoon is brewing the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. As you may recall, some of the ingredients, especially billywig stings, are rather volatile, so we don't let ill or pregnant people attempt to brew it. Borage set wards to detect this; apparently I tripped them. And I may say, he was jolly sneaky. He sent me to Madam Pomfrey with a note, without telling me anything; so of course I found out in the Infirmary, not the classroom. Good thing too, I suppose."

"Good thing, why?" Harry asked.

It was Draco's turn to look sheepish. "Um, er, when she told me … I fainted."

"Oh," said Harry, starting to grin.

"Shut it, Potter," Draco said.

"Malfoy-Potter," Harry replied, and then pulled him into a hug.

"We're going to have a baby," he said, eventually, moving up to sit on the bed against the headboard as he pulled Draco up so the blond was lying on top of him, his head on Harry's shoulder. "Merlin! They told us it wasn't possible."

"Yeah, but you're the famous Harry Potter, doer of impossible things."

"Malfoy-Potter," Harry corrected again. "We did it together."

The moment was saved from descending into soppiness by a rather urgent knock at the door.

"Yes?" Harry called.

"Mr Potter?" the Headmistress's voice enquired. "I might have known you'd have something to do with it. Is Mr Malfoy with you? May we come in?"

"Naturally, yes, and yes," Harry replied.

A moment later, the door opened and Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Borage and Madam Pomfrey entered. It was the last of these who spoke first.

"And just what do you think you're doing leaving my Infirmary without my leave?" Poppy asked Draco, who shrank into Harry due to the vehemence of her tone.

"It's my doing, Poppy," Harry said simply. "And even then, I had no control over it. I was on an Auror training exercise earlier this afternoon. I was attacked with a body-bind curse, and the Haussmann Shield flared up in response; and then I felt a strange sort of tingling, and I knew that Draco needed me, and suddenly I was by his bedside in the Infirmary, and I reached down to hug him, and then the next thing I knew we were both in this room, and Draco woke up."

"I see," said Borage. "Well, I can agree that it was without your control or consent; but you have caused us quite a bit of angst, young men."

"I'm very sorry, sir," Draco replied.

"Nonsense, Horace," McGonagall cut in. "I think we can see that Mr Malfoy is quite all right; we can probably leave him in Poppy's tender hands. I assume you will want to check him over?"

"I think we'd like to see the results of that check, if Mr Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey don't mind?"

Draco nodded his consent.

"Of course," Poppy said, and quickly did her checks, expertly casting diagnostic spells which produced a sheet of parchment which she consulted carefully.

"All seems to be well," she said, her voice becoming calmer. She had been absolutely horrified half an hour ago when she had discovered that her pregnant patient was missing; they had been searching the castle since, and she had become extremely flustered both because Draco was gone and because she'd probably run further and faster in the thirty minutes than in the preceding thirty years.

"Good," Borage said. "Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, I suggest that the two of you might like to stay here for a little while coming to terms with the news of Mr Malfoy's pregnancy." He could see Draco looking a bit anxious, and could make a shrewd guess why, so continued, "you need have no worries about your studies, Mr Malfoy; your potion is in the care of a house-elf. Normally I would expect you to tend to it yourself, but these are exceptional circumstances."

"And I'm sure we can sort out something with the Auror training, Mr Potter," the Headmistress chipped in. "You just leave that to me."

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully. Though, to be honest, it hadn't really crossed his mind that he would need to do something about it. "And would it be alright for you to please Floo-call Draco's parents and ask them to pay us a visit?"

"I believe I can stretch a point," the Headmistress replied drily. "Anyone else you'd like to invite along? Bearing in mind that this is a school, not a social club."

"Could you also Floo-call Mr and Mrs Weasley? They're kind of Harry' honorary parents, after all." Draco asked, a little diffidently; he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the Headmistress.

McGonagall smiled at him. "Of course," she replied. "Would you like me to tell them all the news, or shall I leave that to you?"

"Oh, if you can get them here without telling them, that would be wonderful," Draco replied, quite taken with the idea of being able to surprise their parents with the news.

"I think I can manage that," the Headmistress said with a twinkle in her eye, reminding Harry very strongly of Albus Dumbledore in a good mood. "We'll see about finding a private sitting room for you, and laying on a late afternoon tea, perhaps," she finished, and with that, she and Borage took their leave.

"Now, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter," Poppy Pomfrey said to them crisply once the three of them were alone, "according to my scans, Mr Malfoy is just over six weeks pregnant. Conception on or about the twenty-sixth of September, which would give you a due date of the twentieth of June if your pregnancy were a normal female pregnancy. Of course, for a male pregnancy, we have no data. So far, it appears there have been no noticeable signs; is that right?"

"I haven't had any sickness, if that's what you mean," Draco replied. "I have been brewing a pregnancy-safe pick-me-up potion for Hermione Weasley, and taking some of it myself, like I told you."

"Yes, I remember," Poppy replied shortly. "There's no problem there, by the way; as you said, the doses you have been taking are fine. Keep it up if you need them. I also think we might see if Armand Ionescu will have a look at you when he comes over on Friday – Merlin knows what a male pregnancy is likely to do to the mind."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Draco said.

"Of course, dear," Poppy said, smiling at him. "I appreciate that this is all rather overwhelming – it's new ground for all of us. I'll consult with some of the medi-witches at St Mungo's who specialise in pregnancy and see if there's anything they can think of that we should consider. Apart from that, I expect you to come and see me every couple of weeks for a check-up to make sure things are progressing well."

"Thank you, Poppy," Harry said.

The medi-witch turned to leave, then suddenly whirled around to face them.

"Oh!" she said. "I nearly forgot what I was going to say when you passed out, Mr Malfoy. Your baby, it's—"

"Yes?" Draco asked eagerly.

"Not one," she announced; then, seeing their stunned faces, added, "no, no, I don't mean you're not having a baby; it's just that you're having twins."

* * *

A house-elf showed Draco and Harry to Minerva's old private sitting room, which was still currently unused as other, more masculine, accommodation had been found for Monsieur le Professeur Dreyfuss. At four o'clock, the Headmistress herself appeared, followed by four rather concerned-looking parents.

"Draco?" Narcissa asked, striding into the room as soon as she saw him. "Minerva said you had news? Is something wrong?"

Draco gave a weak chuckle. "Yes, we have news, and no, nothing is wrong. Why don't the four of you sit down and get some tea, we'll explain."

Lucius looked like he was going to have an apoplectic fit at the delay, and Arthur didn't look much better; but they managed to hold in their demands for information, and accept the cups of tea that Molly poured for them all. Harry was impressed at Draco's reserve; he wanted to shout the news from the rooftops, but the blond was being much more self-restrained and waited with seeming infinite patience for everyone to settle down.

"Now," Draco said, "I can't really think of a way to break this gently: I'm pregnant."

Harry was sure that he would never forget the look on Lucius Malfoy's face at that moment when he was told that Draco was pregnant. It appeared to have been compounded of equal parts disbelief, hope, and shock. Narcissa and Molly's responses were much simpler; they immediately rose from their seat in perfect synchronicity and wrapped themselves around Draco, exclaiming loudly their congratulations. Arthur Weasley took a moment to get himself together, and then he too rose from his seat, walking straight to Harry, who rose to greet him, and sticking out his hand. Harry was having none of it; he gathered his surrogate father into a hug, which he was delighted to find was returned with gusto.

"Congratulations, Harry," he said as they let go of each other. "Congratulations to the both of you."

"Yes, indeed," Lucius said, last to rise. "But how is this possible?" he asked, as he too came and tried to shake Harry's hand, receiving the same treatment. By the time he had finished hugging Harry, Draco had managed to extricate himself from the two mothers and was standing next to him, and wrapped his arms around his father. As he held onto his son tightly, Lucius found, to his embarrassment, that his eyes were filling with tears. As they broke apart, he managed to surreptitiously pull a handkerchief from his pocket and dab his eyes as he sat down. But one look at his wife and he knew that the action had not gone unnoticed; she was looking at him all too knowingly. He winced.

"What did you use?" Arthur said, taking over Lucius's line of enquiry. "Spell? Potion?"

"Er, would you believe, nothing?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Lucius said flatly. "You did nothing special to make it happen."

"Well, we did…" Harry began, but Draco elbowed him in the ribs before he could continue.

Narcissa laughed. "Just like men," she said. "No grasp of the essentials. Our son got pregnant the old-fashioned way, that's all we really need to know. But, tell us everything! Since when, and how is baby doing, and when is it due?"

"And how are you feeling, Draco, dear?" Molly chimed in. "You look well."

Draco smiled at her. There was no mistaking the genuine note of concerned interest in her voice.

"I'm feeling pretty well, thank you," he replied. "I have been taking some pregnancy-safe potions as I was brewing them for another one of our friends …"

"Hermione?" Molly asked, and Draco looked a little wary. "It's all right, we're all aware of that development," Molly continued, putting them at ease. "And I must say, we're delighted at the thought of having not just one but two new grandchildren to play with soon!"

"Thanks, Molly," Harry said, for Draco; he could tell that his husband was feeling rather emotional at Molly's evident love for them both, and was not likely to make a coherent response. On his part, Draco reached for his tea – which floated over to him, and he looked at his husband who was now smirking gently at him.

"Thanks," he whispered before taking a long swig of tea. "Ah," he said, his voice returned to normal, "that's better. Now, mother, the baby was conceived on our wedding night, the twenty-sixth of September; that puts the due date, assuming a male pregnancy is the same as a female one, in mid-June."

"Oh!" Narcissa said brightly. "A Summer baby!"

"Ah, no," Draco replied.

"No," Harry echoed. "And Molly is wrong too."

"You mean you're having…" Lucius started, twigging what was up; but his son cut him off.

"We're having twins!" Draco announced, beaming.

"Oh my word!" Molly said. "How wonderful!"

"Oh my darling!" Narcissa said at the same time. "You must be very careful. Multiple pregnancies are not kind to pure-bloods. I shall consult with Healer Cassono, he will no doubt put you on a strict diet, and you'll need potions and …"

"Mother!" Draco said. "I'm sure there's no need for Healer Cassono! After all, we have Madam Pomfrey and the staff of St Mungo's!"

"Yes, Dragon," Narcissa all but cooed, "but firstly, Anton knows your medical history, and secondly, do you really think you'll get the best of care? After all, we were on the losing side."

"I hardly think that matters," Molly said, bristling slightly.

"I'd like to think it wouldn't," Narcissa replied sadly, "but unfortunately not everyone is so broad-minded."

"I rather think that the medical staff will take good care of Harry Potter's babies," Lucius interjected. Narcissa gave him a stare that plainly meant 'whose side are you on?', but Lucius pretended not to notice.

"Well," Harry said, trying to keep the peace, "perhaps, Dragon, you could let the Healer see you, just for your mother's peace of mind?"

"Oh very well," Draco sighed, and Narcissa perked up enormously. Evidently she could play on her son-in-law's sense of guilt; this was excellent news.

"Good!" she said. "Now, what about your apprenticeship? Will it affect that very much?"

"I have to discuss that with Professor Borage; but for the moment, he's letting a house-elf cover for me. We'll have to talk more long-term sometime soon, I guess," Draco replied.

"And Harry?" Arthur asked. "Aren't you supposed to be at an Auror off-site event this week?"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied. "It's kind of a long story…"

And, encouraged by Arthur, he explained the events of his afternoon. His explanation of the effects of the Haussmann shield, and his unintentional Apparition through both the anti-Apparition wards that the Ministry had set up at the campsite, and those that surrounded Hogwarts, had Lucius looking rather pensive; Harry felt, not for the first time, that he and Hermione had to be soul-twins of some kind; they both rushed with great relish straight to a library whenever there was new information to consider or research to be done. Arthur, on the other hand, simply assured him that he would make sure everything got smoothed over.

Harry smiled. While there definitely were perks to being Harry Potter, he hated using them. Much better to have the Deputy Minister going in to bat for him.

* * *

Once the parents had left, Draco and Harry retired to their room for a while; six o'clock found them having dinner in a private dining-room with the Headmistress and the Potions Professor.

"Now, boys," Borage began once everyone had a meal in front of them, "we have had some discussions about your future. Mr Malfoy, I can assure you that there will be no problems; we will simply accommodate whatever is required for your pregnancy. I don't really mind if we have to have your overnight potions tended by a house-elf; it doesn't really make any sense to keep you up, it's more a sort of archaic way of showing who's boss. Frankly, I think it's silly; you are clearly an excellent student and quite sufficiently respectful, so we can just ignore that."

"Thank you, sir," Draco replied. "The Ministry won't object?"

"They won't care," Borage replied. "It's more that other Potions Masters will expect you to have served your time with overnight stirrings and the like. But you can just tell them that you were pregnant at the time. It's none of their business how I choose to teach you, after all; as long as you have the expertise of a Potions Master at the end of your apprenticeship. And I can assure you I have no concerns about that at the present time. Early days, of course; but there you are."

"Your case is a little more tricky, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "The Head Auror had already received a formal complaint about your behaviour on the course."

Harry groaned. "From Instructor Tachygloss?" he hazarded.

"No," the Headmistress replied. "From one of your fellow students. A Petrus Jufeus, I understand."

Draco snorted. "He really does have it in for you, doesn't he?" he asked.

"Looks like it," Harry agreed. "What did Robarts have to say?"

McGonagall smiled at him. "He said he'd keep an open mind," she replied. "He Floo-called me back just half an hour ago to say that he had been contacted by the Deputy Minister, and had reassured him that things could be worked out. You are officially excused for tonight; but he does want you to go into the Ministry first thing tomorrow and discuss it with him."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He really did not want to leave Draco alone on the first night that he knew that he was pregnant.

* * *

Harry had never got out of the habit of taking his trunk everywhere; so it was the work of a few minutes for him to fish out washing tackle and pajama pants, and get ready for bed. They lay together in their Hogwarts bed, breathing in each other's scent.

"Thank you," Draco said, eventually.

"What for?" Harry asked.

"Loving me," Draco replied. "Wanting to be here with me. Taking care of me."

"Always," Harry said.

Later, when the two men were fast asleep in each other's arms, there came a red glow in the room. There was no mist this time; the figure that formed was quite recognisably that of a young man. Though he was still not completely solid, he knew that was the work of only a little more time.

He looked around the room. His magic told him that this was Hogwarts; not somewhere he'd ever expected to see again. But this room was new to him; he gently sent out feelers into Harry's sleeping mind, and discovered that this was Dumbledore Tower, a fact that occasioned a mirthless, and silent, chuckle.

All was well. Harry was sleeping peacefully, and Draco's pregnancy was coming along perfectly.

Now was the time, he could sense it. Now he could finally become a physical entity again, able to take part in the real world, not just in their dreams. To walk and talk with them.

There was just one small problem. To finish his work, to become fully corporeal, he would have to let loose his hold on the magic he wielded. And so much was being held in place by that magic. Now was the most dangerous time of all; who knew what would happen when he let go?

Well, really, there was only one way to find out, he supposed …

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oooooooooohhhhhh ..._
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> _Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions._
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> _**Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site._  
>  _Tea and little lemon tarts for those who commented:_  
>  _ **MiAiMo:** I’m glad you enjoyed the result; hope this continues to be worth waiting for!_  
>  _ **Slytherette97:** I know it spanned quite a time-frame, but I didn’t really want to keep you wondering any longer for the news of the pregnancy!_  
>  _ **Diddleymaz:** I’m sure that all the mothers will be knitting furiously – though they are going to be Summer babies._  
>  _ **dragonstar01:** I’m trying to make Borage a bit cool. Auror training will get revisited._  
>  _ **BAFan:** I hope this chapter continued to interest!_  
>  _ **Cheshiyre:** I rather liked that line, too._  
>  _ **Slmncpm:** Absolutely._  
>  _ **Padfootette:** Soon enough?_  
>  _ **Yami_Duo:** I bet he didn’t think so! Here you are._
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	84. Returning To Their Senses

**84 Returning To Their Senses**

_Wednesday 11 November_

Harry woke up early on Wednesday morning to find that Draco wasn't in the bed. After a second's panic, he heard movement in their ensuite, and went to investigate. He found his husband standing at the sink, washing his face, having evidently just vomited into the toilet.

"Are you all right, Dragon?" he asked.

"I'm pregnant," Draco replied, his voice flat. "I've been feeling queasy for days, now I know why."

"Oh," Harry replied, one hand stroking Draco's back as with the other he conjured a glass filled with a bubbling liquid which he offered to the blond.

Draco, too out of it to even be amazed at the wordless, wandless magic, simply took the glass and began to drink, sipping at first and then swallowing it down in gulps.

"Elderflower," he said appreciatively, handing Harry the empty glass back. "You remembered!"

"Yes…" Harry responded, vanishing the glass and then pulling his husband into a tight hug and helping him back to their bed.

Draco sat down at the foot of the bed and looked up at Harry, his face betraying an insecurity that Harry had never seen him show before.

"How… How did this happen?" he asked, his hands pointing to his still-flat belly. "Dad and Hermione said that it wasn't possible."

"Yeah," Harry said, "but I'm Harry Potter, I do the impossible," he said, sitting next to his lover and squeezing his hand. "It kind of comes with the territory."

Draco looked at him, not quite sure if he was joking. And, to be honest, neither was Harry. He wrapped his husband in another hug.

"How do you feel about it?" he asked softly. And then, as an afterthought, as he felt Draco tense in his arms, "or haven't you come to grips with it yet?"

"That one," Draco answered. "You have to go back today, yeah?" he said, not really wanting to continue that particular line of conversation.

"Yes," Harry agreed, accepting the change of topic for what it was. "Thanks for reminding me," he said with a groan. "Robarts will be in early, I'd better get a move on."

Gawain Robarts was almost always one of the first in at the Ministry in the morning; it was very rare for him not to be at his desk by seven o'clock. As Harry was fully aware of this, the Malfoy-Potters called for a house-elf and ate in their room rather than waiting for the Hogwarts breakfast service to start. They were served by a hugely excited Winky; she had heard from Kreacher about their preferred breakfast, and Harry and Draco had to laugh when they were served two enormous stacks of pancakes.

Once their normal ritual when in private of feeding each other and kissing away the drips was completed, Harry Flooed to the Ministry, while Draco, by special privilege as an apprentice, used the Floo to travel directly to his lab. Which is how it was that, entirely by happenstance, neither of them attended breakfast in the Great Hall, nor had any interaction with anyone in the Castle that morning.

* * *

Something was different. Ginny Weasley could feel it. She couldn't name it; she couldn't have said what exactly had changed; but it felt like …

She sat up in bed, thinking it over. Just what did it feel like?

After a while, things seemed to come together. She felt somehow more awake than she had before. It was as if … as if she'd be enchanted somehow, and now she was coming out of it.

But how? What sort of enchantment could it possibly be? No-one had slipped her a potion that she could remember, nor did she feel that she'd done anything out of character recently; so what was it?

And then she pulled herself up. _Recently_? Who said it was recent? What if … what if this had been going on for some time? Was there something, anything, that she had done that, looking back, was out of character?

It took a couple of minutes before she decided that yes, there was. She pulled out the little mirror that the twins had given her. It was their latest item, something that Harry had suggested to him: pairs of mirrors that would let you communicate with the other, no matter where it was. Apparently this was something that Sirius Black and James Potter had dreamed up while they were at Hogwarts, so that they could chat to one another when they were in detentions; the professors had learnt early on to separate those two troublemakers, preferably at opposite ends of the Castle, or their detentions would turn into planning sessions for the next prank.

But the idea, no matter who had it first, was pure genius, she thought. She knew that her brothers would make a mint with it; the mirrors would practically sell themselves, and besides, the twins were fantastic at marketing.

One might expect that the other mirror of her pair would be held by her fiancé; no doubt that would be the proper, romantic thing to do. But Ginny didn't really feel the need to chat to Robin through a mirror; she much preferred to have him face to face, and not giving him the other mirror meant that he had to be with her to talk to her. Much better. No, she'd given the mirror to someone else entirely. Someone who, to be honest, she'd been a little bit scared of to begin with; but as they got older, she found herself having more and more girly chats with the bushy brunette.

"Hermione?" she called.

It was a couple of minutes before there was a reply.

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice replied, as her face came into view in the mirror. "Oh, it was you calling. What's up?"

"That's the question," Ginny replied. "I don't know; but I feel that something is." She went on to detail what she had felt and then her subsequent thoughts.

"And there was one thing that stands out," she said eventually. "I've had a crush on Harry since forever. And yet I gave him up without a fight. Now, looking back, I'm certain it was the right thing. What's happened between him and Draco is just amazing; and I wouldn't give up Robin for anything. But at the time? I didn't know any of this, but I still went with it happily. But that's not me, really; I fight for what I want!"

"I see what you mean," Hermione replied pensively. "It's like me and the Manor."

Ginny gave her a puzzled look. "Explain?" she asked.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Sorry. Yeah, I was invited there and all I could think about was getting to the Malfoy library. The fact that Bellatrix the Batty Bitch tortured me there just didn't enter my head. And now you mention it, well, it should have. I should have cried off; Harry even said so at the time."

Ginny chuckled a little at the nickname; but then, she reflected, it was well-deserved. "I remember," she said, casting her mind back to that day in the Burrow at the beginning of May. "It was rather surprising, I admit. And I didn't really think of that at the time, either. So… we were both manipulated then?"

"Hmm," Hermione replied, knitting her brows in thought. "It's funny. I think you're right; but it's not like we were forced into something. More like something that would have distracted us from doing the right thing was dampened down."

"The right thing?" Ginny asked, not entirely following Hermione's train of thought.

"Don't you think so?" Hermione responded. "As you said, you've ended up in the right place, and so has Harry. And my going to the Library meant I got to know Lucius, really know him, and work out that once you get through all the pure-blood / muggle-born nonsense, we're really very similar. It's like … it's like somebody knew we needed to be connected, but the connections were all wrong and they needed to be sorted out."

"Hmm," Ginny said, thinking it over. She didn't quite get it; but that was nothing new, it often took her a bit of time to work out exactly what Hermione was saying. "Do you think it was 'somebody'? Some spell or something?"

"Hard to say," Hermione replied. "But if so, I'd say it's lifting – after all, we're becoming aware of it, aren't we?"

Ginny paused, thinking that over.

"I see what you mean," she said eventually. "Not knowing it was there must have been part of it. Do you think it might have affected others as well?" Ginny asked, mulling it over. "Just wondering … some of the friendships and understanding ... well it hasn't all been ... I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"I think I understand," Hermione said. "We went from Houses at each other's throats over the last six years to one big happy family. Even the attacks involved people outside our crowd, and threw us even closer together."

"Yeah, that's it," Ginny said excitedly. "It's all been a bit too easy and smooth going, hasn't it?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said with a pensive expression. "Look, I have to go or I'll be late for work; but I'll—"

"—do some research in the Ministry library," they both said in unison.

Hermione broke into gales of laughter. "Am I that predictable?" she asked.

"'Fraid so," Ginny replied with a chuckle as she put the mirror down and went to get ready for the day herself.

* * *

It was about twenty past seven when Harry presented himself to the Head Auror with some trepidation. The man was famous for being a stickler for doing things properly, and Harry had technically gone AWOL from an official training event, even if it could hardly be considered his fault.

"Ah! Potter!" Robarts exclaimed. "Good! I'm glad to see you're here early, shows that you're not entirely the 'cheeky disrespectful sod' that Emmet claims."

Harry's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile; but he managed, just, to keep his face otherwise impassive.

"Thank you, sir," he said, looking down and managing to keep his tone deferential.

Robarts surveyed him for a moment. "So, is this report from the Headmistress true?" he asked. "Your husband is pregnant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any theories as to how that happened?"

"Er, the old-fashioned way, sir."

Robarts snorted. "Well, at least you don't flannel, I'll give you that."

Harry looked up into Robarts' face and saw that the man's eyes were sparkling.

"I hear that there was a formal complaint made against me," Harry said, feeling confident to broach the subject now that he knew the Head Auror was not, in fact, angry with him.

Robarts waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, our prize pain Jufeus couldn't resist the opportunity to have a dig at you."

He rummaged around on his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment.

"Here we are," he said. "Let me see now, ' _Trainee Potter clearly believes he is above the rest of us. He refuses to accept the discipline of his elders and betters, or to join in the spirit of the events organised – witness his bringing a tent with him; I wonder he didn't go all out and simply apparate home. He consistently shows off, and belittles the rest of us …'_ oh, he goes on," Robarts said, putting the parchment down, "and on and on… Tedious really. Jealous prick."

Harry stifled a giggle at this; it was pretty much how he felt about his classmate, though perhaps he might not have phrased it that way. Then, remembering that this was a formal complaint, and the man in front of him was his superior, he schooled his face back to impassivity. The Head Auror did not fail to notice this; and he had no trouble understanding the thoughts that would drive Harry to behave that way.

"I'm not going to penalize you," the Head Auror said simply. "Hell, from what I read on your file, you should be teaching this course, not taking it. On the other hand, you are still a trainee. Do you want to go back?"

"I kind of do," Harry said, rather stunned to be asked. "As you say, I am still a trainee, even if I do know most of this stuff. But what will the trainers think? I feel that Auror Tachygloss would rather I wasn't there," Harry replied.

Robarts chuckled. "Oh, I think Emmet's wising up a little. You're way out of his league, and it's a bit of a shock to him is all. But Tom Godwin says he's had a word, and I don't think there will be any more issues there."

"Then I should go back, really, shouldn't I, sir? Otherwise it will look like you're giving me special treatment."

"People are always going to say that," Robarts answered. "And the answer is that when their grades are as good as yours, I'll give them special treatment too."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, not really sure how to react. "Um, how do I get back then?"

In lieu of an answer, Robarts picked up a small piece of parchment, scribbled a note and folded it into a paper aeroplane, which flew out of his hand and down the hall to where Harry knew the duty Auror desk was to be found. Not twenty seconds later a rather familiar Auror entered the room.

"Yes, sir?" Robin Banks asked.

"Ah, Banks," Robarts said. "Please take Mr Potter back to the Auror training site. And who knows, if you're quick, the two of you may even get breakfast."

* * *

Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table, wrapped in her thoughts. It couldn't be a potion, she decided. No-one had been with her the whole time; and surely no potion could be that long-lasting and then, all of a sudden, wear off?

A spell then? But that seemed strange, too. It would have had to be a very powerful spell indeed to affect both her and Hermione. _And who else?_ she wondered. For she must have been right before; surely she and Hermione could not be the only ones. Especially given how quickly all the differences seemed to have been forgotten.

All of a sudden she felt a swish of robes as someone sat next to her, and she turned to see who it was. The smiling face of Luna Lovegood greeted her.

"Morning," the blonde said breezily as she started helping herself to scrambled eggs. "You look funny. Are the wrackspurts bothering you again?"

Ginny smiled despite herself. "Remind me, what are wrackspurts, again?"

"Oh," said Luna, her eyes opening wide as she paused in the middle of spooning eggs onto her plate. The egg slipped off the spoon and it was all Ginny could do to keep from laughing and listen to her friend's answer. "Wrackspurts are invisible creatures. Mostly they're harmless, except they can float into a person's ears, making their brain go all fuzzy." Luna then tipped her head to one side, clearly thinking about something. "Mind you," she said in her imperturbable way, "it's more like something's been cleared away, isn't it?"

"How do you mean?" Ginny asked, somewhat taken aback that her friend seemed to have hit the nail on the head; a feat that was all the more impressive as, as so often with Luna, the blow seemed to have been delivered more or less at random.

"Oh, there's been a general sort of funneling going on for some time," she announced simply. "We've all been being pushed into doing the right thing."

"How long have you thought this?" Ginny asked, arching her eyebrows in disbelief at this pronouncement, astonished at how closely Luna's words echoed those that Hermione had said to her earlier, despite how differently the two girls thought and spoke. "And why didn't you say anything?"

"Ages. And because it was the right thing, of course," Luna replied.

"How do you know?" Ginny asked, bemused by the air of absolute certainty coming from Luna. Her reply, however, merely confounded the puzzlement…

* * *

"Harry! Welcome back, mate!" Ron called out the moment Harry and Robin arrived at the Auror Training campsite.

Harry and Robin strode over to the table where the trainees were just finishing up breakfast. He watched carefully; Ron and Thomas Parris were obviously glad to see them, and Auror Tom Godwin as well; the other trainees were all clearly interested and trying hard not to show it, though it was clear that Johnson and Jufeus were not at all pleased to see him back.

"I take it we're too late for food?" Harry said, sitting down.

"Yeah, sorry mate, you can probably snag something if you ask a house-elf though," Ron replied.

"It's all right," Harry said, pouring himself a cup of tea, "I had breakfast with Draco."

" _I had breakfast with Draco,"_ Petrus Jufeus's voice echoed in the tone that schoolboys use to taunt in playgrounds. "It's all right for some. Getting to swan off whenever they want and spend the night with their family while the rest of us have to tough it out here in the freezing—OUCH!"

At this point Jufeus went rather silent; he had been hit with a Stinging Hex. Harry looked around to see who had fired it; surely the Aurors wouldn't stand for such things.

"I think we've all heard enough, Mr Jufeus," Auror Tachygloss said, and Harry realised with a start from the look in the man's eye that he must have thrown the Stinging Hex. "Mr Potter did not 'swan off', as you put it – you attacked him and the Haussmann Shield he erected involuntarily pushed him through the Ministry-strength anti-disapparition wards around this place."

"Bloody show-off!" Johnson said.

"Enough!" Tachygloss replied. "When you can defend yourself half as well as Mr Potter, then you can slag off about his abilities. Yes, this is a training exercise; but Mr Potter's was given leave by the Head Auror. His partner particularly needed him, and we are not heartless bastards. You would do to remember that, Mr Jufeus, Mr Johnson."

And, having chewed out the two students who most curried favour with him, he looked around the table.

"Right you lot!" he shouted. "Get ready for another day of fun!"

And it should have been fun, too – the Ministry provided portkeys and they found themselves kayaking on a river in some foreign country; they weren't told where, and all Harry knew was that it must have been in the Southern Hemisphere; for instead of dark and rain, there was clear, blue sky and warm air. It was hot, to be sure, but they had cooling charms, and being on the water was soothing to the soul, and there was fresh air and sunshine and plenty of exercise. The problem was that, even in the midst of this idyllic setting, the trainees still found plenty of time to grumble and bitch about something – the heat, the sun, the insects and, of course, the topic of the day: how unfair it was that Trainee Potter was cut so much slack. It was clear that Jufeus and Johnson were smarting badly from the slapping they'd got at the breakfast table; though of course they made sure to keep quiet when the Aurors were in earshot.

* * *

Having had a quiet lunch in a small bistro just off Diagon Alley, Lucius wandered the corridors of power. Somewhat to his surprise, the Minister had asked to see him at two o'clock. This was unusual; he had rather got the impression that the Minister himself preferred to let Arthur take care of Muggle matters, which were what Lucius was spending most of his time on at the minute.

At that thought, he stopped dead in the corridor.

Just exactly how had that happened? In just over six months, he, Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin of Slytherins, the uber champion of the pure-blood cause, had become a powerbroker and major player in the Muggle world?

If anyone had told him this before Potter came to the Manor and he and Draco had gone back to Grimmauld Place, he would have laughed them to scorn. And then hexed them half to death lest they repeat such heresy. And yet, here he was.

And the truly bizarre thing was that he was rather enjoying it. No pure-blood had ever occupied the role he had; even Weasley, Muggle-lover that he was, had never had the contacts with them that Lucius did.

He shook his head and moved on, oblivious to the muttering around him. It was weird, bizarre; one might even have said inconceivable. Was there some coercion perhaps? Some enchantment that had been placed on them all?

On the other hand, it was a good outcome. And any good Slytherin knew better than to look a gift unicorn in the mouth.

By this time, he had reached the Minister's office, and Shacklebolt's secretary waved him in. He knocked and, once invited to do so, went in.

"Minister!" he said. And then, quite unaccountably, instead of the polite 'to what do I owe the pleasure' that had formed in his mind, he found himself blurting out, "what's going on?"

And Shacklebolt, far from looking put out by the bluntness of the question, inclined his head to one side and viewed him thoughtfully.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

"Yes," Lucius answered; though had he been challenged, he would have been quite unable to explain what 'it' was.

"Take a seat," Shacklebolt said, as Arthur Weasley entered the room. The three men sat at the small conference table in Kingsley's office.

"I'm guessing, from your face, that you don't really know any more than we do," the Minister said.

"Probably not," Lucius agreed. "What exactly do you know?"

" _Exactly_ is rather the word," Arthur said. "Something happened last night; we both felt as though some sort of ward or spell had been relaxed. It's like we'd been being pushed in one direction, and then the elastic broke."

"Elastic?" Lucius queried. Arthur chuckled, then explained the reference to the rather sheltered pure-blood.

"Hmm," Lucius mused. "Yes, that's a rather good analogy. Though I must say, I'm very glad that we were pushed in the direction we were."

"That's the thing," Kingsley said. "We ought to feel outraged and abused; but it's more like someone gave us a helping hand to go where we would have anyway, only more quickly."

"Ye-es," Lucius said slowly. "Yes, I do think so," he said rather more decisively after a short pause. "But it's still rather concerning to know that we were all being pushed along without realising it, don't you think?"

"Yes, we do," Arthur replied. "That's why we called you in – that and to make sure that no-one was trying anything. We don't know how widespread the influence was, nor why it's suddenly stopped; but we worry that there may be people who were under it who might wish you harm now that they are not."

"I see," Lucius said. "Thank you for your concern. Though I rather suspect that that won't be an issue."

The other two looked at him quizzically.

"Why not?" Kingsley asked.

"Two reasons," Lucius replied. "Firstly, as you said, we were being pushed along a road we would probably have travelled anyway, albeit more slowly. And secondly …"

"Yes?"

"Here, today, in this room, two former Order of the Phoenix members have taken the trouble to give a kindly warning to a former Death Eater," he replied with a smile.

The other two laughed, rather seeing Lucius' point, and the meeting continued in happy vein for another twenty minutes as the three busy men took advantage of a chance to spend time discussing personal matters. Arthur had already mentioned to Kingsley that Harry and Draco had some news, and the Minister had worked out what that must mean; but Lucius and Arthur then filled him in, explaining about having twins. Kingsley twitted Lucius about a pure-blood having more than one child; but Lucius just smiled, his evident joy at impending grandfather-hood a delight to behold.

But when Lucius left, he still had a small twinge of uneasiness. He would go back to the Manor, he decided, and see what he could find in the Library. And even as he thought that, his mind wandered to another bookworm who might well be doing the same thing herself …

* * *

Narcissa could not remember being so nervous. Except, she thought, perhaps on the day that she had lied to the Dark Lord about Harry Potter. The image came back to her mind, unbidden: the sheer terror of what she was doing hidden from her by the adrenalin rush that came from the impossible fact that Harry had survived, that maybe, just maybe, there might be a way out … And then in the Great Hall, she had sat on the sidelines, watching as Harry dueled the snake-faced monster, and she closed her eyes, unable to watch … And then it was all over, he was dead, and suddenly another shock came as she realised that they were going to have to deal with being on the losing side of a bitter war …

It had all ended up better than she dared to hope. Here they were, the Dark Lord's former right-hand man and family, and they were now generally accepted as part of society again, thanks to the incredible, apparently limitless generosity of the man who was now her son-in-law, and soon to be the father of her grandchildren.

Of course, she mused, it had not all been plain sailing. Lucius's trial had been simply horrid. But it had been much easier than she had any right to expect. But now … Now, somehow, she was getting butterflies in her stomach. In a few minutes, Molly Weasley and Margaret Granger were going to come and visit her for afternoon tea. And for perhaps the first time ever it struck her just how impossible that was: the parents of the young couple who had been Snatched during the war and held prisoner in this very manor. Hermione's mother, a Muggle, whose daughter had been tortured by Narcissa's own sister here. Molly Weasley, who she had been brought up to believe was a blood-traitor, scum, unworthy of notice.

Her musing was interrupted by Mappy popping in.

"Excusing me, Mistress," the house-elf said in his cheery way, "Mistress Andromeda Tonks and Master Teddy Lupin are here and waiting for you in the green drawing-room."

"Thank you, Mappy," she replied. "Did you offer them tea?"

"Yes, Mistress," Mappy replied. "Dippy is fetching it now."

Narcissa smiled. It had been very hard on the elves during the War; Voldemort would have Crucioed them without a second thought if he had seen them, he regarded them as vermin, so they had had to hide most of the time. But now they were back in the swing of things, and working as a team. All to the good.

"Thank you, Mappy," she said reassuring the little creature. "Please tell Andromeda I shall be with her presently."

It was only a minute or so later that Narcissa made her way to the drawing room and greeted her sister, but even so she was only just in time to greet her other three guests: for Margaret Granger had, as usual, brought young Miriam with her. Teddy, hearing the whoosh of the Floo and knowing what it probably mean, was up on shaky legs almost immediately.

"Mi! Mi!" he called, and was answered with joyous cries of "Te! Te!" as Miriam appeared, clutched tight in her mother's arms.

"Here he is, young lady!" the brunette said with a laugh, and placed the little girl down on a rug that the house-elves had set out for the purpose. Little Teddy, seeing the girl, started to totter over to her.

"Now, now, Teddy," Andromeda said, grabbing his hands, "you know you're not strong enough to walk that far by yourself."

"Da!" the toddling baby replied as he made his way over to the rug, half-walking, half being swung by his grandmother.

"Well now, ladies!" Narcissa said once the children had been settled and the ladies had found seats and cups of tea. "I have big news!"

"Ooh," her sister replied. "I felt there was something odd today."

"Yes, me too," Molly chimed in. "But I don't think it can be Narcissa's news, because it wasn't a nice feeling at all, and I know her news is good."

"Tell us dear, what is it?" Margaret asked, then added teasingly, "are you going to be a grandmother?"

Even though she knew Margaret was a Muggle and so lived in a world where there was no question of men being pregnant, and that the question was asked to tease, Narcissa's face still fell for a second before she recovered her equanimity.

"As a matter of fact, that is the very thing I was going to tell you!"

"What?" Margaret said, astonished.

"But Lucius said it couldn't happen!" Andromeda added.

"Lucius does not know everything," Narcissa replied in a conspiratorial whisper.

"I knew that," Andromeda replied tartly. "But I didn't know that you knew it!"

And then Narcissa Malfoy did the most un-Malfoyish of things: she poked out her tongue at her sister. Molly Weasley collapsed into giggles at the sight.

"Oh!" the Weasley matriarch said eventually, wiping away tears of mirth. "That was precious!"

"Thank you," Narcissa said with a little ironic bow to her guest. "And, I must add, that not only is Draco pregnant, but with twins! Unheard of in the Malfoys or the Blacks."

"Harry Potter is a very special man," Andromeda said. "Now, details, please! The important things: do they know the sexes? And have they chosen names?"

"To be honest, we didn't discuss things like that," Narcissa replied, a little chagrined. "Though I rather think not, poor Draco looked like he was still in shock."

"Of course he would be," Molly agreed. "Pregnancy is hard to take even when you are expecting it. And I imagine Harry would be too, for that matter."

"Quite," Narcissa agreed.

The conversation went back and forth for some time before Margaret, remembering something that had been said long before, asked Molly, "Now, you said you had a bad feeling before?"

Molly thought for a second. "Not really _bad_ ," she replied slowly, "just _odd_. As though something was not quite right … How to describe it … I know! You know the feeling when suddenly you were old enough to be told all the family secrets?"

Margaret nodded, remembering the fateful night two days after she turned sixteen when her Uncle Geoff had left his wife and Margaret was, for the first time, actually allowed to stay at the dinner table after dinner and discuss it with the rest of the family.

"It was like that," Molly continued. "As though we'd been babied along a bit, and now someone trusts us to make our own decisions." She looked over at Narcissa. "You felt it, too, didn't you?"

"Yes," Narcissa agreed, a little hesitantly. "Though perhaps not like that," and went on to explain the thoughts that had crowded in on her just before they had arrived.

"So, you see," she said, mostly to Margaret, as the Muggle was the one who wouldn't see, not immediately, "it's quite a concern for us. If there was some sort of … spell, or hypnotism, or mind control, or something, people are going to get upset about it. And we Malfoys may bear the brunt of it."

"Nonsense," Molly said. "If we are indeed free of something that was stopping us making up our own minds, then we can do so now. And the Weasleys are going to stand by you, and we'll fight off anyone who even so much as says a bad word about you. There may have been coercion; I don't know. But I know that your Draco is one of the best things to happen to our Harry in a long time. With children coming along, he has a real family now, with you, with us. Nothing else matters."

And then, a second astonishment for the afternoon, Molly Weasley had to lend her handkerchief to Narcissa Malfoy; but perhaps their hostess could be excused. The blonde had not expected to break down in tears, after all.

* * *

There was, Minerva mused, no such thing as a private conversation at Hogwarts, especially if the people involved are sitting in the Great Hall. Sitting at her place on the staff table, she watched as the rumours began to spread. You could practically see their progress, as if they were ripples on a pond; two or three students would huddle together, then break apart and speak to those beside them, and so the story would continue on out. She was quite sure that within half an hour, if not less, the gist of Ginny and Luna's conversation would have spread throughout the entire student body.

Of course, she did not know what they had been talking about; but she had some idea. There had been some sort of event last night; she had woken just after midnight, feeling that something had changed, and had consulted the paintings in her office. They had all, quite predictably, been useless. Even Albus, who seemed even as a painting to always know more than he could possibly, had told her, quite simply, that he did not know what it was.

"Though I would suggest that, as in my day, most strange events can be traced back in one way or another to one particular student," he had said, with his customary twinkle. It had not helped. She had guessed that Harry Potter was involved all by herself; the question was, how?

* * *

During the day, the tale grew wildly in the telling, and along the way it bifurcated into two quite separate rumours.

Sad to relate, there were still those who had it in for Harry; especially some of the fourth and fifth year Slytherins. They seemed to feel that by not returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year, he had deserted them; and the Slytherin Common Room was full of little knots of people bad-mouthing him.

It took the tiny first-year Alice Abertomom to respond to this.

"What is wrong with you people?" she shouted at them, shaking in rage. "Harry Potter gave his life for the Wizarding world! Is that not enough for you? What else do you want!"

Some of the fourth years started sneering about the 'ickle first year'; but they were silenced pretty effectively by the Prefects, who sent Stinging Hexes at them.

"She has a point," Damon Gosforth, the Seventh Year prefect, insisted. "Let's face it, you're jealous of him. He got fame, and fortune, and Draco Malfoy—" here half the girls swooned, some pretending, some very much for real – "and you didn't. But then, he fought in the war. What did you do? I saw plenty of you cowering in the corners. Now you get freedom, and as a House we seem to have come out alright, even though we were thought of as the Dark Lord's recruiting ground. So, suck it up Princesses."

Much of the anger abated after this little speech; the appeal to the fact that they were reaping rewards from Potter's sacrifice very much appealed to the Slytherin mindset.

But one particularly pugnacious fourth-year piped up.

"That's all very well," Dennis Flint, Marcus's cousin, "but Potter's just a Johnny-come-lately. I read that he was brought up by Muggles, and came back into the magical world seven years ago with a head full of the garbage Muggles teach. How can you lot accept him being given all the glory and fame when he knows so little about our world?"

Damon sighed. He knew perfectly well that Dennis had a huge chip on his shoulder from the treatment his cousin had received; the boy had hero-worshipped Marcus, and what was obvious to everyone who'd known him at Hogwarts was never likely to enter Dennis's head: bluntly, that Marcus Flint was a nasty, spiteful, unintelligent piece of work. Coupled to that, it seemed, alas, that Severus Snape's grousing about the 'spoilt brat' was alive and well.

"Look Dennis," he said, pulling on reserves of patience he didn't know he had, "can't you see that that makes his sacrifice the greater? He could have gone back to the Muggle world and just ignored us. He didn't."

"Yeah, but Professor Snape said …"

"Professor Snape was a spy and a Death Eater!" Damon snapped. "You can't rely on what he said always being his opinion. He had to maintain a front at all times. And also, he's dead. Let's get on with the business of living, shall we. And stop talking shit about Potter. At least don't do it outside this room. He's still the great Hero of the Wizarding World and we can't be seen bad-mouthing him. It's just not the Slytherin thing to do."

While this didn't entirely appease everyone, the mood had calmed enough that people settled down back to their classes and work. Gosforth was glad of that; he could have said more, for Professor Snape had taken him aside at one point in April and explained how things really were, and the Prefect had more than a sneaking suspicion that the former Potions master and Headmaster might now repudiate the statements he had made that the students had just alluded to. But giving away information when you didn't have to was just not what a Slytherin did. Of course, he knew they were not all convinced; they wouldn't be the House of the Snakes if they weren't envious of his power, wealth and position, thinking it should have been their success, not his. But he felt sure they would all toe the line, and that's what really mattered now.

But perhaps Gosforth was counting his dragons before they hatched. The Slytherin third-, fourth- and fifth- year students who had classes with Ravenclaws found ready listeners amongst the eagles; the latter were generally afraid of who Potter was and what he might become. By lunchtime, the rumour noised abroad was to the effect that 'Loony' Lovegood said that Harry had somehow bewitched the whole Magical world. That he was well on the way to being the next Dark Lord, controlling people by some formerly unknown form of mind magic.

* * *

The other main rumour, popular with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, painted Harry as the victim, being controlled by some external force. The Gryffindors, spotting a chance to attack their historic rivals, said it was the Slytherins: Harry had allied himself with the Malfoys, the argument went, and they were, in fact, controlling him. The Hufflepuffs were not so sure; to them, Harry and Draco's marriage was the stuff of true romance, and they did not want to think of it as some power-game. So they blamed Voldemort, or some Death Eaters who had not been caught yet. The fact that no such Death Eaters were known did not deter them in the least; as Gabriel Tate pointed out, if someone was powerful enough to control Harry, they were powerful enough to stay hidden from the Auror department.

It was just before dinnertime that the two camps met together near the library to compare notes, and the two rumours came together again in an apocalyptic third vision: that Harry was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort, who was lulling people into a false sense of security while secretly preparing for another strike. After all, apparently the man had come back from the dead twice already – once when he inhabited the body of the unfortunate Professor Quirinus Quirrell, and once when he was resurrected after the Tri-Wizard Tournament – so why not a third time?

* * *

Lucius returned to the Manor at about four o'clock, to find the ladies still busy in the green drawing room. He looked in on them, and was astonished at the sight: by the looks of it, Narcissa, his cool, calm, imperturbable wife, had been crying.

"Cissy?" he asked gently as soon as he saw her. "Are you alright?"

"Lucius!" she said, and he was equally surprised and glad to hear a note of delight in her voice. Glad because his wife was pleased to see him; surprised because it seemed that the cold Malfoy mask had not so much broken as shattered. She patted the seat beside her, and he obediently sat down next to her.

He looked around a little apprehensively; but the other ladies simply smiled at him.

"Perhaps we should explain," Andromeda said, and proceeded to tell him what had transpired during the afternoon.

"Most interesting," he said once the explanation was given. "For my part, I have been discussing the same issue with the Minister and Mr –" here Molly glared at him, and he corrected himself, "— and Arthur. I may say, Molly, that he took the same line that you have; and I'm–" he looked at Narcissa, who nodded her agreement, "—we're very grateful. And now, please forgive me for intruding; I shall leave you be."

"Meaning you want to go and see if the library can tell you anything," Andromeda said drily.

"When did you learn to read me so well?" Lucius asked.

"I have eyes," Andromeda replied; but they were sparkling and Lucius could not take offense.

* * *

It was just before five when Lucius Floo-called Hermione, catching her just before she was due to leave work.

"What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?" she asked crisply, taking care to avoid direct eye contact.

"So formal?" he replied, his tone slightly hurt. "I had hoped, Mrs Weasley, that we were becoming friends."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"Yes, you're right," she said. "I'm sorry. It's just that I spoke to Ginny this morning, and she brought up all the memories of what happened during the War and just after, including when Bellatrix attacked me in your Manor; and then somehow I forgot all about that in the excitement of seeing your library. How could I do that, Lucius?" she asked, looking him in the eye for the first time.

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.

Hermione sat back on her haunches. That was the question, wasn't it? It was all very well getting upset that she had been pushed into things. She could rail about something overriding her free will, but she could hardly talk, given what she had done to her parents. The simple fact was that she did not regret it. How could she? Now that neither of them was being threatened by a sociopathic Dark Lord, she had to admit that she had found a kindred spirit in the Malfoy Lord.

"No, I can't," she said eventually. "We are friends, at least, I hope we are. Maybe something pushed us together; but I can't say it's a bad thing, in the end."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "The end justifies the means?" he asked teasingly.

"NO!" Hermione shouted back, and Lucius smirked. Their camaraderie was back on track.

* * *

Half an hour later, the Floo call over, Lucius sat back pensively. Hermione had left the office and gone home, but not before she had told him of the fruits of an hour in the Ministry library. It had not been much. There didn't seem to be anything out there that could account for what they saw: mass hypnosis charms existed, but they didn't wear off all at once like this had. There were spells to confuse or confound, to be sure; but the power required to apply them was unimaginable.

His head hurt just thinking about it. They had nothing, really; his research in his own library only confirmed Hermione's. He sat back with a pre-dinner glass of sherry. It made a pretty puzzle; and so far, it didn't seem to be impinging on their lives. They'd have to wait and see what the future held, of course; but early indications were that they would be all right. Especially given the entirely unexpected, but most welcome, statements from both Mr and Mrs—from both Molly and Arthur.

* * *

By the end of the day, when they returned to their campsite, Ron was really worried. Harry had been tight-lipped about the whole thing, and Ron knew very well that this was the worst possible response; Harry would bottle it up and keep it all in, but sooner or later he would either explode in anger or spend days depressed like he had had Grimmauld Place after Lucius had talked to him at the trial. As neither outcome was appealing, he decided that he had to say something; but what?

Fortunately, the problem was taken out of their hands when, as the trainees sat down to dinner, Adam Johnson piped up.

"So, Potter," he said with a sneer, "I see you lasted the whole day today."

Harry looked at him with fire in his eyes. But before he could say anything, Auror Godwin spoke up.

"That's quite enough, Mr Johnson," he said sharply.

"I was only congratulating Mr Potter on lasting the whole day," Johnson replied silkily, managing to keep a straight face, unlike Petrus Jufeus, sitting next to his friend, was barely containing his mirth.

"Thank you," Harry said sarcastically. "But honestly, I have no trouble lasting the day, if people don't mount cowardly attacks on me."

Jufeus sprang to his feet, his wand out. "You take that back!" he snarled.

Harry looked him up and down coolly. "I see," he said. "You can dish it out, but not take it."

"Gnaah!" Petrus shouted unintelligibly, raising his wand to hex Potter. Before he could get any words out, his wand flew out of his grasp and was caught by Auror Tachygloss.

"Mr Jufeus," the Auror said, glowering at the errant young man, his voice cold as ice, "whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, outside of controlled environments, I will not allow any trainee to fire curses at a fellow trainee. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," the other replied, his head bowed. _What is going on?_ Jufeus thought to himself. _He's supposed to be on our side!_

"Good. And just to make sure the message has been heard, you can leave the table now. Your wand will be returned in the morning."

With that the trainee, his cheeks burning red, nodded and stalked away.

Harry turned to Emmet Tachygloss. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"That's quite alright," the other replied. "Mr Jufeus has a very low opinion of you; that's his business, of course, but one thing we do want to teach all of you," he said, looking around the table, "is that in the Auror Corps, you look after one another, regardless of your opinions of one another. You are going to be under fire in the wild; having one another's backs and trusting one another to keep you safe will be the difference between life and death."

With that, the Auror, seeing that they had all finished eating, got them to get on with the business of cleaning up and getting ready for bed.

* * *

Draco was exhausted. The brewing was easy enough, to be sure; but it needed a good deal of concentration, and he found standing up for most of the day was very tiring indeed. Couple that with the theory he had to study as well, and it made for a long and taxing day, even if you weren't pregnant.

He walked into the Great Hall and made his way to the Eighth Year table where he had been taking his meals. He was quite unprepared for the commotion that happened the moment he got to his seat.

"There he is!" a voice cried out from the Slytherin table. Draco looked over to see Dennis Flint standing up, his wand out. He wondered who the boy could mean; then suddenly realised with a sinking feeling that the wand was pointing straight at him.

"Traitor!" the fourth-year called out. "Sold out to that fame-whore Potter! Stupefy!"

The stunning spell sped towards Draco but was stopped in its tracks by a shield that had been cast from the Ravenclaw table. He looked around to see that Michael Corner was standing up, his concentration maintaining the Protego that he had cast just in time. Draco smiled; it seemed that Corner really had learnt from his previous mistakes. Good.

But there was no time to cogitate on this turn of events; for someone else had jumped up from the Ravenclaw table and was clearly about to enter the fray. Draco found himself being pulled down to his seat and surrounded by his fellow Eighth Years; for good measure, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan cast shield charms of their own, the whole table under a shimmering protective barrier. They were just in time as a cutting curse hit their shield and dissipated.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded breathlessly.

"It's been evil all day," Seamus replied. "All sorts of rumours going around: apparently you're controlling Harry, or Gabriel Tate, the student who sent that curse, must think so. Or he's the instigator and you've sold out to him. Or the great grand-daddy rumour we've only just heard, that Harry is being possessed by Voldemort."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Draco could not help but laugh.

"Can't they see how absurd that is?" he asked. "Harry is no-one's puppet; I saw him this morning, and there was definitely no Voldemort. Anyway, we saw him in a map the Goblins have; he's in a place called the Sphere of Intangible Absence, and there's no way to come back from there."

"You have seen a map of the Spheres?" another voice asked, and Draco looked over to see that it was Anders Anderssen who had joined in the conversation. The Durmstrang student was usually loath to talk at all, especially to the Gryffindors or Draco; he must be really interested then.

"Yes," he replied. "You know about them?"

"Oh yes," Anders replied. "Our old Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, he was very interested in them, so we all got to know about them. But you have seen a map! He would be so jealous!"

It took Draco all he had not to smirk at this. Clearly, 'Ivan Smetana' had not revealed to anyone else that he was in fact Karkaroff; Draco wondered how long he could keep the pretense up. Not, of course, that Hogwarts had a particularly good record for spotting frauds: no-one had noticed that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, or that Lockhart was a fraud, or Lupin a werewolf, or Moody Bartemius Crouch Junior polyjuiced … No, evidently you could fool people a lot. Granted, they'd all seen through Umbridge in a heart-beat, but that hadn't done them any good.

"You can put your shields down now!" the Headmistress's voice rang out, interrupting Draco's little reverie. He looked up; the shields did come down to reveal the Headmistress standing at the staff table, her face radiating fury like Draco had never seen before, while Slughorn and Flitwick were tearing strips off their respective house-members.

McGonagall cast a Sonorus charm and began to speak.

"Students," she said, in a calm quiet voice that somehow conveyed her anger more effectively than yelling would have done, "this is despicable. Mr Malfoy is a fellow student, and to attack him at any time is unacceptable. To do so in broad daylight, in the middle of the Great Hall, with everyone watching, is suicidally stupid. I can assure the two students that have cast curses just now that the remainder of their stay at Hogwarts will not be pleasant, should they be lucky enough not to be expelled. And all the scurrilous rumours about Mr Potter being evil, or controlled by Death Eaters, or possessed by Voldemort, can stop now. It's all nonsense. And that's quite enough on the subject; please return to your dinners."

Once she had finished, the two Professors frog-marched their errant charges out, presumably to await unpleasant interviews with the Headmistress. She, however, made her way to the Eighth Year table.

"Mr Malfoy," she said to him, and there was no mistaking the kindness in her voice, "I apologise to you for the events of this evening."

"Not your fault," Draco replied, standing up out of deference to the headmistress. "Thank you for your words; and," he continued, turning to Dean and Seamus, "thank you for looking after me."

"Course," Seamus replied.

"We've heard the rumours," Dean added. "We knew they were shite. Harry's just not like that."

"Quite so," the Headmistress said, evidently choosing to ignore the minor swearing from her student. "I do hope you will enjoy your dinner, Mr Malfoy."

"Thank you, ma'am," Draco replied, resuming his seat as McGonagall turned and left the Hall. But he didn't, much; he was still rather nervous about having been attacked. Though the support he received from the Eighth Years was encouraging; even Ivanov, who he was sure was jealous that Draco had an apprenticeship with Borage, no less, went out of his way to be polite.

* * *

Harry and Ron sat at a small fire in front of their tent.

"Sorry about today, mate," Ron said in an attempt to draw his friend out.

Harry looked at him and smiled. "Yeah," he replied. "Me too."

A little while later, Harry said, "I wonder how Draco's doing."

Ron, having no clue, said simply "mmm," in the way one does to encourage conversation.

"I don't like to think of him, alone and pregnant in the Castle," Harry continued.

"Pregnant?" Ron said, explosively.

"Shh!" Harry hissed.

"Sorry," Ron whispered. "But… pregnant? Really?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. Twins"

Ron let out a low whistle.

"Wow. No wonder you got pulled back to the Castle."

Harry laughed. Anyone else would have plied him with questions and demanded to know how he'd done it; but this was Ron all over, just being exactly the friend he needed right now.

He sighed.

"I'm wondering if it's really worth it," he confessed.

"Auror training?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's clear that we know more than the instructors do; and I'm never going to live down the 'Boy-who-Lived' crap."

"What do you really want?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," Harry replied.

"Might want to think about it," Ron suggested. "Tomorrow. Time for bed now."

Harry nodded in agreement and kicked over the fire. But he did not sleep well that night.

* * *

When Draco returned to the room in Dumbledore Tower, he found that Harry had not taken his trunk with him. On impulse, just before getting into bed, he pulled out one of Harry's shirts, holding it close to him; it smelled of Harry, and he found it reassuring as he snuggled down. He was soon asleep.

A red glow suffused the room as the form of a red man became clearly visible. He looked over the sleeping lad and smiled. Things could have gone better, to be sure; he could easily sense that Draco had received quite a shock at the dinner table. But the pregnancy was still progressing well, and the worry would cease soon enough. On the whole, it could have been a whole lot worse.

He sat still for a while, watching over Malfoy. He was not yet fully corporeal; he was still, for the moment, bound to this existence. He needed Potter's magic to fix that. But it would come soon enough.

He was not strong enough to stay for long; soon he vanished again. Draco stirred in his sleep; unconsciously, he reached out for Harry, and found only the shirt. But, for the moment, that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter fought me all the way! Sometimes they just don't flow. And real life got in the way a bit, as it will._
> 
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> _Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for many helpful suggestions._
> 
> _**Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook and ff.net. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site._
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> _**Thanks:** To all who read / bookmark / subscribe / comment; it gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and Tea and pancakes for those who commented on chapter 83:_
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> _Lots of guesses as to the red man's identity; but that is the central point to be explained, so I will neither confirm nor deny etc etc etc._
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> _Please please comment; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!_


	85. Returning to Earth with a Bump

**85\. Returning to Earth with a Bump**

_Thursday 12 November_

Ginny knew very well that, with Ron away, Hermione had been going to bed early; so, as it was after nine by the time she'd finished her study, she decided to wait until Thursday morning before using the mirror to call her sister-in-law.

"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked in delight when she made contact. "I was about to see if you were there!"

"Indeed I am," Ginny replied drily. "Did you find out anything yesterday?"

"Not much," Hermione replied, her face reflecting her disappointment. Then she brightened a little as she went on, "I did have a long chat with Lucius Malfoy—"

Ginny laughed at this, much to Hermione's discomfort. "What?" she said.

"Oh nothing," Ginny said. "Just that you and Lucius are such good pals."

"Yeah, well, we talked about that," Hermione replied. "About how I completely forgot about the horrible events at the Manor; and how we came to be friends as a result. We both agreed that it was a bit out of character, so there probably was something pushing us together. But in the end we came up with nothing. There doesn't seem to be any spell or potion that fits the case. Neither the Malfoy library nor the Ministry one was any help."

Ginny couldn't help but smile at the tone in which she said this; Hermione made it sound like coming up with nothing was only just less tragic than a death in the family. Perhaps, in a way, it was; for Hermione to find a problem that could not be solved, or even attacked, from books was probably a very sobering event.

"Perhaps I can help," Ginny replied. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, so Ginny continued, "you see, Luna and I were talking …"

Ten minutes later, it was a very pensive Hermione Weasley who left for work at the Ministry. She might be called 'the brightest witch of the age', and certainly no-one could doubt her powers of reason and analysis; but it was the dreamy Luna Lovegood who seemed to have grasped what was going on. Harry was right, she thought; there was definitely a lot more to that girl than she let on.

* * *

If it wasn't for Ron Weasley and Thomas Parris, Harry might have felt that there was something seriously wrong with him. All the other trainees seemed to be giving him a wide berth. It made for a very uncomfortable couple of days training to finish off the week; not, of course, that the rest of it had been comfortable, not by any stretch of the imagination, though at least their tent was much nicer accommodation than most of the other trainees had, a fact which still clearly rankled with his cohort.

Harry decided he simply didn't have the energy to care and spent two days just going through the motions. It didn't help matters that they seemed to have moved on from interesting activities to spending time being shown and discussing survival tactics in the field. He found that most of what was said was either something he knew or felt was rather obvious; though of course he and Ron had actually had the experience of being hunted in the field for real, unlike the trainees and, he suspected, even the Aurors in charge themselves. He could see that the Aurors were somewhat peeved that he'd clammed up and didn't give any help; it was as if they expected him to do the teaching for them. Wasn't it obvious to them that, in their present mood, his classmates were most unlikely to listen to a word he said? At least Ron did volunteer some information, so he could just nod and smile in agreement.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was more than a bit concerned. The letter that had arrived with the morning post was pleasant enough, to be sure, and couched in informal, not to say chatty, terms; but when the head of the Wizengamot invites you to lunch, it's not something you can say no to. Especially when there's a feeling in the air that people are starting to look for change, and wondering if perhaps they haven't been taken for a ride somehow, and you're an ex-Death Eater with a suspended sentence hanging over your head.

So Lucius made his way to the Merlin Club, thankful that at least its very exclusive dining-room was a very private place, and had some of the best food in Britain. Not that he would be welcomed there any more in his own right, he considered rather ruefully; the Club had written to him during the last War and suggested, very diplomatically to be sure, that his visiting the Club 'might send the wrong sort of signal'. Of course he knew perfectly well that that meant 'you're out', and they knew that he knew it, but the forms had to be observed.

So he made sure to greet the maître d'hôtel with a jaunty smirk as he entered. Hilaire Evans, said maître d', had been there forever and knew perfectly well why Lucius Malfoy was smirking; but frankly, who the Club let in or didn't was entirely its affair, and Hilaire, the perfect staff member, treated everyone who came in with the same exquisite politeness.

"Mr Malfoy," he said, bowing slightly to the man, as befitted the guest of a member; Lucius, always aware of such things, immediately got the message: 'you have not been reinstated as a member yet, so I will only defer to you so far'. Well, that was fair enough, he supposed.

"Good afternoon, Hilaire," he replied.

"Chief Wizard Doge arrived a moment ago; you will find him in the bar," the other replied, indicating with a gesture that Lucius was free to make his own way there. Lucius raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

It was the work of a moment to find Doge; he had not got away from the bar yet.

"Malfoy!" he called out as soon as he saw him. Lucius was very amused at the dirty looks several members aimed at Doge; but the bar was the one place that there was neither requirement nor expectation to be stuffy and formal, and Doge ignored them. There were, to be sure, dirty looks aimed at **him** by some of the older members, who no doubt wondered why he had been let in; but it was none of their business who the Chief Warlock chose to entertain, and he followed his host's lead and ignored them himself.

"Chief Warlock," he replied suavely. "I do hope I'm not late."

"Nonsense," Doge replied. "You're bang on time, and you know it. And call me Elphias. We're all friends here."

Lucius was rather taken with the irony of that statement; he knew perfectly well that, quite to the contrary, he was probably top of the 'hate list' of at least half-a-dozen people in the room. But their discomfort made for his enjoyment, so he smiled and replied, "then you must call me Lucius."

"Yes of course, Lucius," the man replied. "Now, spot of whiskey?"

* * *

At Hogwarts, another Malfoy was also having lunch, though in less rarefied surroundings.

Draco had had a very busy morning; though he was missing Harry, he had not been given time to think about it as Borage had him slicing, dicing, and brewing potions for the Infirmary all morning. He did not fail to notice that some of the potions he was making were specifically adapted to be pregnancy-safe; so he was not particularly surprised when Borage told him he could take what he needed, and pass others on to Hermione and Pansy.

By the time he got to lunch, he was pretty much tired out; he was very glad that Borage had told him to spend the afternoon resting and reviewing his notes. He just had to get through lunch and then he could relax.

 _Yeah, right_ , he thought. _Just get through lunch_. It sounded easy; but after yesterday's fiasco, he was very wary and watchful as he entered the Great Hall. He did not expect this to be a pleasant experience; in truth, for once, he would have been happy just to be ignored and allowed to eat his meal in peace. He really couldn't handle another attack right now.

But, to his great surprise and delight, as he sat down, all of the Eighth Year students greeted him warmly and ranged themselves around him, making it very clear to the rest of the school that they were protecting him.

"So, Draco," Ivanov asked, "what has old man Borage got you brewing now?"

And that was it; he spent the rest of the meal having a pleasant discussion about the finer points of potion making. To be sure, not all of the students participated, and some of the Beauxbatons girls seemed to have trouble following and wanted to ask lots of questions; but Ivanov somehow managed, without causing offence, to deflect them away with rather simplistic explanations. Draco smiled. He didn't have the patience to do that, not at the moment, anyway; but it seemed that, even without the students who had sat their NEWTs early, McGonagall's brave experiment in getting people together was still bearing fruit.

And didn't that thought make Draco sit back and take stock. How far did the conspiracy theory go, he wondered? Did people think that the Eighth Year programme, and its emphasis on working together, was part of the plot? It would be daft to think so; but people believed daft things all the time, he thought rather ruefully, remembering some less-than-stellar decisions he had been pushed into in the past.

"You all right, Draco?" Seamus Finnegan asked, bringing him back to the present.

"Oh!" Draco said, a little surprised by the attention. "Yes, sorry, I was just wondering about the rumours you were talking about yesterday."

"Oh yes? What about them?" the Irishman replied.

"I'm wondering how far they go. Do people think that the Eighth Year programme is all some sort of conspiracy to control us?"

Seamus looked confused at this question, but Ivan Smetana, who grasped immediately what Draco's concern must be, chipped in.

"People think all sorts of silly things," he said. "We have to have some form of control. It's better, I think, to have something that builds people together like this programme than, say, how that madman you had here would have worked; or so I hear, anyway."

Draco gave him a private smirk for the last comment; as Karkaroff, he had an excellent idea of exactly what life under Voldemort would be like, but of course Smetana could not be expected to know.

"That's true," Susan Bones chipped in, her face thoughtful.

"I hope I will not end up in your paper!" Smetana said with a little smile, though Draco suspected that he was only half-joking. Of course he would not want to be looked at too closely.

"You mean the Prophet?" Susan replied. "That was a summer job mostly. But I'm sure they'd be interested; would you perhaps give me an interview?"

Smetana groaned and Draco, having finished eating, took the chance to slip out unobtrusively. Lunch had proved much easier to get through than he had feared, after all.

* * *

Unknowingly, Lucius Malfoy was thinking much the same thing. He returned to the Manor, a bemused expression on his face.

"What's happened?" Narcissa asked as soon as she saw him.

"What?" he asked absent-mindedly. "Oh, sorry, just thinking about the lunch I've just had with Doge. One of the strangest lunches ever."

Narcissa steered him into her private sitting room and demanded tea from Mappy, before looking him straight in the eye.

"Strange in what way?" she demanded, and Lucius knew he wasn't going to get away with anything less than a full explanation.

"Well," Lucius said, once tea had been served and they were comfortably seated and there really was no way to put things off any longer, "it was like the whole meeting was in code. It was all couched in terms of 'concerns have been voiced' and 'murmurings have been heard' and the like, but the long and the short of it is that Doge was really trying to warn me to keep my head down."

"What?" Narcissa demanded, exactly as Lucius had known she would. "Why should you keep your head down? The Wizengamot suspended your sentence, you haven't done anything since that should cause any problems!"

And then she looked at him searchingly, and asked, "have you?"

"That, I'm afraid, is in the mind of the beholder," Lucius replied drily. "Some of the murmurings were about whether the activities I have with the Muggles are quite the sort of thing that someone like me should be doing. Some of the Purebloods have been wondering that, but also some of the Muggle-borns. Apparently they think I might be contaminating the Muggles in some way."

Narcissa did not respond to this with words; the shocked look on her face said all that was necessary.

"I know," he replied. "But it seems that, along with Draco's pregnancy, something big has happened. The general feeling is that everyone was bewitched somehow, and now that has lifted. So people are looking for scapegoats."

"I see, And you'd rather not be one," Narcissa summarised.

Lucius beamed. This was going better than he'd feared – his wife was a Black, after all, and while he knew she would work it out quickly, there was always a chance that curses would get sent off first, and right now he was the only person who could be in the firing line.

"Exactly," he replied. "So, I'm going to keep a low profile. And try and work out if there really is something going on. Hermione Weasley and I have been looking into it; but we haven't got very far yet. We can't see what it could be – it's not a potion, or any known spell …"

Here Lucius withdrew into himself, and Narcissa gave a wry chuckle. She knew her husband; he was unlikely to be much use for a while; in this mood, he would go off and think about things for a long time now. But at least they had been given a warning; clearly, at least, the world was not united against them, and she took that as a crumb of comfort.

_Friday 13 November_

On Friday afternoon after lunch the trainees were returned to the Ministry. They spent a couple of hours being debriefed, discussing all the activities they had done and what they had learnt, before most of them were dismissed and allowed to return home. Harry groaned when he found that, instead of being allowed to leave, he had been summoned to the Head Auror's office; but he dutifully made his way there nonetheless.

"Trainee Potter," Gawain Robards said as he entered.

"Sir," Harry replied, standing just inside the door and making no move to sit down, having not been invited to do so. Indeed, instead of settling for a chat, Robarts stood up.

"Come with me," he said, walking out of the office. "Shut the door as you come, too."

* * *

When Ron got home to Grimmauld Place he was rather surprised to find Hermione there.

"Hello!" he said. "How come you're home so early? Not that I mind!"

Hermione looked up from the old books she had spent the last few hours reading, rather surprised to find it was already nearly four o'clock.

"Oh! You startled me!" she gasped. "Sorry! Um, I've been looking into stuff over the last couple of lunchtimes and my supervisor caught me today and sent me home."

"Oh," Ron replied in turn. "Um, you're not in trouble or anything?"

"What? No!" Hermione said, laughing. "No, she just said if I was so engrossed in something I should take the books I needed and go and sort it out. She'd rather have me get it out of my system and come back and concentrate on the job."

"OK," said Ron, a little slowly, and it was clear that he was not entirely convinced. "So, what has you so engrossed?"

"Ah," Hermione replied. "It must have happened on Tuesday night – or perhaps Wednesday morning, I suppose."

" **What** must have happened?" Ron demanded, managing, with evident difficulty, to keep his temper in check.

"Didn't you feel it?" she asked. "It was like we had been under some mild enchantment, and then it lifted. And it made us all wonder just exactly what was going on. Like, for example, why I was so keen to go to Malfoy Manor and didn't think about the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured me there."

"That's true," Ron said, pensively. "I can see why that's got you thinking. I wonder…"

And now it was Hermione's turn to be annoyed: "about…" she prompted.

"Harry was in Hogwarts on Tuesday night," Ron replied.

"Now!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ginny mentioned something about that, but I didn't quite realise what she meant. Harry was at Hogwarts? Really? How did that happen?"

"We were in an exercise on Tuesday afternoon, and he got hit with a spell. The Haussmann shield flared up, and when it dissipated, he'd gone. Vanished completely. We had no idea what had happened until he returned on Wednesday morning. But that's not the strangest thing."

"It's not?" Hermione demanded, with a 'you-will-explain-that-right-now' look on her face.

"Nope," Ron said. "Really, I should let him tell you…"

"RON!"

"All right!" Ron said, smiling, raising his hands in surrender. "He did say I could tell you, even though it's their secret; and we have to keep it so. When he got to Hogwarts, he found out that Draco is pregnant."

"WHAT!" Hermione exploded. "And they're keeping it a secret?"

"Yep. Only family is allowed to know. Including us," he added, seeing the inquiring look on Hermione's face. "Draco doesn't want to announce it till after Blaise's wedding tomorrow."

"But …" Hermione said and sat back, her eyes going glassy in, had they known it, the same way Lucius's had the previous day.

"How?" she demanded eventually.

Ron shrugged. "No-one knows," he said,

"But…" Hermione said, then sat up, a new light kindled in her eyes. "It can't be a coincidence," she said.

"What can't?" Ron demanded.

"Oh, well, we have two things here we can't explain by spell or potion: Draco getting pregnant, and, at the same time, this enchantment we can't explain lifts."

"Makes sense," Ron said slowly. "That they'd be related, I mean. Tell me more about this enchantment; I don't really get it."

"Well, there have been reports of people feeling themselves having been pushed into things they wouldn't normally do. And even wanting to do them. Like I wanted, so badly, to go to the Manor. And Ginny gave up on Harry without a fight. And Lucius's sentence was suspended."

"So, what's your theory?" Ron asked.

"Oddly enough, the best theory isn't mine, it's from the last person I'd expect."

"Who?" Ron asked, then added cheekily, "Loony Lovegood?"

"It's Luna," Hermione corrected. "And yes, it was her. She and Ginny have been talking. She explained it as a general sort of funneling that's been going on for some time. She expressed it as 'we've all been being pushed into doing the right thing.'"

"How long has she thought this?" Ron asked. "And why didn't she say anything sooner?"

"Apparently she's known for ages," Hermione replied. "And she didn't say anything because, quote 'because it was the right thing, of course.'"

Ron could easily imagine the dreamy Ravenclaw saying this; and it was clear from their previous experience, and from the fact that Hermione was offering this as a credible explanation, that it was probably the truth. Though of course exactly what 'the right thing' meant was up for discussion.

"How does she know?" he asked.

"That's the really weird bit," Hermione replied. "She said it was obvious; it was because it came from Harry."

"So hang on," Ron said. "Are you saying that people were being manipulated into doing things they wouldn't have otherwise by Harry? But that can't be right! Harry's not evil!" Ron exclaimed.

"I didn't say he was," Hermione replied, keeping her voice even. "It's Harry's heart, but someone, or something, was enforcing it. The interesting question is, why did it stop?"

"Because Draco got pregnant?"

Hermione's brows knitted. "Not sure on that one. It could be that, I suppose; but remember that it didn't stop until Harry found out about the pregnancy; if the pregnancy made it stop, surely it would have stopped at the actual conception. I think it's more that they are two separate, but related events. Something else is going on. Something is wrong, Ron. It has to have something to do with Harry; everything always does. We have to go and talk to him."

* * *

Harry was rather worried. Robards stalked the corridors of the Ministry at a great pace, and Harry had to rush to keep up with him. The only good thing was that that meant it did not take long to reach their destination; they found themselves in the Secretariat in minutes.

"Yes?" the receptionist asked. "Can I help you, Head Auror?"

"I need to see the Deputy Minister," Robards answered. "He's expecting us."

Harry's heart fell. Arthur was expecting them? Just what was going on?

Before Harry got worked up any further, Arthur's door opened, and he invited them in.

"Now, Harry," he said, once they were comfortably seated and the inevitable tea and cakes had appeared, "we don't normally have interviews like this but…"

"Especially after the events of the last few days, we really would like to know," Robards continued, as Arthur paused, "whether you want to stay in the Auror programme?"

"Well, sir," Harry replied, "I've been thinking about that a lot over the last two days. And, to be perfectly frank, no, I don't think I really want to be an Auror."

"I'm disappointed," Robards said, "but I can't say I'm surprised."

Harry looked at him quizzically, and the Head Auror continued, "to be honest, I think you've simply got too much going for you to be an Auror. Granted, we need wizards of great, if not exceptional power; but there's a lot more to you than just power. Once an Auror gets well-known, they tend to have a very tough time – the papers track their every move, the public tries to 'help' them, which always ends up getting in the way; and there's a big target on your back."

"Every ex-Death Eater is going to be gunning for you," Arthur concurred. "As well as every two-bit villain in search of a little fame. Frankly, I understand why Gawain is disappointed – you would make a great Auror – but I'm not sad at all that you're not going to be one. Of course we would support you if that's what you really wanted to do; but I'm sure Molly will rest easier if she knows you won't be sent out as the first line of defense. I know I will. And I think you've really done enough of that for one lifetime."

Harry smiled. This was a lot easier than he thought it might be. Now he only had Draco to face.

'Only Draco'. Yeah, right. Maybe he shouldn't count his basilisks before they hatch, he decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments!
> 
> And many thanks to Bicky Monster for her help as always.
> 
> I wish you all a very happy Christmas. (We don't do 'Holidays' here in Australia; at least, not in my part of it.)


	86. Things Begin to Return where they Belong

**86\. Things Begin to Return where they Belong**

By dint of sheer effort, Draco managed to get the three potions Borage had him working on finished just before five o'clock. Borage walked through the door bang on the hour, to find his apprentice feverishly cleaning cauldrons, the potions bottled or left under stasis, where they were safe to remain until Monday.

"It seems you have everything in hand," he said mildly, but Draco did not fail to see the proud sparkle in his eye. The old master looked around carefully, inspected the vats, and smiled at Draco.

"Get away with you," he said gruffly. "You have things to do this evening, and this is all fine to leave."

Draco did not need to be told twice.

* * *

As he sat in the his family's chateau in France, Blaise Zabini was worried about his friend and fellow Slytherin, Theodore Nott. To be sure, it was obvious that life in South Africa was doing wonders for him: not only was he sporting a healthy tan from the outdoor lifestyle that was simply impossible in Northern climes, but he had hardly stopped smiling for the whole afternoon that he had been in France. But he knew his friend too well to be deceived by outward appearances: his arm was giving him grief, Blaise was sure of that, and he could see that there were muscular problems going down his spine as well. No doubt the cold was seeping into the joints and making life hard for Theo. He didn't complain about it; Blaise privately would have preferred it if he had. This 'soldier on' mentality was likely to lead to a catastrophic burn-out some time in the near future. He just hoped the ceremony would all be over before things got anywhere near that point.

* * *

It was a good thing that the Hogwarts house-elves had been practically falling over themselves to help Draco once they had learnt that he was pregnant. Not that it was quite clear how they had found out; but then, Draco ruminated, it was practically impossible to keep a secret at Hogwarts for very long. He just hoped they could keep the student body in the dark for a few more days. So far, so good; it helped that he could legitimately claim to be busy most of the time, so his interactions with the students were few and far between, apart from mealtimes. But the house-elves had worked it out. Probably, he thought, by dint of listening in at the infirmary.

So when he had asked Winky if they could provide him with an early, and light, meal, he wasn't all that surprised to find a table laid for one waiting for him in his and Harry's room. But what was surprising was the evident exquisite care that had lavished on it: the table was set with a beautifully starched tablecloth with damask napkin and all the proper cutlery, and the meal, served on fine bone china dishes, was absolutely delicious: gazpacho soup was followed by a beautifully cooked Sole Meniere, and a deliciously crisp apple sorbet for dessert. Granted, it wasn't exactly what he had expected of a 'light meal'; he would have been happy with a plate of sandwiches. But he had no trouble with it, and felt both well-fed and refreshed when he had finished; as he had found over the last couple of days, whether the house-elves were doing something special or not, the food sat lightly in his stomach and he was able to digest it without feeling at all nauseous.

"Winky!" he called, knowing that she had taken over responsibility for everything to do with their room. A second later the house-elf appeared in front of him.

"Master Malfoy-Potter is calling Winky?" she asked. "How can Winky be helping Master? Is Master needing help packing for the weekend?"

Draco laughed happily. "No, no," he replied, "that's all done. I just wanted to say thank you for the dinner. It was easily the best meal I have ever had at Hogwarts."

Winky's eyes went as round as saucers, and she puffed up in pride. "Winky is so happy master Draco is enjoying his food! We's is making sure Master Draco's food is being agreeable for him and little ones!"

At this point, Winky put her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she said. "Winky is not supposed to know!"

Draco, knowing that there was every chance the poor creature would go off and punish herself, something Harry would be horrified about, smiled at her. "Never mind," he said. "You're doing a very good job. Just please keep it secret from the students, and make sure the other elves do too." He looked around at the dirty dishes. "Please feel free to clean up here, I've finished and must get going back to the Lodge and off to the wedding rehearsal in France."

With that, Draco Flooed away, leaving a very happy elf behind; her master had praised her, and given her a responsible job to do; the combination was house-elf heaven!

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat in his study, sipping on a very decent pre-dinner sherry, ruminating over the last couple of days. He and Hermione had still not worked out what was going on with this strange feeling that was abroad; but then, they hadn't worked out how Draco could possibly be pregnant either. Were the two related, he wondered?

Difficult to tell. Best to start with what he knew, then. One thing he did know was that with the Wizarding world seeming to wake up from some kind of magical slumber, he had received more Howlers in the last two days than in his entire life before. They were, in a funny way, almost comforting: they all seemed to follow the same formula, telling him that he was a Death Eater (he already knew that, thanks); he had been convicted by the Wizengamot (ditto) and should be languishing in a cell in Azkaban, not running around the country terrorizing poor Muggles, or some other equally asinine description of his current activities.

Well, at least people were getting agitated enough to put quill to parchment. He knew well enough that the main reason that the Ministry had got so bad, and Voldemort had flourished, was a general apathy on the part of the Wizarding public. This agitation may well be a good sign. While of course he would prefer to be left alone, perhaps this waking-up would get people to look more critically at their representatives, which would be no bad thing. It would need careful handling, of course; if it deteriorated back into "let's demonize the Death Eaters" and blind prejudice then they were sunk. But his interview with Doge had convinced him that he, at least, wasn't going to stand for that. The Potter Code was still an important article of faith. They just had to convince people to keep it in place and let it guide them into looking more deeply into their society and building one that was genuinely more equal.

Another sip of sherry, and he ruminated a little about just what had happened to him. Here he was, the ultimate pure-blood, the uber-Slytherin, thinking about making an equal society. And actually approving of it. It was all Harry, of course. There was no doubt that the Debt had constrained him enormously; but the sheer love and compassion that radiated from his son-in-law was, he had come to see, so much more powerful than any debt.

And wasn't that a shocking thought. There was something more important in public life than the calculus of obligation and debt. Of course, he accepted that as a principle in his private life: whatever else could be said about Lucius Malfoy, and there were a lot of shady areas in his past, he did truly love his wife and his son. And in the end, he knew, Harry knew that too, and it was the thing that had kept him out of Azkaban.

As he took another sip of his sherry, the Floo went; he turned to find Hermione Weasley's face staring at him. As always, the green tinge of the flame did her no favours, but he could see the usual earnest scholarly glint in her eye, and knew at once she had worked something out.

"Hermione," he said, lifting his glass in mock salute. "How are you this evening?"

"Ginny told me something rather interesting this morning," she replied, completely ignoring his attempt at small talk. Lucius smiled inwardly; he liked that she was now sufficiently comfortable with him to drop the conventional responses, though he was not going to let her see the smile – she would think he was laughing at her, not at all the message he wanted to convey.

"Go on," he said encouragingly; though it was hardly needed as Hermione did go on to explain the entire conversation she and Ginny had had that morning, as well as the one with Ron that afternoon.

Once he had heard the whole thing, he sat back.

"I suppose it makes sense," he said eventually. "Harry does keep doing things that can't be done, after all."

Hermione gave him a warm smile.

"Yeah, like surviving the Avada Kedavra curse, for starters."

"That's true," Lucius agreed, "though I was rather thinking back to the events where the Debt and the Haussmann shield were created. After all, Harry had no idea what he was doing then; so of course the magic he used wasn't anything we can find in books; I'm certain he just made it up as he went along. If that was the start of the enchantment that – what did Luna say? 'We've all been being pushed into doing the right thing.'?"

Hermione nodded in reply.

"So it probably goes back to exactly what he said on the day the Dark Lord finally died. Which, you may recall, wasn't a potion or spell as such, just Harry using some words with the Elder wand; which is probably why we can't track it down."

"Phew," Hermione said. "Do know what he said?"

"I confess, I do not," Lucius replied in a sad tone. "However, we will be seeing him at the Zabini – Delacour wedding tomorrow. Will you be there?"

"Yes, we will," Hermione replied. "Blaise and Angelique invited all of the Eighth Year students."

"Excellent. Then we must find a quiet moment to ask him about it. Just one other thing – have you, by any chance, been receiving Howlers?"

* * *

It was after six when Harry returned to The Lodge, hoping that Draco would be there. But the house was empty; well, empty of Wizards, at least.

"Tiny!" Harry called, and the aptly-named house-elf appeared in front of him.

"Yes Master Harry!" she said excitedly. "How is Tiny being able to help Master Harry?"

"Has Draco come home yet?" Harry asked.

Tiny looked dejected.

"Master Draco is being at the Zabini Manor in France," she replied, clearly upset that she had to give Harry such news. "There is being a rehearsal for the Zabini – Delacour wedding tomorrow."

"Of course," Harry replied, "I should have remembered. Do you know when he will be home?"

Tiny looked even more down than before.

"Master Draco is not telling Tiny," she replied.

"Well, never mind," Harry replied. "It'll give me a chance to sort out my things from the camp while he's not here."

Tiny's eyes went hugely wide.

"Master is not to do such things!" she replied indignantly. "Tiny is being doing them for him!"

"All right," Harry said, meekly, producing the bag he had taken camping and unshrinking it. The house-elf smiled at the prospect of real work to do, picked up the bag and popped away.

Harry sighed. He sat down in one of the rather comfortable armchairs in their front room and picked up the novel he had been reading before he had gone on the Auror week, more to while away the time than because he was interested in it.

* * *

Auguste Delacour was very much enjoying getting to know Marco Renzi, Blaise's step-father and therefore his daughter's future father-in-law. It was hard not to like him: they had so much in common after all. As well as speaking beautiful French, the man was well bred, had lovely manners, a good appreciation for fine wine, and an absolute loathing for getting involved in the actual business of setting up the wedding.

It was this last shared trait that had caused both men to be holed up in Auguste's study, enjoying a very lovely Beaujolais.

"Well!" Marco said, lifting his glass, "here is to a long and happy association between our families!"

"Indeed!" Auguste replied, draining his glass and refilling both of them. "Now, monsieur, my wife tells me you are involved in the fashion industry?"

Marco smiled. "Indeed," he replied. "You understand that Milan, where we live, is a major centre of the fashion industry, both Wizarding and Muggle."

His host nodded. He was a pure-blood wizard and an aristocrat, so he knew such things very well; and it came as no surprise to hear his guest discussing the Muggle world. Some people, particularly the British, got rather standoffish about the Muggle world, but that seemed rather silly to him.

"It is, in fact, very convenient," Marco continued. "After all, clothing a Muggle is not really any different from clothing a Magical, apart from the fabric used."

"I see," Auguste said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, I'm sure that my wife will be placing large orders with you soon enough."

At this the Italian laughed. "I fear, Monsieur, you are behind the times there; your wife has been purchasing my garments for years!"

"Indeed?" Auguste replied, his eyebrows raised. "Then I congratulate you on your excellent product – for Honore never buys anything but the best available."

"You are too kind," Marco replied. "Though I confess, availability has been something of a problem in the recent past. Regrettably, I have had some trouble with Britain's Department of International Magical Co-operation, and also, though I hesitate to bring a shadow across our conversation, there have been some problems with shipments being held up at the docks in Marseille."

"Ah," his host replied, then sat back in thought.

"There is some possibility," he said at last, "that these two events are related."

"Really?" Renzi asked.

"Yes. You may recall that there was a Beauxbatons student – one Eva Thillin – who caused a lot of difficulty as part of the exchange programme at Hogwarts. There is some evidence that she was involved with the Head of the Department you name, and has since fled to join the French criminal underworld."

"I see," his visitor said simply. "This is all rather concerning. But you seem to be very well informed, monsieur?"

Auguste spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture that did not fool his guest for one minute.

"One hears so many things," he replied mildly. "For some time, our Aurors have been concerned with the activities of a man from Marseille – one Gaston Gaspard by name."

"I have not heard the name," Marco replied somewhat cautiously.

"No, of course not, Monsieur Gaspard is most careful to keep his name out of things. But the various Departments of Justice in our Wizarding world are not as stupid as he would like to believe. You must know, Monsieur, that while most people might think of me as nothing but an aristocrat in a country that officially does not have such things, in fact, I work for our Magical Justice Department as liaison with the various organisations in the other European Wizarding nations. So, you understand, I hear a great many things, both facts and suspicions."

"Ah," Marco replied. "And is there, perhaps, something being done about these facts and suspicions?"

His host smirked at him.

"Ah, Monsieur," Delacour replied with a wink and a shake of the hand; which proved, as he knew it would, quite enough answer for his perceptive guest. 'A nod is as good as a wink to a blind Thestral', as the English said.

* * *

For his part, Draco was rather enjoying himself. To be sure, he missed Harry; but the moment he had arrived at the Delacours' chateau he had been collared by Marianna Zabini, who had insisted on showing him the decorations she and the Delacours had chosen for the reception. _'A far cry from my own mother, who wouldn't let anyone see a thing,'_ he thought ruefully; but then Mrs Zabini had always been far more into ebullient and extravagant showing-off than his more reserved family would ever be.

Nonetheless, the attention she lavished upon him was very welcome, especially after the recent events at Hogwarts. And the feeling of belonging only grew when they entered the little gazebo that Blaise and Angelique would be married in and found the rest of the wedding party standing there waiting for him.

"Here we are!" Marianna said, and everyone turned to him and smiled, warm, friendly smiles. Of course it helped immensely that two of the group, Blaise and Theo, were his friends from Slytherin, while Angelique Delacours and her two bridesmaids, her two cousins Fleur and Gabrielle, were Frenchwomen of considerable breeding; this was exactly the milieu he had grown up in, and he felt perfectly at home.

The practice went without incident; except that Draco could not help noticing that Theo's arm seemed to be a bit stiff. As they stood around afterwards, he decided to tackle his friend on the point.

"So, Theo," he began, "how is South Africa treating you?"

"Very well," Theo replied with a huge grin. "Thank you so much for your present; with that, and the family there, we've settled right in. Pansy's even got her course sorted out and I get excellent medical attention for free as part of the deal."

Draco was pleased that he wasn't going to have to work the conversation. "How is that going?" he asked, putting some quite genuine concern in his voice. "Are they as good as St Mungo's?"

"Oh, I think so," he replied airily. "My arm is doing very well there, in the hotter climate; it's been a bit stiff coming back here though, so we might have to leave soon after the ceremony to get back to the warm."

"That would be sad," Draco replied, and meant it. "But perhaps Harry and I could come and visit?"

Theo and Pansy, who had come along to watch, broke into wide grins. "That would be wonderful," they said together, then laughed at the co-incidence. "Perhaps in the New Year?" Theo offered.

"I'll have to ask Harry, but that sounds great," Draco said. "We'll also have to see about my health."

"Your health?" Theo asked, puzzled.

"Yes," Angelique replied as she joined them. "There was a little incident on Tuesday. Just exactly what happened to you, Monsieur?"

"Draco, please," he replied. "And yes, there was an issue and a potion saw me in the Hospital wing and then in the Tower. My parents even visited because of it."

"Alors!" Angelique replied. "I 'ope you are quite recovered."

"Oh, no," Draco replied mischievously. "This little issue will be with me for quite some time."

"That's too bad," Theo said. "But it will clear up eventually, right?"

"Well, I confess that at some point it will become a big issue. Harry and I will probably have to refashion The Lodge a little when that happens."

Theo's jaw dropped open, and Angelique looked even more concerned than before; but Draco could all but see the cogs turning in Pansy's head, especially, he suspected, at his deliberate and repeated use of the word 'issue'.

"Draco, are you…" Pansy asked excitedly, the sickle obviously having dropped.

Draco chuckled. "Yes, Pansy, I'M PREGNANT! Harry Potter did the impossible again, on our wedding night no less."

In retrospect, it might have been wiser to have said this a little more quietly; for Marianna Zabini and Honoree Delacour both jumped up excitedly and Draco found himself being borne down on by both his hostesses.

"Darling Draco!" Marianna said, wrapping him in a hug. "How wonderful!"

"Yes indeed!" Honoree agreed, a glint in her eyes. "You 'ave not made a public announcement yet?"

"No," Draco confirmed, "we only found out on Tuesday."

"How exciting!" Marianna said. "And how lovely that you would tell us all first! Will you perhaps make an announcement at the reception?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Draco replied. "Can't steal Blaise and Angelique's big day."

"And I imagine,' Madame Delacour said drily, "that Narcissa will want to have some big do to announce it at."

Draco blanched.

"I think, maman," Angelique said, frowning at her mother, "that you have scared Monsieur Malfoy quite enough this evening."

And with that, she linked her arm through Draco's, and steered him over to a table laden with refreshments where Blaise was already standing.

The Italian handed his friend a glass of punch; though he was not at all surprised that, before accepting the glass, Draco picked up a plate and put some choux pastries on it.

"So, still a sweet tooth?" he said teasingly.

"Mmm," Draco mumbled, being incapable of coherent speech due to his mouth being full of a rather delicious pastry filled with crème Anglaise.

"And pregnant?" Blaise continued, his tone becoming both gentler and more serious.

Draco nodded.

"Are you missing 'Arry, then? He is away, I think, so he does not know?"

Draco swallowed the pastry. "He was away this week at Auror training," he agreed, "and we were not supposed to see each other. But there was a very strange thing happened on Tuesday," and he went on to describe how Harry and he had managed to spend the night together. As he spoke, none of the three French girls failed to notice the way Draco's eyes sparkled every time he mentioned his husband.

"You really are missing 'im, n'est-ce pas?" Gabrielle asked him.

Draco sighed; indeed, he did miss Harry, rather desperately. How was he going to cope, he wondered, suddenly realising that they were both going to be rather busy for the foreseeable future. His bottom lip wobbled, just a little; but Blaise had known him for a long time and instantly knew that his friend was quite disturbed.

"Do you really want to do this Potions course, if you're going to be a mother?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Draco looked at him, water in his eyes, rather shocked at the thought that yes, he was going to be a mother. He'd never given it a thought before: after all, babies grew inside women, and they were mothers, while men were fathers. But if the babies were in his body, that made him the mother, he guessed. It was a very strange idea, and he found it hard to wrap his mind around it. And Blaise was right – if he missed Harry this much already, did he really want to continue his study? Especially once the twins were born, and he would, he was sure, want nothing but to look after them?

Seeing his friend looking upset, Blaise could not help himself – he gathered Draco into a hug, rubbing his back.

"I think perhaps you should go and see him now," he said simply. "Do not worry, I shall give your farewells to mia madre and Madame Delacour. Come to our chateau tomorrow for lunch. And of course bring 'Arry."

"Thanks," Draco said, slightly choking as he said it. He didn't dare say any more, and he was grateful not to have to give the proper polite goodbyes as he Apparated back to The Lodge.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall found herself at a rather high-powered dinner that night. It wasn't often that she dined out of the school; to find herself, Libatius Borage and Filius Flitwick invited to dine at the Merlin Club with the Minister, Deputy Minister and Head Auror had rather shocked her.

She had arrived feeling rather apprehensive and wondering just what bombshell was going to be dropped on the three Professors tonight. A feeling that was only slightly eased by the presence of Molly Weasley and both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy; at least together they out-numbered the Ministry personnel two to one. Not, she thought wryly, that that would matter very much if the Minister really wanted to push something through.

But the meal had been truly delicious, very much helped, as far as she was concerned, by the inspired choice of an exquisite single malt whisky served with, and perfectly complementing, the salmon starter; and so by the time the food was eaten and they were installed in the Guest's Lounge with coffee and liqueurs, she found herself feeling quite relaxed.

Kingsley smiled at her.

"I hope you enjoyed the meal?" he asked.

"Very much, thank you," she replied crisply. "Though I find myself wondering just exactly what the occasion is?"

"That's rather my department," Arthur Weasley replied. "We really wanted to chat about Harry and Draco. You're aware, of course, of the events of the week; we were hoping to get your opinions and advice on how best to help them."

"Very admirable, I'm sure," Flitwick replied, "but I don't really see what I can add?"

"You're very important, Filius," the Minister replied. "You've been mentoring Harry over the last few months, up until his wedding; we rather hope you'll step up and continue that."

"Why?" Borage asked rather acerbically. "Why the sudden interest in these two lads?"

"It's hardly sudden," McGonagall pointed out to him, and Arthur nodded in agreement. "But I do want to know why they particularly need help? This isn't the Ministry trying to dictate people's lives again is it?"

"No, no," Shacklebolt said, his arms extended in a gesture of surrender. "No, please allow me to explain."

It was a very pensive Headmistress who left the dinner nearly two hours later. She wasn't entirely convinced; but she was at least reassured that there was nothing nefarious going on. Whether what the Ministry wanted would happen was another matter, though. After all, they were trying to reckon with Harry Potter, who had a firm track record for upsetting people's plans …

* * *

Harry gradually became aware that something wasn't quite right. It seemed like the lighting in the room was now awfully bright; and there was some weight on top of him. It took a moment before he realised just how familiar the feeling was …

He opened his eyes, only realising as he did so that they were shut. The light wasn't the lighting in their front room; he found he was now stretched out on their bed, and the sun was just streaming through their window. And the weight on top of him was his octopus of a husband.

He shifted slightly, and Draco's eyes sprang open.

"Morning," the blond drawled. "It was very strange to get home last night and find you fast asleep in an armchair. Can't have been very comfortable?"

Harry stretched.

"No, probably not," he agreed. "Though the camp bed wasn't so good, either. Waking up here, with you, however …"

Harry pulled his husband into a kiss which was returned enthusiastically.

"Much though I'd love to continue this," Draco said a little while later, "we do have a wedding to get to."

"What time?" Harry asked.

"Three o'clock," Draco replied.

"Plenty of time," Harry said with a smirk, rolling his husband over.

Now, Draco was a Malfoy, and had been brought up with iron self-control and a knowledge that duty came before pleasure. He knew his duty as Blaise's best man, and fully intended to be at the Zabini summer home well before noon to assist in whatever way was required. But he was also pregnant; and now that he had him, he realised that he had missed his husband even more than he had thought. So when Harry whispered the lubricating spells, while his mind was telling him that they needed to stop, his body had other ideas.

Very definite other ideas.

He whispered a spell of his own and as Harry stood over him, Draco lifted his own now-bare legs over Harry's shoulders. Harry smiled at him and Draco thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. And then he felt the faint burn, and then all pain was gone as his already hormonal body released pheromones and he found himself feeling the incredible sense of connection and belonging that was, as always when they made love, almost tangible…

_Connection … Belonging …_

Where had he heard those words before? This was important, he knew it. And then they connected again, Harry's magic swirling around and his coming out and responding, and he felt like he had fallen over a cliff as all rational thought left him and he just knew once again the deep feelings of joy and peace that he only ever had when he was held in the arms of the man he loved so, so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.


	87. Returning to France

**_87\. Returning to France_ **

_Friday 13 November_

Pomona Sprout had never had an apprentice before, so didn’t really know what the form expected of her. But, as befit the Head of Hufflepuff House, she did not let that stop her in the least; she treated Neville exactly the same as she had for most of the last seven years: that is to say, she let him get on with pretty much anything he wanted, making sure he was well plied with tea and encouragement.

As a result, he spent almost all of the daylight hours in the greenhouses, and when he wasn’t there, more often than not he could be found in the library, reading every book he could get his hands on that had anything to do with botany. It had gotten so bad that the portly Professor now made a point of pulling him out of the library every Friday night and sending him back to Diagon Alley.

“You are a married man,” she reminded him each time. “Your husband needs you much more than the books do. They’ll still be there on Monday.”

Now, the chubby, small, squib-like boy of yesteryear was long gone; but Neville was still rather in awe of the Herbology mistress, despite now being half her height again; so he would immediately pack up his books and disappear with a flurry of apologies.

It gladdened Pomona’s heart. The boy was quite the loveliest student she had ever met, she thought. George was lucky to have him. Mind you, from what Neville told her, the Weasley twin knew it, too; and he was often sending little gifts and notes to his husband. Some of the notes Neville shared with her; but some … well, he shared only his blushes. But that was enough. If Neville didn’t want to tell her, she didn’t need to know.

As a result of the most recent admonition, Neville had Flooed home to find the twins in the middle of a rather large party, at the centre of which was a rather inebriated Blaise Zabini. Not good. Blaise and alcohol … that was asking for trouble. He raised an eyebrow at his husband, the ‘what’s going on?’ being asked without words.

“Stag night,” George told him.

Of course. “But … drunk?” he asked. “Blaise? Not a good mix.”

“’S all right,” Fred assured him. “Elf champagne.”

“Draco told us // it makes him a happy drunk.”

And indeed, Blaise did look quite happy; though at the moment he was doing an impression of a … donkey? Lion? It was impossible to tell.

True to Neville’s luck, the moment Blaise saw him, he yelled out, “’ello Nevvie! Guess what I’m being?”

Neville snorted. He’d never been called ‘Nevvie’ in his life. He was **so** going to rib Blaise for that in the morning.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Drunk?”

Blaise laughed uproariously at this. “Tha’s right,” he replied, looking mildly astonished. “So I am!”

There was a round of laughter and Neville looked around to see who was there. Pansy, Theo, Greg Goyle … now there was a surprise, he hadn’t heard of the boy being in England since he’d gone off to Durmstrang mid-year … and a few other Ravenclaw and Slytherin students including, to his delight, Luna Lovegood, who was standing with Ginny Weasley and Robin Banks. By their body language, the last two had been roped in by Luna; they did not look that comfortable amongst the Slytherins, but that was hardly surprising. He nodded to them, and Robin waved at him, but seemed content to stay where he was.

Neville turned to the twins.

“No Draco?” he asked, surprised that the best man wasn’t there.

“No,” Fred replied, “Blaise told him no party // so he didn’t organize one; // and he was so obviously missing his little Harrykins that we didn’t have the heart to rope him along.”

Neville smirked at the pet name for the Destroyer of Voldemort. Harry would probably love it. But that wasn’t going to stop Neville making capital out of it.

“You two are horrid,” he replied. “Poor Draco and Harry. Leave them alone. You know Draco was in the Infirmary during the week?”

The twins immediately looked serious – a stunning effect as they did it together in perfect synchronicity. “What for?” they asked.

“Dunno,” Neville replied. “Nothing’s been said.”

As they were talking, Ginny had made her way over to greet him; and hearing the subject of the discussion, joined in.

“Ooh!” she said. “Hermione told me about this. Seems that Harry went and visited him, too.”

“What?” Neville asked, looking shocked. He lived in the Castle full-time; how was it that he was the last to hear this news?

“Yeah, flying visit from what Ron told her. Apparently he was attacked in a training exercise and the Haussmann Shield appeared; when it went, Harry was gone too, only to return at breakfast time the next morning.”

“Phew,” George said. “So, what’s that about?”

“Hermione wouldn’t tell me any more,” Ginny admitted, “but I’m sure she knows more.”

Fred looked at his twin.

“You don’t think?” he asked.

“I do think,” he replied.

But for the rest of the night, no-one could discover what it was that the two thought.

* * *

_Saturday 14 November_

Neville woke up at seven o’clock the next morning to find that he was the first awake. He disentangled himself from a sleeping George and, after tending to the morning necessities, went in search of tea and breakfast. There being no-one else up, he took it upon himself to cook; fortunately his gran had insisted that, pure-blood or not, a man wasn’t a man if he couldn’t rustle up something to eat, and Neville prided himself on the breakfasts he could cook. From what they said, the twins liked them, too; certainly they had no trouble getting outside them, but then that was a general thing with Weasleys and food, so perhaps he shouldn’t put too much store by it.

He did a quick head count. Fred and Angelina were there, George and himself of course, and, on a transfigured couch, a snoring Theo and a – there was no other word for it – snorting Pansy. He made a mental note not to blurt that out. Ever. Pansy still scared him a little. It was nice to see them again though; he had been very concerned about Theo’s arm, and had been happy to hear that it was responding well to the warmer climate, though it didn’t seem too good last night. Still, perhaps it was only a temporary thing.

It didn’t take long before the smell of bacon was permeating the twins’ flat, and the noises of people waking to the day began to make themselves heard.

“Mmm,” a voice said behind him, “smells heavenly!”

He turned and smiled at Pansy. Things had changed since those days at Hogwarts when she’d wanted to hand Harry over, he mused. He smiled at her.

“Tea?”

“Please,” she answered, taking a seat, then asked, rather quietly, “what were you thinking about?”

Neville eyed her for a moment, and decided he wasn’t going to lie, or even sweeten the truth.

“Actually,” he replied, “I was thinking about the War.”

“And me in the Great Hall, saying we should give Harry up,” she said, sadly.

It was not a question, so Neville just nodded, and handed her a mug of tea.

She smiled at him.

“Thanks,” she said. “For the tea. And for not holding a grudge.”

“It’s the past,” Neville said with a shrug as he brought his own mug over to the table, breakfast now being cooked and waiting ready under a warming charm. “Let’s leave it there.”

At this point a rather bleary-eyed Theodore Nott stumbled into the room.

“Morning, Theo,” Neville said cheerily and then took a good look at the man. Theo was rubbing his right arm, quite obviously in a lot of pain.

“Here,” he said, jumping up and helping the man to a seat. “I’ll get you a pain reliever,” he continued. “Or should we go straight to St Mungo’s?”

Theo shook his head. “It’s just the usual flare-up I get here from time to time. They won’t be able to do anything. Trouble is, neither will I, much. Cheers,” he said, as Neville handed him the pain reliever he’d fetched, together with a large mug of tea to wash it down.

“Trouble?” George’s voice asked from the doorway.

“Arm,” Neville replied.

“Oh. Mungo’s?”

“After breakfast, I think,” Neville said, clearly having no trouble understanding the rather telegraphic conversation. Pansy, not so lucky, caught the sense of the last remark, at least, and nodded her agreement; her husband might make light of it in public but she knew the arm still bothered him more than he was prepared to admit.

* * *

Breakfast was a much more restrained affair at Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa ate early; they were going to their chateau in the Loire valley, having decided it was convenient for the Delacour mansion where the wedding was being held. Of course, this was something of an illusion; the Floo network now worked perfectly well between the two countries, so they could just as easily have stayed at home. But Narcissa welcomed the opportunity to spend some time elsewhere; and Lucius welcomed anything that made his wife happy.

Narcissa put down her copy of the Daily Prophet and sighed.

“Just what are they playing at?” she asked, more to herself than by way of conversation; but Lucius looked up and answered her anyway.

“The Ministry?” he enquired.

“Yes. Can’t they leave things alone?”

Lucius chuckled. “History says no,” he rejoined. “No, I think this is Arthur Weasley’s pet project again.”

Narcissa looked at him, a little stymied by this. “In what way?” she asked.

“Oh, you must have realized that he paired people up with the Muggle version of the careers they love best – Draco’s love for potions took him to the Muggle equivalent, the pharmaceutical industry; Weasley wanted to be an Auror, so he researched the Police, and so on.”

“Intriguing,” Narcissa replied. “And what did our Raven get?”

“The judiciary,” Lucius said. “Especially given the Potter Code and all that, I think it’s clear where Shacklebolt and Doge are trying to steer him.”

“And what do you think?” she enquired.

Lucius paused. This needed some care. Narcissa loved their second son as fiercely as their first; if she felt that the Ministry was hounding Harry, she would not hesitate to hoe into them. And in the present climate, with people so exercised about the strange events of the last few days, that was the last thing they needed.

“I think,” he replied, “that Harry isn’t going to do anything he doesn’t want to. Look at what happened with Auror training.”

“True,” he wife conceded. “You said you spoke to Hermione Weasley yesterday? What did she want?”

And with that, conversation over the table turned easily to the discussion Lucius had had with Hermione. It was rather a good thing that they had not managed to discuss it over dinner the day before, due to having been dragged out to the dinner with the Ministry senior officials and Hogwarts professors; for Narcissa was rather pleased to learn that Hermione wanted to talk about the events of May the first. Here, at last, was a potential explanation for the enchantment and its lifting, one that did not involve spell or potion, which fitted the circumstances very well. It was, she agreed, going to be a most interesting conversation.

By the time they had finished their breakfast, it was nine o’clock. They Flooed to the French chateau where, due to the time difference, it was already ten o’clock. To their surprise, the chateau was empty apart from its staff; this was odd as Harry and Draco were supposed to meet them here at ten o’clock before Draco went off to help Blaise.

Narcissa called for a house elf.

“Have the Potter-Malfoys arrived?” she enquired.

“No, mistress,” the small creature replied. “Zetty is not knowing where they is.”

“Never mind,” Narcissa replied a little abstractedly. She was quite surprised they had not already come and gone; Draco was Blaise’s best man, after all, and should have been there looking after him. She picked up some Floo powder and put a call in to The Lodge.

“Yes Mistress Narcissa?” Tiny’s voice answered her once she had got through. “How can Tiny bees helping you?”

“Are Draco and Harry still there?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, mistress,” Tiny replied. “They is being not able to be disturbed.”

“Ah,” said Narcissa, realizing what must have happened. Well, they were young, and Draco was newly pregnant, and they had been kept apart for days; some allowances could be made. But one must still do one’s duty.

“Please remind Draco that he has responsibilities towards Mr Zabini, and let them know I expect them here for morning tea at eleven o’clock – ten o’clock British time.”

“Yes, Mistress!” Tiny answered enthusiastically, her little head bobbing up and down in the fireplace. The rapid motion, and the green tinge, made Narcissa feel a little queasy, so she was happy to finish the call and wander off to make sure her wardrobe for the afternoon was up to the meticulous standard she required.

It was just before eleven that the Floo chime went off, announcing incoming visitors; Narcissa smirked to herself as she made her way back to the reception room, where she found her Dragon being force-fed a potion by his over-attentive husband.

“I’m all right, Harry!” Draco said, sounding somewhat exasperated. “I don’t need an anti-nausea potion!”

“Borage had you brew them for a reason,” Harry insisted.

“Harry’s right, you know,” Narcissa said, and they both turned to her sharply, not having heard her come in. She smiled knowingly at them and continued, “much better to take them every time. Otherwise, you’ll find you suddenly react, at the most inopportune moment. Trust me, Dragon, I learned it the hard way with you.”

“Fine,” Draco said, snatching the phial from Harry. He could see he wasn’t going to win this one, so he might as well not bother fighting. And, to be entirely honest, he did feel a little twinge of nausea; not that he was about to let anyone know that. The way Harry was being, he’d find himself tucked up in bed in two seconds flat ‘just in case’.

As he drank the potion, Narcissa’s smile broadened a little.

“Now!” she announced. “To the parlor for morning tea!”

* * *

Robin Banks was worried.

He was supposed to be attending the Zabini – Delacour wedding purely socially, as Ginny’s guest; she and Luna having been invited due to the rather surprising friendship that seemed to have developed between Blaise and the two of them. But his father’s letter had rather changed that.

He read over it again. It explained that Banks senior would also be attending the wedding; well, that was no surprise: his father was both a personal friend and a professional colleague of Auguste Delacour, after all. And of course, as a senior ministry official, he was entitled to an Auror detail. At first, Robin had suspected his father wanted him to be part of that detail, but it was, if anything, worse than that. Skimming, he reached the important bit: ‘disturbing reports …’, ‘underground activity’, and then the request: ‘I’d appreciate it if you could just be an extra pair of eyes and ears, especially given your knowledge of the Thillin girl’.

Scratch being worried; his blood was running cold. Eva Thillin had, after all, outsmarted them all, and escaped from under their very noses. The girl was dangerous; if she was targeting the wedding, as his father seemed to think she might be, they would need a lot more than just an extra pair of eyes.

“All right, love?” Ginny asked, coming into the room.

He turned and smiled at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

“Yes, thanks,” he answered distractedly, then seemed to come to a decision. “Gin, do you know where I might find Harry?”

* * *

Morning tea turned out to be somewhat larger than Narcissa had expected. Robin had Floo-called just as they were about to go in, and naturally she had insisted that he come through; so as well as the two Malfoys and the two Malfoy-Potters, she presided over a table with Robin Banks, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood, who apparently had been visiting the other two and was also invited to the wedding.

It was a charming event; everyone was on their best behaviour, and much looking forward to the wedding. At half-past eleven, Draco rose to his feet and apologized that he really should go and see to Blaise. His mother waved him off, and wondered aloud whether the others might like a stroll in the grounds.

“Ah,” Robin said, “I was hoping I might have a little word with Harry and Lucius. If it’s not too much trouble.”

It wasn’t; in a very few minutes the gentlemen had repaired to Lucius’s study while the three ladies had availed themselves of the garden.

“How can we help you, Mr Banks?” Lucius asked, wondering just what the resourceful Auror could want now.

“Well,” Robin replied, a little shamefacedly, “it could all be a hippogriff’s nest, but I received an owl from my father this morning. It seems that there’s a rumour from the French underworld that Gaston Gaspard might want to try something this weekend, possibly even at the wedding.”

“I don’t follow,” Harry said. “Who is he, and what could he want?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Banks,” Lucius said, in the tone that really meant ‘correct me if you don’t mind dying a slow, painful death’, “but I understand that Monsieur Gaspard is a big figure in Marseille, and it is believed that he took in one Eva Thillin.”

Robin nodded, and Harry took in a sharp breath.

“Is there anything concrete?” Lucius asked.

“No,” Robin admitted. “I just hoped that maybe if we all kept our eyes open, we could forestall anything that eventuates.”

“Which would be good, except that we have no clue what might happen,” Lucius replied drily.

Robin looked rather chastened at this. “Sorry,” he began, but Lucius cut him off.

“Not at all, Mr Banks. You have alerted us to a possible problem, and that is all to the good. Did your father say anything else?”

Robin pulled the letter out of his pocket and walked them through it. They had been discussing the various possibilities and likelihoods for about twenty minutes, when their conference was interrupted by the arrival of a slightly hysterical Zetty.

“Please Master Lord Harry Potter Dragon-rider Goblin-friend!” she exclaimed. “Master Draco is being Flooing for you! You is being needed at Zabini Manor! It is being a nemergency!”

“Oh dear,” Harry said.

* * *

Draco arrived at Zabini Manor to find that things had reached the controlled panic stage. Blaise seemed to have gone to pieces a bit; his normally calm demeanor had given way to irritability. Draco had seen this before; this was Blaise after a big night out, and he could only assume that the twins had taken the groom out for an impromptu stag night without him. He would have words with them about this later. For the moment he leapt into action, calling a house-elf for a sobriety potion, helping Blaise to find his cufflinks, taking the ring off him before he could lose that too, and generally soothing worried brows as best he could.

Things were not helped when, about twenty minutes later, a party of people Flooed in from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Theo and Pansy were with them, but Blaise and Draco took one look at Theo and knew that things were not good.

“Your arm?” Blaise asked.

“Not good,” Theo replied with a wince of pain. “St Mungo’s staff told me to take things very easy.”

“Right,” Blaise said; the immediate crisis of a groomsman who wouldn’t be able to perform his duties seemed to galvanize him into action. “Draco, can you get hold of Po—of Harry?”

“Yes, I suppose so, why?” the blond replied.

“He’s just been promoted to emergency groomsman,” Blaise replied.

* * *

Over lunch, Blaise explained to Harry exactly what was needed. Of course, he accepted at once, though worried that he wouldn’t know what to do; but it didn’t take long for them to explain things, especially since, for the ceremony at least, his participation was pretty much limited to standing next to Draco and being supportive in any way required.

Draco was delighted that Harry was there; after all, there were still over two hours before they were going to Floo to the Delacour mansion, and Blaise was going to be feeling every single minute of that time …

* * *

The Delacours had set aside a large space as a reception room for all their guests to Floo into. As they arrived, they were offered champagne and canapés by their hostess and her nieces; clearly this was not going to be a formal, stuffy pure-blood function as would probably have happened in England, Narcissa mused as she surveyed the scene. All the guests seemed to be quite relaxed and openly enjoying the event.

She looked again. Perhaps not _everyone_ was relaxed, she realized …

* * *

The party of Beauxbatons girls looked up as Madame Honoree Delacour bore down on them.

“Now, ladies,” she said brightly, “please do circulate a little; we can’t have you intimidating our other guests by the mass of your group, can we?”

The girls laughed. They were quite used to being chided for such things; Beauxbatons placed a lot of store in correct behaviour at social events. So it was quite automatic for them to scan the guests to see who to go and greet.

“Oh look, Philippe!” Danielle Thibault exclaimed to her boyfriend as she spotted one particular guest. “One of the English professors is here! I must go and say hello quickly. You won’t mind?”

And, not giving him time to reply, she raced off.

In fact, Philippe Paquin did mind. There was one particular Professor from the British school she had been at that he had been warned about. It would be just his luck that his girlfriend was reconnecting with the rather well-connected Auror. He discreetly cast a listening charm; but as he did so, another couple wandered into the line between them and it appeared that they had a privacy charm activated, for Philippe’s charm failed.

Robin Banks was delighted to see Danielle Thibault again, though more than a little surprised at the eagerness with which she came up to him.

“Monsieur Banks!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, and reaching up to kiss his cheek. As she did so, he naturally inclined his head to her, so she was able to whisper in his ear without being seen.

“Philippe, my boyfriend, ‘e must not ‘ear us,” she hissed.

A little surprised, Robin quickly threw up a privacy charm, taking advantage of the Malfoys, who had just wandered between him and the young man who had to be the aforementioned Philippe.

“We are safe,” he replied. “What is it?”

“Philippe thinks I am a fool,” Danielle replied hotly, “but it is he who knows nothing. He is working for that awful man Eva Thillin is with.”

“With Gaston Gaspard?” he asked, and Danielle nodded. “How can you be sure?”

“Pah,” she replied, “I am sure. We have had some sessions with our own Securité Magique – the French Auror corps – and I ‘ave used their methods. Philippe, ‘e is reporting on us. I think ‘e is supposed to get to ‘Arry.”

Robin smiled, taking care to make it look a pleasant smile. Philippe couldn’t hear them, but he could still see.

“He’ll find that rather hard,” he said, ‘especially now we know’, he thought to himself. He cancelled the privacy charm as Lucius and Narcissa moved away.

“It’s very kind of you to ask after me, Mademoiselle Thibault,” he said smoothly, “but you must not let me steal all your time. Will you introduce me to your boyfriend later?”

“Of course. And zank you,” Danielle said, taking the hint and moving away back to Philippe.

* * *

Paquin was feeling more than a little desperate. He was supposed to take out Potter before the ceremony, and had been given a very powerful potion to do it with. The problem was that Potter wasn’t here. By rights, he should have come with the Malfoys, who, he discovered, had been the couple with the privacy charm. He decided he really did need to know what was going on; so when Lucius went to get some champagne for his wife, he moved across to her.

“It is Madame Malfoy, I believe?”

“Yes indeed,” Narcissa replied. “And you are …”

“Oh please, forgive me, I am Philippe Paquin, I am ‘ere with Danielle Thibault. And Madame, may I say I ‘ave ‘eard of your beauty, but the reports do not do you justice.”

Narcissa smiled. But in truth she was a little concerned. She was quite used to such pleasantries and knew the man was being insincere; but the name ‘Thibault’, that rang some sort of bell.

“Monsieur, you flatter me,” she said, pretty much automatically.

“Non, non!” the Frenchman replied. “And I ‘ear you are to be congratulated for having the famous ‘Arry Potter in your family? Is ‘e ‘ere today as well? I should so like to meet ‘im.”

“Ah,” she replied, and all at once she remembered exactly who Danielle – and more to the point, Marie – Thibault was. The boy was pumping her, and rather clumsy about it. She wondered exactly where he fitted into the French establishment – Paquin was not a name she knew; and she was careful to keep abreast of such things, it had been very much her duty to do so throughout her marriage.

She took care to make her reply a little more discreet than it might have been otherwise. “Mr Potter is indeed my son-in-law,” she replied, “and a friend of both the bride and groom; he will be here soon enough. I regret that that probably won’t be before the ceremony; perhaps I could introduce you at the reception?”

“Zank you,” Philippe smiled, “that would be lovely. Oh, please excuse me, I see Danielle is alone and I must not be remiss in my duty to her.”

With that, the boy scuttled away. Narcissa snorted quietly to herself. Danielle had been alone the whole time; he had left because Lucius was coming back.

“Who was that?” her husband asked as he handed her a champagne flute.

“An ambitious young man who is over-anxious to meet Harry,” she replied.

“Ah,” Lucius replied. “I wonder if that is related to Mr Banks’s problem.”

He looked across to Robin, who gave him a very telling little nod. Narcissa did not miss the exchange; clearly there was something going on that she didn’t know about. Well, she trusted her husband to tell her if she needed to know anything. In the meantime, she would make damn sure that Philippe Paquin did not get anywhere near Harry Malfoy-Potter.

* * *

Eva Thillin was nervous. Their spy had not contacted them, and she simply didn’t believe that they would get anywhere unless Potter really was out of action. She had seen the man at close range and, simply put, she didn’t want to go anywhere near him. Unlike Gaston, she regarded Corner’s attack on him as a lucky fluke, not an indication that Potter was fallible. Hang it all, he should have been dead as a result; the coin should have set his body on fire, not completely fail.

She didn’t bother mentioning these misgivings to Gaston; he would simply tell her that the spy wouldn’t necessarily be able to get back to them anyway; that it wasn’t part of the plan; and they were strong enough to deal with Potter if they had to. No, their leader only had eyes for the prize: he was going to strike a blow at the heart of French appeasement, to show the Ministère de la Magie that they were a force to be reckoned with, and, if all went well, kill both Delacour and Banks, which would set this disgusting Anglo-French accord that was happening back a hundred years.

Eva had groaned when he had said all that at the pep-talk back at Marseille. What was it with French revolutionaries and their ridiculous flowery idealism? Still, she had willingly joined him; her fate was tied to his, so she really didn’t have much choice.

* * *

The guests had been asked to take their seats, and there was still no sign of Potter. Philippe accompanied Marie and Danielle Thibault into the ballroom, where the wedding was to be held, and at once realized why he had not seen Potter before: at the front of the room, standing in a line, were the groom, a white-blond who must be Draco Malfoy, and a boy who just had to be Potter on the end.

“Ooh la la!” Danielle exclaimed. “It seems Monsieur Nott must be indisposed. He was to be the other groomsman,” she explained to Philippe before he could even draw breath to ask, “but he has a bad arm. It must have flared up, I suppose. What a pity. Shall we sit here?”

Philippe looked at the seat she proposed. It was somewhat towards the back, on Angelique’s side – as befitted a school friend of the bride, he supposed. He plastered on a smile.

“That will do fine,” he said. “Let’s let the older folk have a better view,” he simpered, _and be in the line of fire when the balloon goes up,_ he thought. For there was nothing for it now: the others would attack, come Hell or high water, so he really could only try to stay out of the way.

Madame Maxime, who was evidently presiding, entered the room and strode to the front. The strains of _Treulich geführt_ rang out, and the whole congregation rose and looked to the back as Angelique Delacour entered on her father’s arm, followed by her two cousins.

It had begun.

* * *

French history is replete with failed attempts at insurgency of one type or another, of people fighting for ‘the cause’, and, as often as not, dying for it. One could put the Battle of Waterloo in that particular category; a rather spectacular and very visible failure, involving three armies and the death of many men. Or the student riots immortalized in _Les Miserables_ , where young men died for a cause they believed to be truly noble.

The events of the fourteenth of November were entirely at the other end of the spectrum. They were never going to be on the same scale of course; Gaston had a total of eight soldiers in his raiding party as he was not expecting any real resistance. But more importantly, he wasn’t expecting Potter to be awake; Paquin’s potion should have had him sleeping soundly by half-way through the proceedings.

He was also expecting the element of surprise. So when he entered the ballroom under cover of a Notice-me-not charm, he was quite shocked to see Harry Potter, not sleeping but very much awake, and not watching the wedding oblivious to danger but clearly very watchful.

And another thing worked against the Frenchman. Harry was standing next to Draco. He saw straight through the charm, as he was expecting something of the sort, and grasped his husband’s hand. Instantly, a shimmering shield seemed to encompass the entire congregation, who for the most part seemed quite oblivious of it.

Gaspard stood transfixed, his mouth open. In front of him, huge swirls of almost transparent green and silver pulsed with energy, with thin lines of red light weaving them together. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and for a moment it made him quite forget why he was there. Then he awoke to himself with a snarl. It was lovely, yes, but it looked flimsy; he didn’t think it would stop a kneazle, much less one of his spells.

He cast a powerful confundus charm, intending to reduce the crowd before him to panic before they went in for the kill. His spell hit the shield … and was completely absorbed.

“Zut!” he swore to himself. It was clear that his stealth attack was doomed from the beginning. No, they were expected; his carefully-made plan had gone awry before it had really started. “This must be that Haussmann shield!”

“Yes indeed,” Eva replied with a sigh, all of her misgivings returning tenfold. Potter was bad news, pure and simple. She dropped her head in fearful resignation; she knew there was nothing to be done now.

And these were the only words that were spoken in the battle. For, while the attackers had been distracted by the shield, a group of French Aurors had snuck up behind them; and the next thing any of the Marseille gang knew was waking up in a cell in Paris.

They never saw freedom again.

* * *

Draco heaved a sigh of relief. Blaise was married. The wedding had gone off splendidly. Harry had been perfect as a groomsman; he’d managed to dance with Gabrielle Delacour, as tradition demanded, and not step on her feet, as politeness demanded. Draco suspected this was more down to her skill at dancing than his, but right now he was just happy that things had gone so well. Harry had even looked after Theo, going so far as to make sure the photographer took some pictures of the Slytherin in the groomsman role, which he didn’t really deserve. But, Draco mused, his husband was generous like that.

The reception had been delightful; the food, of course, was magnificent; the speeches were in the main a touch long, but they had all survived and now the formal business was over and there was nothing left but to enjoy themselves.

He found, wonder of wonders, a vacant chair next to his husband, and sat down.

“Champagne, m’sieur?” a waiter asked.

Draco began to refuse, but the man insisted, handing him a glass from the middle of the tray. “I think that will serve, sir?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Draco took a sniff. He knew that scent well, and smiled at the man.

“Thank you,” he said, and the waiter left tactfully.

Draco turned to his husband.

“It was you, wasn’t it.”

Harry looked at him for a second before he realized what was going on.

“The elderflower?” he asked. “Yep.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He reached over and stroked Draco’s hair, and they enjoyed a moment of silence together.

“That man who was with Danielle Thibault seems to have vanished,” Harry said at last.

“He was part of the gang,” a voice said at his elbow, and he turned to find that Robin Banks had joined them.

“Ah, so your fears were not groundless after all,” Harry said with a smile.

Robin laughed. “No. But the whole thing was a non-event, really.”

“What was?” Draco asked, wondering just what he’d missed.

Harry explained about the conversation that he and Lucius had had with Robin back at the Malfoy chateau, and that he had seen the gang come in during the wedding.

“So _that’s_ why you grabbed my hand. I did wonder,” Draco replied. “And the Shield appeared?”

Harry nodded.

“Wow,” Draco said, then admitted a little sheepishly, “I didn’t really notice.”

“Good,” Harry said. “You were there to look after Blaise. That was the important thing.”

Draco looked like he was going to protest; but Harry found a rather effective way to silence him.

“Hm hm,” another voice coughed as the kiss was threatening to become more intimate than was entirely appropriate, and Harry turned to see Lucius Malfoy looking both a little shocked and rather amused. “That’s enough of that, I think. Raven, I wonder if Hermione and I could have a word?”

Lucius waved in the direction of a table across the room a little, where Hermione was sitting by herself.

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Please excuse me,” he said to Draco and Robin, and rose and followed Lucius over to Hermione.

Robin watched them go.

“That man is an absolute godsend,” he remarked.

“I’m not about to disagree,” Draco said drily. “I just wish he’d slow down a bit. But he won’t. He’ll jump straight back into training on Monday.”

Robin looked surprised. “Has he not discussed that with you yet?”

Draco stared at him. “Discussed what?”

“He’s resigning from the Aurors.”

Draco let out a long breath.

“No, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Oh,” Robin said, realizing that perhaps he had spoken out of turn. “Well, no doubt he wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s probably it,” Draco agreed; but they both knew that neither of them really believed it …

* * *

True to form, Hermione was well into her explanation of what they had learnt during the week before Harry had properly sat down.

“Whoa!” he said. “Slowly, Hermione! So, there’s something about a lifted enchantment, and Luna thinks it has something to do with what?”

Lucius looked at him with an expression that Harry had never seen on his face before.

“Are you not aware of this enchantment?”

“No,” Harry replied blankly. “Should I be?”

“It makes sense,” Hermione remarked. “If it is due to Harry, I mean. He wouldn’t know, in that case.”

“Yes, I see,” Lucius replied. “So, Harry, Luna thinks it has something to do with what you did after the Battle of Hogwarts. When you broke the binding on Draco’s and my magic, and caused the Debt.”

Harry winced, and Lucius erupted into apology.

“Sorry, that was careless of me. Not your fault, I understand that. But can you remember what you said?”

“Hmm,” Harry said, closing his eyes and casting his mind back to that rather fateful day. “I remember … there wasn’t a spell as such, I just had the Elder wand and then …”

He stopped, but Lucius could guess why.

“It was the stone as well, wasn’t it?” he said softly.

Harry’s eyes opened wide and he stared at his father-in-law.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t know, I guessed,” Lucius admitted. “I saw you pocketing something afterward, and that was the only thing I could think of that made any sense.”

“Hang on,” Hermione said, “you had your cloak with you at the time, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said, a little wearily. “Do you think there was something to the story of the Hallows after all? That I was the Master of Death? Anyway,” he said, dismissing the speculation with a wave of his hand, “not important. I didn’t cast a spell, I was just angry that Voldemort had done this to Draco and I couldn’t think what to do, I just mumbled words out loud.”

“What words?” Lucius asked, and Harry could easily hear that the man’s patience was being sorely tried. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember. As he did so, he had a weird flashback to that day in May, and he could see the words floating in the air in front of him.

"Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …" he said, then sat back and opened his eyes.

“Any ideas?”

But, if Hermione did have any, they were forestalled as Madame Maxime’s voice boomed out that it was time to proceed outside to watch the fireworks.

* * *

When they got outside, Draco hugged his husband close. Oh, they needed to talk, and he would have some sharp words about keeping secrets, but now it was Blaise’s celebration day, and he wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Are they Weasley fireworks?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Draco answered. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes have become _the_ people to go to for fireworks. And I happen to know that Neville is making quite a name for himself designing them.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “That’s wonderful!”

Further conversation was rendered impossible as the noise of exploding powder filled the air. The display was indeed wonderful, with plenty of starbursts and rockets; and then things quietened down just a little and people started chatting again.

Big mistake.

With a huge ‘BANG!’ a green firework erupted, then seemed to twist and turn. Before their very eyes, it became recognizably a long, thin serpent, winding around in the air. As this happened, another loud bang heralded the arrival of a white starburst which formed itself into the shape of a Veela.

Harry laughed. “Of course!” he said. “The Slytherin and the Veela!”

But that was not the end of Neville’s inventiveness. The two colours, white and green, came together; the green swirled around and all of a sudden there were two snakes, and the white became a winged staff that the snakes twisted around; the Caduceus, the symbol of healers in both the Muggle and Magical worlds.

“The Caduceus symbol!” Auguste Delacour boomed out. “In honour of Blaise’s becoming a healer! Just brilliant!”

And it was.

With that, the night was all but over; the bride and groom departed and Draco and Harry, relieved of all duties, Flooed back to the Malfoy chateau where it was not long before they were in bed.

Harry fell asleep straight away; Draco took a little longer. He was still running on adrenalin, and needed time to settle down after all the events of the day. He cast his mind back to the calm at the end of the reception. He had to admit he was truly impressed by the magnificent fireworks of the night. He fell asleep hoping that there weren't going to be fireworks of a different sort tomorrow …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks to all who comment. Padfootette, Diddleymaz, here is more! Drakey, we've, I mean they've, put you on the list. I'm sure. Erm... BAFan, I suspect they went for 'Sorcerer' 'cos it sounds more magical. I thought the last para was particularly poetic, glad you liked it. And yeah, the howlers were fun.


	88. Returning to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a little bit of a graphic description of the evils of morning sickness.  
> And more super sugary fluffy goodness.  
> Oh, and a lemon.

**88\. Returning to School**

No-one knew it at the time, of course, but the weekend of Blaise and Angelique’s wedding turned out to be something of a watershed moment. Perhaps the most immediate evidence of this was the actions of Ivan Smetana, and their effects on two schools.

As the two visiting Durmstrang students had been invited to spend the weekend in France as well as attending the wedding, there had been no need for Ivan Smetana to perform chaperone duties; indeed, with the obvious rapport that had built amongst the Eighth Year students, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was surplus to requirements anyway. He had discussed this with the Charms Professor and the Headmistress. MacGonagall had readily agreed that he was welcome to do as he pleased over the weekend; Flitwick said he was quite happy to take on pastoral responsibility for the students, which he regarded himself as having anyway, and that, provided the Durmstrang Institute didn’t mind, there was no need for a representative specifically for the two gentlemen.

On the Saturday of the wedding, Smetana had travelled by portkey to the Durmstrang Institute itself, and asked for an interview with the Headmaster. This was granted promptly; Zoltan Koblens, the current Headmaster of Durmstrang and Karkaroff’s former deputy, was very interested in promoting ties with Hogwarts now that both Dumbledore – whom he had cordially detested – and Voldemort were out of the picture, so anything Smetana had to discuss with him was likely to be interesting.

In fact, the interview proved rather more interesting than he had thought. And certainly a lot longer; they talked for nearly four hours. Surprisingly, only the first half hour of that time was spent discussing their posts; once Karkaroff showed Koblens exactly who he was, the latter seemed to almost collapse with relief at the thought that he could hand back the Headmastership. That had brought a smile to Karkaroff’s lips; he had always thought that the man made an excellent Deputy but hopeless Head, and he was glad the man agreed with him. It helped, of course, that he hadn’t actually resigned from the Institute, and, being presumed dead, had never actually been formally fired from it; so technically, he was still Headmaster, and that seemed to sit very well with Zoltan.

The rest of the time was spent deciding exactly what changes would be made to the school, and how the Visiting programme with Hogwarts might be extended; together with careful consideration of exactly how to play the revelation that Karkaroff was back. In the end, it got around to dinner time; and Koblens suggested that the simplest expedient might be the best and they both went down to dinner together.

Behind the High Table at the Durmstrang Institute’s Great Hall there is a ceremonial robing room that the Masters use to adjust their robes before entering the Hall. Quite commonly, the Headmaster will wait in there until all the students are present, then walk to his place. At this point, the students and staff all stand as a mark of respect, and the Headmaster then sits and says a German phrase which translates roughly as ‘pray, be seated and be fed’; the assembled company generally fall in with this suggestion with alacrity, resuming the conversations they were having before they were interrupted. Today, however, it was Karkaroff who walked in, Karkaroff who sat down, and Karkaroff who said the phrase; instead of the usual taking of places, the entire company stood open-mouthed.

Karkaroff looked up at them.

“What?” he said in German, “I’m back!”

At this, the older students snapped out of their stupor. This was so much the old Headmaster that all doubt was removed in their minds, and they began to clap, haltingly at first, and then with enthusiasm. The applause was taken up by the whole room, including the entire staff.

When it finished, Karkaroff stood up and gestured to everyone to sit down.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said when the noise died down. “I am back; but things will not be as before. Deputy Headmaster Koblens and I have had long discussions about improving the school, and announcements will be made in due course. For now, I will say only that while I was away, I learnt some different ways of teaching and learning. The old arrogance that we know so well will be tempered from now on. We will no longer turn a blind eye to bullying as we have so often before; the weak deserve to be protected as much as the strong.

“But this is enough serious business for the evening. Eat!” he finished, throwing his arm up in a splendid gesture. A veritable feast appeared on the tables immediately, and for the next half hour there were no sounds but those of contented eating.

It was a thoughtful group of students who went to bed that night. Clearly, the future was going to be a stranger place than they had expected; but the general feeling was positive. Headmaster Karkaroff had always been held in high regard, after all.

* * *

_Sunday 15 November_

Draco woke up far too early for a Sunday morning.

He propped himself up on one elbow, and watched his husband sleep on, oblivious. After, Robin Banks’s bombshell about Harry quitting the Aurors, Draco found himself in two minds as he watched the even rhythm of Harry’s breathing. One part of him found it just too cute for words and wanted to snuggle up with Harry and hold him close and not let go, celebrating how much more they could be together now that Harry didn’t have to go to the Ministry any more. The other part wanted to shake his husband awake and ask him just exactly what he thought he was doing, giving up Auror training without even discussing it with him.

In the end, though, it was a different faction of his mind that won out: the faction that said ‘I have to go pee RIGHT NOW!’. Had he been in an observant frame of mind, he might have felt rather chuffed at just how fast he could leap out of bed, and rather amazed that Harry could sleep through him doing so.

It was only when he got to the ensuite that he realised there was another thing he really should have remembered before jumping out of bed quite so energetically. For the last few days, he had been taking anti-nausea potions, but last night, with the emotional rollercoaster of Blaise and Angelique’s wedding, Theo’s arm, and learning about Harry quitting the Aurors, he had clean forgotten to do so. And his stomach was making it very clear that this was a bad oversight. A very bad oversight indeed.

* * *

Harry woke to find the sun streaming onto his bed. He turned over, hunting blindly for Draco; but it seemed his bed was empty. He sat up groggily and snatched his glasses from the bedside table. He put them on and blinked. The room was entirely too bright, he decided. And just where was his husband?

A noise came from the ensuite and all at once it was all too clear just where Draco was, and what he was doing. Harry leapt from the bed and ran to find his husband, as he had guessed, sitting on the floor, bent over the toilet bowl, throwing up. He quickly wet a flannel and went over to the man, carefully pulling his hair back from his face so it didn’t get messed up, and rubbed his neck and forehead with the flannel.

After a few minutes, Draco’s retching seemed to be subsiding, and Harry called for a house-elf.

“Yes, Master Harry,” the small creature answered when she arrived. “How can Zetty be helping the young masters?”

Harry snorted, just managing to make it sound like a cough. _By not letting Hermione hear you talking like that, for one thing,_ he thought; but he knew by now that the poor thing couldn’t help it. It was how house-elves thought; to them, it was an honour that he asked for things, not a position of slavery.

“Could you please fetch some soda water with elderflower for Draco?” he asked.

The small creature’s eyes went very wide and round, and Harry could see she was near tears.

“Master Harry is so kind,” she whispered. “Zetty will be right back.”

As she popped away, Harry pulled his husband into his arms and wiped his mouth with the flannel.

“All done?” he asked.

“Mmm – yeah,” Draco replied somewhat incoherently as he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry finished cleaning him, lifted him up, and carried him to bed, where he found the cordial he had requested waiting for them on the bedside table. He held the glass to Draco’s lips and he drank greedily, then snuggled into Harry’s warm embrace.

Harry chuckled.

“OK, back to sleep, I get it,” he said. But Draco didn’t hear; he was already asleep.

* * *

“Awake at last, Potter,” he heard from across the room.

This wasn’t good. Draco only called him ‘Potter’ like that when he wanted to make a point of some sort. By the sound of it, he was sitting in one of the pair of armchairs by the window. And he was pissed off.

 “Draco?” he asked. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” his husband replied. He looked over to see that, despite it being Sunday, the day he liked to lounge in bed as long as possible, Draco was fully dressed, even though, despite their earlier adventures, it was not yet nine o’clock.

“Sure,” he agreed. “But I need to do a couple of things first.”

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, Harry sat in the other armchair across from Draco.

“I guess,” he said, “we kind of need to talk about the future. I, um, came to some decisions after the Auror camp.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. From what Robin had hinted, he had expected that Harry would prevaricate, and they would have an argument; had he misjudged the situation so badly?

“I see,” he said, impassively. “And you didn’t mention this before because …”

“Well, because, when would I have, really,” Harry replied. “We didn’t see each other on Friday, and then yesterday was Blaise’s day and you were busy helping him, and I really didn’t want to sit you down for a heart-to-heart in the middle of that.”

“I see,” Draco said, and the iciness that had been in his voice was definitely wavering. He looked at Harry and all at once Harry recognised the expression: his husband was nervous. “So, you weren’t trying to hide anything from me?”

Harry was astonished. Was this really what had got Draco all worked up?

“No, Dragon, of course not,” he replied. And then he worked it out. “Someone told you, didn’t they?”

Draco looked at him like a unicorn startled by a late-night Lumos. He seemed to have gone from nervous to frightened; instead of a verbal answer, he simply nodded.

“And so you were worried that this was all about keeping secrets,” he said with a sigh. He walked over to his husband and, ignoring his slight protests, picked him up, sat in the chair, and cuddled him on his lap.

“No secrets, Dragon,” he said reassuringly. “Of course I was going to tell you about it. Of course we’re going to talk about it, and decide where we go from here, and what we’re going to do. Together.”

By now, Draco had started shuddering and sobbing.

“Do we need to get you to a healer?” Harry asked, beginning to wonder if perhaps there was something seriously wrong with his husband and their children.

Draco shook his head and held his husband’s hands tight as he managed to bring his emotions back under control.

“I’m sorry,” he said, once he had calmed down. “It’s just … “ Here Draco took a deep breath, then continued, “Robin said that you were giving up being in the Aurors, and I got angry because you hadn’t talked to me about it. You’ve wanted to be an Auror throughout Hogwarts, and I felt you were just giving up your dream because of me. I’m sorry.”

Harry rocked Draco gently in his arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Dragon,” he said softly. “You were worried and concerned, I get that; and we can talk it out and deal with it. Only, do you think we could lie down? This chair isn’t so good for my back.”

Draco got up, giving him a weak smile, and they made their way back to bed. He called Zetty, asking for tea and toast, and that they not be disturbed for a while.

“Now,” Harry said, “it’s Robin who’s been talking out of turn, is it?”

Draco flushed bright red. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, I think you should,” Harry said. “But I think we’ve done the apologies. We were both at fault, and forgiven?”

It was both a statement and a question, and Draco nodded his agreement.

“Good,” Harry said. “And as for Robin, I’ll chat with him later,” he continued, in a voice that bode no good for the Auror.

Draco chuckled. “So,” he asked, a little diffidently, “you’re giving up what you always wanted?”

“What I was always pushed into,” Harry corrected. “The last couple of weeks have convinced me that the reality is not what I had envisaged at all. I was still trying to live other people’s dreams for me.”

Draco sat up on his elbow and eyed his husband with a serious expression on his face.

“So, you’re not really giving up your dream, my Raven?”

“No,” Harry replied strongly. And then he paused. There was something else behind this, he was sure of it. And then it hit him what it must be.

“And I’m definitely not going to want you to give up yours, Dragon. You’re going to be a Potions Master extraordinaire, and I’ll do everything I can to help you, to keep the four of us happy and safe.”

As he said ‘four’, Harry rubbed his hands over Draco’s little bump. Draco smiled and placed his hands over his husband's, rubbing along with him. He knew, all the time, that the babies were there; but there were definitely times when it seemed more real than others; and Harry saying that definitely made this one of those times. And it gave him a warm feeling that Harry really was thinking about him and the babies as much as himself.

“Yeah, being an Auror might not be that safe,” he said, a touch flippantly.

Harry laughed and nuzzled his husband, giving him a quick kiss, before putting his own serious face on.

“The truth is, really don’t want to be some kind of hit wizard, Draco. I guess, really, the thing I want most is what I have with you, and Mum and Dad, and the Weasleys, and Andromeda and Teddy: a family that I belong to. And a society that is working together to be whole, not splintering into factions over – well, it was blood status, but it could be anything else. Magical power, for example. I don’t want a society where anyone is seen as special in a way that excludes others. I want a world we can all live in, and belong to, and feel part of, and make up a whole.”

Draco hugged his husband very tight.

“My love,” he said softly, “you really are too good to be true.”

* * *

Sunday morning saw Igor Karkaroff walking into Gringotts, his Ivan Smetana glamour nowhere to be seen. He examined the Sword of Gryffindor in the centre of the banking lobby. It affected him far more than he had thought it would. If there could be such a rapprochement between Goblins and Wizards that the priceless heirloom could be returned here, then maybe there really was hope that everything could be undone and he could return to Wizarding society without hiding any more. As he gazed on the sword, he suddenly knew for certain what he had only thought before: that this was what he desperately wanted – an end to skulking around and playing a part. He wanted to be himself again.

He stood patiently in line, rather pleased that everyone seemed to ignore him; at least until he was called to a teller. He walked up to the ugly creature sitting on its high stool – Nagrik, if the name on the block of wood on the counter was correct – and found beady eyes staring at him intently.

“We were told you were dead,” the goblin said without preamble.

“You were told wrong,” he replied with no more ceremony.

The goblin pursed his lips, then jumped down from his stool and ran off. He stopped at the double doors at the far end of the lobby and turned back to Karkaroff.

“Well, come on,” he said curtly. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Very well,” Karkaroff said with a put-upon sigh; but inwardly he was smirking. He had managed to fluster a goblin; that didn’t happen every day.

* * *

Fred and George were rather surprised when the Malfoy owl landed on the breakfast table and proffered an elaborate-looking scroll at them. It was so unexpected that they seemed to be frozen in place, and it fell to Neville to actually relieve the owl of its burden and offer it a piece of bacon. The owl took the offering a little gingerly, rather in the manner of a master accepting a gift from a servant, dipped its head at Neville, and then flew off.

“Blimey!” Fred said. “Even their owls have got that supercilious thing down pat!”

George smirked, then turned to his husband.

“Come on, Neville,” he said. “What does it say?”

“Ooh!” said Angelina as she walked out of the bathroom, tying her bathrobe up. “That looks posh!” she said, taking a seat while Fred poured her a cup of tea.

“Not another wedding invitation? Or perhaps a birth announcement or something?” Fred speculated.

“Actually,” Neville replied, “it doesn’t really say. It’s an invitation to afternoon tea, but there’s no reason given.”

Just then the Floo flared. It was Ginny.

“Hello!” she said brightly. “The strangest thing just happened.”

“What’s that, Gin?” Fred asked.

“Robin and I have received an invitation to afternoon tea at the Malfoys’ chateau in France.”

“Oh I say,” George said, affecting an upper-class accent. “How spiffing for you. I do hope you have a nice new frock to wear?”

Ginny let out an ‘eep!’, then realised her leg was being pulled.

“George Weasley!” she said in the stern tone that she seemed to have inherited from her mother.

“It’s alright, Gin,” Neville cut in, sensing a family row brewing between the two rather feisty Weasleys and wanting none of it. “I’ll sort him out. And we’ve been invited too.”

“Really?” Ginny said, her face pensive. “I wonder what they’re up to… Well!" she continued after a slight pause. “I must go and check my frocks. I’ll look out a nice one for you, too, George. Bye!”

And, before her brother could react, the call was ended.

Neville turned back to the twins to see Fred shaking in silent mirth and George with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’ll sort me out, will you?” he asked calmly; and then his voice changed as he asked, “Promise?”

Neville let out an ‘eep!’ of his own and beat a hasty retreat back to his bedroom.

George smirked. Neville clearly hadn’t thought this through; after all, he shared the bedroom with George. And what better place to sort things out, the way George had in mind?

“I suspect Neville and I will occupied until lunchtime,” he said lasciviously before gathering up some of their more adult prank items and joining his husband in the bedroom.

“Ah,” Fred said, with an entirely bogus sigh in his voice. “Young love!”

“Indeed,” Angelina said rather drily. “Any idea where I might find me some of that?”

“Ah, my lady,” Fred replied with a wink, “I am at your disposal.”

Half an hour later, Neville found himself blindfolded, naked, and tied to the bed, being tickled with a feather that sent little sparks through his skin every time it touched. The lack of sight seemed to have his other senses working overtime; he was feeling everything so much more when he couldn’t see where the feather would touch next.

“George!” he begged. “Stop it!”

“Oh, come on love,” came the reply, “I can tell you don’t really mean it. This,” and here he took hold of Neville’s very hard erection, “is telling me just how much you’re truly enjoying it.”

“George,” Neville whined, “how am I going to ‘sort you out’ if I can’t touch you?”

In answer, the redhead spelled them both naked, except for the cuffs that Neville was wearing. As he did so, the blindfold came off and Neville was greeted by the sight of his husband kneeling astride him, his pupils wide-blown with lust and a very smug smirk on his face. The redhead whispered a quick lubricating charm and inched himself slowly down onto Neville’s hard member, groaning in pleasure as he did.

Neville couldn‘t believe how good it felt – here he was, practically unable to move, longing to reach up and touch his husband, but forced to lie back and enjoy it. It was obvious that his husband was enjoying it as much as he was; he would have loved to help out by stroking George’s very aroused cock, but the binds made that impossible, so he just lay back and enjoyed the view. As George lifted up again, Neville took advantage of the slight freedom he now had to push up with his pelvis, which had George letting out a loud, and very satisfying moan.

“Ohh Neville!” he screamed as he pushed down again and again, the sheer pleasure of his husband inside him quickly sending him into sheer bliss. As he climaxed, his muscles milked Neville of his orgasm too, and the two of them collapsed in ecstasy. Fortunately, George had the presence of mind to spell away the bindings before they fell into a deep, sated sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

* * *

In the end, Harry and Draco surfaced just before lunchtime. They found Lucius and Narcissa sitting in the conservatory on the south-facing side of the chateau. The area clearly got a lot of winter sun, and was well-sheltered; for, despite the sharp November weather, it was actually quite warm. _The sun,_ Harry thought, _and some very good heating charms, I suspect_. It was still hard for him, even after all these years in the Wizarding world, to remember just how much could be achieved with magic; but then, perhaps, ten formative years spent without it might be expected to take a while to overcome.

“Harry, Draco, good morning,” Narcissa greeted them pleasantly, then, seeing Harry’s face, stopped. “Harry dear, are you all right?”

“What?” Harry said as he sat down with his in-laws. “I mean, sorry, yes, I’m fine, I was just thinking a bit too much…”

“About?” Lucius prodded.

“Oh,” Harry said with a self-deprecating laugh, “magic, actually. About how warm it is in here, and then of course there are heating charms. It often takes me a while to remember I can do it, because for so long I wasn’t aware I could.”

Lucius sighed. He felt the Debt pulling at him; this must be affecting Harry more than he was saying. But he’d done all he could about it. He looked over at his son, to find Draco already looking at him with a rather knowing expression on his face.

“It’s all right, guys,” Harry said.

“There are heating charms, but also some mulled wine. Would you like some?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, “I’ve never tried it before.”

“Well,” Narcissa said, her voice bright but just a touch brittle as she ladled some wine from a punchbowl into a goblet for him, “now would be a good time to try.”

Harry sipped the drink cautiously; it was hot and sweet and spicy, and he found he really liked it, so took a couple of large mouthfuls.

“Mmm, this is really good, thanks,” he said.

“Indeed,” Draco replied with a grin, “but do be careful: the alcohol tends to get you if you drink too much at once.”

“OK,” Harry said, moderating from the gulps he had just been taking. “Um, did you enjoy the wedding, Narcissa?”

“Oh yes, I did, very much,” Narcissa replied. The change of subject might have been very unsubtle, but that did not make it unwelcome. “The Weasley boys seem to do miracles with their fireworks, don’t they?”

“I heard,” Draco chimed in, “that the design was actually by Neville Longbottom.”

“Is he still a Longbottom?” Harry wondered. “Or did they hyphenate?”

“Yes he is, and no they didn’t,” Draco replied crisply. Harry wasn’t surprised that he knew; it was exactly the sort of detail that was critically important to a pure-blood.

“Hmm,” Lucius said. “I wonder why he used the Caduceus then.”

“The what?” Harry asked. “Oh, was that the winged stick thing with the snakes?”

Draco giggled. “Yes, Harry,” he replied. “The symbol of Hermes, the messenger of the Gods. And often mistaken for the Staff of Asclepius, which has only one snake but no wings, and is the symbol of healing.”

“I’ve never heard of that. Is this the kind of thing pure-bloods learn?” Harry asked, a trifle defensively.

“Well, I suppose so,” Lucius replied. “We do tend to drill our children in Latin and Greek, and discuss the cultures that those languages belong to. Which is why I should have thought that Mr Longbottom, being a pure-blood, would have been well-acquainted with the difference.”

“Perhaps you could ask him this afternoon,” Narcissa commented.

Harry very nearly spluttered out the wine he was drinking at this remark.

“This afternoon?” he asked. “What’s happening this afternoon?”

“Well,” Draco drawled, “mother suggested we might have a little get-together of our friends and make a small announcement.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and then, after a beat, “what announcement?”

“Exactly why I’m not drinking wine,” Draco replied.

* * *

The elderly goblin in the room Karkaroff was lead into flinched when he saw him.

“Ah, Grornik,” Karkaroff said as he saw him, “still here I see, and as obnoxious as ever by your scowl.”

“It really is you, isn’t it,” the goblin replied resignedly as Nagrik beat a hasty retreat out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Did you miss me?” Karkaroff asked with a smirk.

“No,” the goblin said bluntly. “Mr Karkaroff, in light of certain … reports … we received, we have taken actions deemed appropriate at the time; we will require an indemnity from you before proceeding.”

So saying, the goblin held out a piece of parchment to him. Karkaroff took it and read it carefully.

“So, basically, you want me to sign away my rights to sue you for actions that you might have taken once it was announced that I was dead?” he asked in a conversational tone.

Senior Account Manager Grornik nodded.

“Quill?” he asked, and he was handed one. He made to sign; but before the quill touched the parchment, it burst into crimson flames.

Grornik blanched. He recognised those flames and the one charm that produced just that shade. Karkaroff grinned. An evil, predatory grin, that quite matched the worst that the goblins could do.

“It would appear that the Fair Dealing charm doesn’t accept your terms,” he said. “Looks like we’re just going to have to trust one another, after all.”

“Wh- What … “ the goblin stammered out, “what do you want?”

Karkaroff’s face became serious.

“Have no fear,” he said. “I have taken up Headmastership of Durmstrang again; as such, I wish to be on good terms will all of the Magical world. Including the Goblins of Gringotts. I wish to check my accounts, confirm that all is in order, and then …”

“Yes?” the goblin asked, his breathing noticeably calmer after this speech, though he was still worried about what the man might pull out. But, whatever he might have expected, the answer he got still floored him.

“Then I would like to have a chat with Mr William Weasley.”

* * *

Despite its large size, the formal drawing room was one of the most exquisite rooms of Malfoy chateau. This was largely due to the lovely antique furniture and the amazing paintings on the walls and ceiling. Its grandeur was famous throughout wizarding Europe. But Narcissa had somehow managed to make it sublime simply by the choice of tablecloths and china. The room was set out with several small tables, which somehow managed to give it an intimate feeling, despite being quite large by drawing-room standards.

Practically everyone who had been at the wedding the previous day, barring of course Blaise and Angelique, had been invited to this special afternoon tea. Practically everyone wondered just what their hosts were up to, and, curiosity piqued, had turned up. And practically all the guests had been rendered speechless on entry. But now, with the generous provision of alcohol and the gentle politeness of the Malfoys and Malfoy-Potters, there was a general hubbub of happy chatter.

The Zabinis and Delacours arrived together, in a group that included both Ambassador Banks and his wife, and Robin and Ginny. The Auror was not at all surprised that Harry made a beeline for the group; he was a good friend, after all. It was a little more surprising when Harry asked if he could have a private word.

“What’s that about?” Ginny asked Draco as Robin and Harry disappeared into a quiet corner.

“Ah,” Draco said with a mischievous smirk. “I think Robin is going to learn a few things about not speaking out of turn.”

And indeed it was a rather apologetic and red-faced Auror Banks who returned to the group.

“My son? Is all well?” Viridis Banks asked.

In answer, Robin turned to Draco.

“I apologise for words spoken out of turn,” he said.

“No lasting harm done,” Draco said, and grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray, handing it to Robin while unostentatiously taking a sparkling apple juice for himself. “Drink?”

Harry grinned. This was what friendship was supposed to be like: sure, people did things that perhaps they shouldn’t; but they apologised for them, and were forgiven. He smiled at Ambassador Banks, who lifted his glass in salute.

It was perhaps ten minutes later, while Harry was chatting with Auguste Delacour, that Neville, Angelina and the twins arrived; seeing his friend reminded him of a question he had.

“Hey Neville,” he called out, “question for you.”

Neville walked over to them.

“Fire away,” he said.

“Your fireworks were brilliant, mate; but I learned today that the symbol of medicine is the Staff of Asclepius, with only one snake and no wings. So how come you used the Caduceus?”

Auguste almost choked on his wine as he heard this question. He looked hard at Harry.

“Surely it eez obvious?” he said.

“Sorry, Monsieur Delacour,” Neville said quickly, before Harry could take umbrage, “but Harry was brought up by Muggles so there’s lots he doesn’t know about Pureblood customs.”

“Of course,” the diplomat replied. “Forgive me, Harry. You see, the Caduceus is the staff of Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods; but wizards have long used it as a symbol of the joyous messages that come when a little baby is announced. So what Neville was saying, perhaps, is that he hopes we will soon hear such messages?”

Neville smirked. “That’s about it. And, of course, Veela have wings, while Blaise is studying medicine, so it seemed to work for both of those.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Do you think you could conjure the design for us?”

“Sure,” Neville said, and waved his wand. A swirl of light came out of the end of it, splitting into three; two twirled around the other and it was not long before the Caduceus symbol was in the air in front of them.

“Ooh!” George Weasley said as he saw it. “Is someone pregnant?”

Lucius stood up, recognising a brilliant cue when he saw one. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, and the talking ceased. Lucius might not be quite so scary now as he had been during the war, but he still commanded respect. “I’m glad you’re all enjoying yourselves, and I promise there will be no speeches, just an announcement, which I see has been foreshadowed a little.”

“So tell us, Lucius,” Fred Weasley piped up. “Are you pregnant then?”

Not that much respect then, it seemed. This remark generated a ripple of laughter through the room until Draco stood up.

“No, he isn’t,” the blond said calmly. “I am.”

If you get it just right, there is a moment when you touch a lighted match to parchment that nothing seems to happen; then it erupts into flames. There was a similar effect here: there was a stunned silence in the room for nearly a full minute as people looked at Draco to see that he was, in fact, deadly serious.

“PREGNANT?” Neville exclaimed when he recovered from the shock announcement. “But … how? When?”

Draco smirked at him. “Well, Neville,” he said calmly, “I’m sure you’re aware of just what activities lead to pregnancy.”

The room erupted into laughter again while Neville blushed bright red as the memories of just exactly what he had George had been up to that morning came back with a vengeance. He looked around the room to see if anyone could give a more sensible answer, but no-one seemed to be offering any other explanation. He looked at his host and hostess, but each of them gave a shake of the head. His gaze eventually settled on Hermione; but it seemed that, for once, even the bushy-haired brunette was stumped. She shook her head, looking pained, almost mournful, that she couldn’t answer.

“As for when,” Draco continued, “on our wedding night, apparently. So the due date is late June or early July. If, that is, it happens like a normal pregnancy.”

“How could anything you two do be normal?” Fred asked.

Harry laughed. “There’s just one other thing to add,” he said. “I don’t know if it makes us more abnormal or not; but we’re having twins…”

After this, the room descended into chaos as all of their friends seemed to want to hug them and kiss them and generally make a fuss of them.

It took many minutes before the noise died down to the point where people could actually talk to each other; but as soon as he could, Neville grabbed Hermione and sat down with her, Ron taking a seat next to his wife. It didn’t surprise either of them that Harry and Draco sat with them; even in this gathering, the close friends were sticking together.

“Are you seriously telling me you have no idea how this happened?” he asked.

And as he asked it suddenly struck Hermione that what he was really asking was for hope for him and George to become parents, and as she realised that her insides melted with love for the poor boy.

“I’m sorry, Neville,” she said simply, “but we have no clue. Unless Harry and Draco are hiding something from us?”

Draco, sitting opposite, thought back to their wedding night.

“There was a voice…” he began, then stopped.

“You never told me this,” Harry complained.

“Well, it was kind of freaky…”

“Well, duh,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

“ _Second year_ ,” Hermione hissed at Draco, and suddenly the memory of how Harry had heard the Basilisk that lived in the Chamber of Secrets, and his face went scarlet with embarrassment at his gaffe. Of course his husband would understand hearing voices!

“Right,” he said, getting himself resolutely under control. “I watched you with Teddy and Miriam during the reception, and was thinking what a brilliant father you’d make and how I wished I could give you children. And then this voice said, ‘Would you really, if you could?’

“And the funny thing is, I was sure I’d heard it before. It felt, I don’t know, …”

“Trustworthy?” Harry said, and Draco looked at him, and knew at once that Harry must have heard the same voice at some point too.

“Yeah,” Draco replied. “And I thought that of course I would; and he said ‘You have to say it.’. So I did.”

“You said you wanted to have his children?” Ron asked.

Draco blushed.

“Actually, I said I'd do anything for him. Anything at all," he admitted. “And then there was a red light, and I fell asleep.”

“Wow,” Hermione said, and you could almost see the cogs turning in her head.

“Yeah,” George, who had come to stand behind his husband while they were talking. “Looks like we need to get us a red nightlight.”

The group dissolved into laughter. But two of them weren’t laughing; Harry saw the gleam in Hermione’s eyes and knew there would be follow-up questions. Lots and lots of them.

But he wasn’t laughing either. He gathered his husband into his arms, put his head on his shoulder and quietly began to cry. Draco, understanding what was going on, gently patted him and whispered words of comfort into his ear.

How could he laugh? His husband had just publicly declared that he would do anything for him. And it was humbling, and stirring, and fucking amazing.

It took ‘life’ and ‘wholeness’ and ‘connectedness’ and ‘belonging’ to a whole new level. For the little boy who had never been wanted, whose relatives had scarcely ever done anything for him, and never if they could help it, it gave a whole new lease of life to a tired and jaded word.

It meant that Draco loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. 
> 
> Padfootette: here is more, hope it lives up to your expectations!  
> Shelbuh: Thanks so much!  
> BAFan: Fixed. I got some stick for not dealing with Eva, so I thought I’d better.  
> Diddleymaz: Thanks  
> AliceHodges: Glad you’re enjoying it. Here is Chapter 88, which fought me a lot!


	89. Matters Arising from Returning a Wand

Hermione Weasley had left Blaise and Angelique's wedding as a woman on a mission. The Wizarding world had been under some vague sort of enchantment; Harry had freed the Malfoys with some vague sort of incantation. The two just had to be connected, she was sure of it.

Add to that, she was upset. Whatever this enchantment was, it had affected her. She, who prided herself on her self-control, on her ferocious intellect, on her refusal to accept any intellectual nonsense, had been under some form of mind control. It rankled.

How had she missed it? Her mother had even commented, "you've mellowed, Hermione, it's good to see," and she still hadn't got it. But then, she thought, perhaps it was like some effect she had read about in a psychology book once – the Dunning-Kruger effect, if she remembered rightly – which said essentially that the same skills were needed to be intelligent and to recognise intelligence; so, as she had rephrased it in her head, a touch unkindly, 'stupid people were too stupid to know they were stupid'. And people under mind control didn't know they were under mind control, precisely because they were.

But Hermione was too smart to let this line of thinking descend into bitterness. No, when she looked at the last few months coldly and dispassionately, she had to admit that they had been some of the happiest times of her life. And really, the only things that had been missing were her tendency to run quickly to outrage – not her best trait – and her evangelistic zeal on things like house-elves and other creature rights.

The same fanatical zeal she now poured into the knotty problem of Harry's words back in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. And she had plenty of time to herself; the Auror trainees were now being used to guard minor parts of the Ministry, and Ron had swapped duties to manage to get away for the weekend of the wedding. As a result, he was now expected to work late and also had a guard shift for all of Saturday.

So Hermione spent her nights cogitating on the mystery that was Harry Potter. She would have gone and interrogated him about it, but for once she didn't feel in command of her argument. And she knew that he was busy working on his Muggle Studies project, so decided to leave him alone until the weekend.

In the end, she realised that it took the whole week precisely because it was so obvious that her mind kept rebelling. Luna had been spot on: it was all about Harry. More exactly, it was about Harry and the three Hallows. It could not be co-incidence that he had had the Elder wand and the Invisibility Cloak, and the wand had summoned the Resurrection Stone. Clearly, then, some magic had happened that required the power of all three Hallows united, together with the only person who had ever survived the Avada Kedavra curse.

So far, so good. But what about the spell itself? Harry had said that he 'just mumbled words out loud' way back in May. To him they were; but obviously they weren't 'just' anything of the sort. Now of course, any old words said with any old wand were unlikely to achieve anything; but these words were said with the most powerful wand in existence, a Cloak that could allegedly hide from Death itself, and a Stone that could bring back the dead. What effect would that have, she mused.

Then there were the words themselves. "Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …" Eventually it dawned on her that they weren't random words at all. They were a straightforward statement of the deep longings of Harry's soul. She sat in her lounge room after work one afternoon and began to meditate on each of the words. As she did, she started to see how they arose from Harry's childhood; how much of his adult life, and of the recent history of their world, was still being driven by his horrible relatives.

_Life …_ As Hermione now knew only too well, Harry had never really had much of a life. The Dursleys had certainly seen to that! And even so he been prepared to give his own life for all the Wizarding World. He hadn't told many people that he had not expected to survive; but she knew. And so clearly Life was an important word for him. More than that: a deep desire of his, that everyone should have life.

"Of course!" she yelled, causing Kreacher to run in to see what the matter was. She apologised to him, and went on meditating. Of course, it was that word 'life', and the desire of Harry's heart behind it, and the power of the Elder wand, that had brought Fred back.

'Why just Fred?' she wondered. Not, of course, that she begrudged him at all; but there were plenty of people who were more important to Harry, surely: his parents, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks, just off the top of her head. Or even Dobby perhaps. So, again, why Fred?

She couldn't really answer that, so she went on.

_Wholeness…_ Again,not something he had got from the Dursleys, who starved him and beat him, never offering healing or nutrition. Or was she overthinking it? There was, of course, George's ear: the magic had healed him and made him whole.

And then it hit her. The magic had indeed made George whole; but to do that, Fred was needed. And suddenly, Fred's being brought back to life was not a strange choice at all, but practically a necessity. All of the other people she had thought of would be sadly missed; but George needed Fred in a way that none of the others was needed.

_Connection …_ It was obvious how little Harry had connected to the Dursleys. She knew Vernon had been shipped off somewhere, but had no idea where, and Harry never spoke of it. No, Harry was not connected to them. But he was now connected to Teddy, and Andromeda, and the Malfoys, and the Weasleys … And her …

And then, another breathtaking moment as it became clear that these things were not just about Harry, they really were about all of them. The life, the wholeness, the connection, had spread through them all, and changed them all.

For they had all been through a war, but there were, when you looked at it dispassionately, ridiculously few repercussions. Where were all the people suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, like she had read about Muggle soldiers suffering from after their wars? She vividly remembered the pain from the Crucioes she had suffered from Bellatrix's wand when they had been captured; but somehow, once everything had settled down, it had completely lost its sting, so much so that she had been able to return to Malfoy Manor without a second thought about it.

And where were all the nightmares? Sure, she knew Harry had plenty, but they certainly didn't seem to be a big problem for anyone else. She should have them, surely, and Ron? But they both had slept soundly ever since they'd moved into Grimmauld Place, which was pretty much their own now that Harry and Draco were living at The Lodge.

Above all, where were the recriminations and revenge-taking? Somehow they had managed to avoid huge pogroms against the Pure-bloods. To be sure, they were much less influential than they had been; but the sky had not fallen in, violence had not been wreaked against them, and they seemed to be accepting that things had changed and, if the truth be told, had escaped from the War largely intact. There had not been punitive fines levied against anyone; nor had people been sent to Azkaban without a damn good reason. Hermione had been particularly proud of Harry for managing to avoid the 'Death-Eater = Evil' equation, and have people tried for the deeds they did, not the groups they belonged to.

As a result, their society was visibly coming together. People were losing their fear of one another. Fred and George's shop was booming, but so was Zonko's; even though the latter's products were no match for the twins', there was clearly room for both of them in the need people felt to have fun, to lighten up, to play with one another.

_Belonging …_ Yes, it all added up to that. Looking back, it was hard to miss that 'belonging' was the bedrock of Harry's angst, and his dreams. He had never belonged at the Dursleys'; but, she realised, he had never really belonged in the Wizarding World, not as himself. He had a place, to be sure, but as the Boy Who Lived or the Destroyer of Voldemort. She'd watched him with Draco, and like Harry she had realised the simple truth at the announcement of their pregnancy: Draco loved him. Not for any of his titles, not for his wealth; she had thought at first he would love Harry because Harry had set him free from Voldemort's curse on his magic, but now … Now, it was clear that he loved Harry, not for the things he had done, but simply for himself.

Harry's magic, the Hallows' magic, had forged a world for him in which Harry belonged. And his heart was so big that it was a world that they all belonged to, as well.

She sat, alone, in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place on Saturday morning, thinking about how it made her feel. On the one hand, she loved where the Wizarding World was going. To be sure, not all of the battles were over; but they were so much better off than they had any right to expect to be. On the other hand, some of her freedom had been taken away from her. The old Hermione would have been livid about that; what was more precious than freedom? Why else had she started the Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare than to get the house-elves free?

The old Hermione. What about the one now? She was, she thought, a bit wiser. On the other hand, she decided, she was still up for a good rant.

She gathered a handful of Floo powder and fire-called The Lodge.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER-MALFOY!" she yelled, and was ridiculously pleased to hear a gulp from the other side of the fireplace.

ooOOoo

Narcissa Malfoy had left the wedding a woman on a mission. Returning home to Malfoy Manor, she and Lucius had talked at length about the small, interrupted conversation that he and Hermione Weasley had had with Harry during the wedding. Unlike Hermione, who had to reason everything out, it was immediately quite clear to Narcissa that the words Harry had spoken and the enchantment that had recently lifted were one and the same thing. Also unlike Hermione, Narcissa, having been brought up as a pure-blood, was not in any way fettered with ideas about fairness. While she resented the fact that Harry's actions had curtailed her freedoms, this was not because it was unfair, but simply because it was not her doing the curtailing. As a Slytherin, she had nothing but admiration for the power of her second son – his words had become more powerful, and longer lasting, than any similar magic she could think of.

But the enchantment had lifted; the Debt was still there, of course, and would modify Lucius and Draco's actions, but it did not directly affect her. She was free to do as she pleased. And what pleased her most was to increase the wealth and prestige of the Malfoy family. She knew perfectly well that that freedom came with the responsibility to do the right thing; not out of a sense of fair play, of course, but out of sheer self-preservation: the clear lesson to be drawn from the fall of Voldemort was that if the nobility did not do the right thing, they would be overthrown.

And the right thing was not to quietly accept the plans that the Minister had outlined for Harry the previous week. No, definitely not, she decided. She spent a good deal of the Monday thinking about it, and placed a Floo call.

"Molly?" she said as the Weasley matriarch took her call. "There's something I think we should do …"

ooOOoo

Ivan Karkaroff had left Gringotts well-pleased with how things had turned out. The goblins, once they had realised that he was not to be trifled with, had readily agreed to his requests; indeed, they seemed to have considered them to be quite reasonable. As a result, his finances, and those of Durmstrang in Britain, were on a more solid footing than he had expected; and he had been able to visit the Ministry and get reinstated as an Honored Visitor to the British Magical World. Durmstrang's standing in the Wizarding World had rather slipped since he had officially died; this new standing was rather important for him if he was going to get it back to its former glory. And, he mused, do better than that. He could admit now that he had been a tyrant before, and that had not gone down well in many quarters. He was quite sure that his new views on education would change that.

And that was not the only change he had secured. He now had agreement from the best curse-breaker he had ever met to come and give lectures to his students, with the full backing of said curse-breaker's employers. Meeting Bill Weasley had been a wonderful opportunity for him, and he was grabbing it with both hands. The man had even agreed, excitedly, to accompany Karkaroff back to Berenice for the Winter Solstice, and perform the Ritual of Darkness with him. While that would not be as interesting as The Map of the Worlds ritual that could be performed at the Summer Solstice, he was hoping it might give them more information about the Spheres.

He finished the day by travelling to Hogwarts, as himself this time, not Ivan Smetana. The visit had, of course, been prearranged as a meeting of School Heads, so Headmistress McGonagall was on hand in here office to greet him.

"Headmaster Karkaroff!" McGonagall exclaimed as he came through the Floo. "I am delighted to see that you are back with us again, and are looking quite yourself."

Karkaroff arched an eyebrow. "Careful, Headmistress," he remarked coolly. "That was almost a joke."

"Ah," a voice said behind the Headmistress, "I fear some of my lamentable sense of humour might be rubbing off on poor Minerva. But Ivan, it is nice that you are back in the frame; and I hear from my contacts that you have some different ideas about teaching?"

"Yes, you must tell us about those," McGonagall said, taking charge from the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who, even in death, seemed to dominate every conversation. She led Igor over to her comfortable chairs and they spoke at length about what he had learned in Egypt, and how he was planning to put his lessons into practise.

Eventually there came a knock on the door.

"Enter!" Mcgonagall called crisply, and Anders Anderssen and Stefan Ivanov, the two Durmstrang students, came in.

"You wished to see us, Headmistress?" Anders asked her, then did a double-take as he saw who was with her.

"Professor Karkaroff!" he exclaimed. "Then it is true! You are still alive!"

Karkaroff smiled at him. "Indeed," he said. "And I will be taking up Headmastership of Durmstrang again."

"Excellent!" Stefan said, but Karkaroff noticed that Anders did not seem so pleased. Hardly surprising really; knowing the boy from his days as Ivan Smetana, as he did, he knew that Anders was a gentle soul – a milksop, he would have said before his epiphany in Egypt – and had always been rather frightened of the Headmaster.

No more, he decided. He smiled at the boy, a warm, genuine smile, and was secretly pleased at the look of mixed confusion and hope that came back at him.

"Now, Anders," he said softly, "I know that we have had our differences in the past; but I have some new ideas on leadership, and I think you will like them."

"New ideas, sir?" the lad asked tentatively.

"Yes. Although not so new to you, perhaps as we have already discussed them."

The two students looked at him, disbelief on their faces, clearly both wondering when they had discussed any such thing; but the looks changed to dumbfounded as their Headmaster happily changed into a very familiar figure.

"I'm afraid," Ivan Smetana said to them, "that I will no longer be at Hogwarts – but from what I have seen, the Professors here will take very good care of you."

ooOOoo

_Wednesday 18 November_

It was ten o'clock on Wednesday morning before Narcissa could put her plan into action. That did not surprise her; in fact, if anything, she was rather shocked that it happened so quickly. Two days after Molly had agreed to approach Arthur, the two witches found themselves in a very swish room in the secretariat of the Ministry of Magic, meeting with three of the most powerful people in the Wizarding World – Kingley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Arthur Weasley, his deputy with special responsibilities for both Education, liaising with Hogwarts, and Muggle Relations, liaising with the Prime Minister; and Elphias Doge, Chief Wizard and Head of the Wizengamot.

Once the obligatory tea and cakes had been provided and enjoyed, the Minister started by inviting Narcissa to share what she had to say. That was the last point at which any of the men had any control over the proceedings.

"Thank you, Kingsley," Narcissa said, and though her voice was warm, her eyes had a rather predatory gleam in them. "Molly and I have been thinking about what you had to say about Harry. If I remember rightly, you asked us to consider how we might work together to encourage him into a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with a view to moving him through it swiftly and becoming the new Minister for Magic when Kingsley steps down. Is that broadly correct?"

"Yes," Doge began, and clearly would have said more, but Molly neatly cut him off.

"Oh good," she said sweetly, "we did want to make sure there was no misunderstanding." And here the sweet tone evaporated as she continued, "gentlemen, Harry is not a fool or a pawn who needs 'encouraging' into anything!"

At these words, Arthur sat bolt upright, and no doubt would have said something soothing to his wife; but the two witches had anticipated that, and with a gesture, Molly invited Narcissa to continue.

"I know that you think you have a plan that is best for our world," the blonde woman said, "but Harry has been pushed and manipulated all his life. Dumbledore left him with those vile, despicable people –"

"I'm sorry, my dear?" Doge interrupted, clearly not understanding the reference to the Dursleys.

"Not nearly as much as you should be," she replied, and then went on to explain all that had happened by Harry being left on his aunt's doorstep; the cupboard, the food – or lack of it, the forced labour, being made to cook and not eat …

"And that's not the worst of it," she said. "The Dursleys were at least honestly hostile. Albus Dumbledore was worse – a great man, perhaps, but a manipulative one, who pretty much forced Harry down the road to sacrificing himself …"

An hour later, having heard a brief, but entirely truthful, survey of Harry Potter's school years, it was a very chastened trio of wizards who sat opposite the two witches. At no time had Narcissa raised her voice; but the steel in it was unmissable. In some ways, each of them thought, it would have been better if she had ranted and raved; it was much harder to deal with the cold anger she projected.

"Very well," Kingsley said, "what do you advise?"

"ADVISE?" Molly all but shrieked. "What do you need advice for? Isn't it obvious?"

By the looks on their faces, it wasn't; so Narcissa continued.

"I know it's hard to think of it this way," she said, her tone brisk and brooking no nonsense, though not unkind, "especially since he and Draco are still at school, but Harry is an adult. It's quite clear that he values your friendships; but you must leave him to make up his own mind what he wants to do. Encourage and support him, of course; even suggest careers for him, if you must. But do it in the open. Nothing covert, nothing underhanded, nothing manipulative."

And with that, the meeting ended, and the two women returned to the Manor, where they were joined by Andromeda Tonks and Margaret Granger for a light lunch.

"How did it go?" Margaret asked as soon as they were all seated.

Narcissa's eyes twinkled. Much to her surprise, she really enjoyed the company of the Muggle woman; her no-nonsense, direct manner was a breath of fresh air compared to the rather stuffy pure-blood circles Narcissa had moved in before the War.

"Oh, I think we got the point across," she said archly.

"You really think we got through? We weren't exactly subtle," Molly asked.

"They're men. They don't need subtle; they are trying to be, and that's the problem. But I think we got through. Time will tell."

ooOOoo

Three rather shell-shocked wizards chose to have lunch in the Merlin Club. This was, after all, one of the most private and discreet venues available; and they all felt they needed to retreat away from watching eyes and lick their wounds after having been rather savaged during their meeting with Narcissa and Molly.

Once they had ordered, the Minister spoke first.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I don't know about you, but I feel like we just got ambushed."

Arthur shook his head and sighed. "I apologise; I really was not expecting such a meeting at all! Especially not from Molly!"

"Nothing to apologise for," Doge replied, shaking his head. "I must say that, while it's good to see the Weasleys and Malfoys are getting on, there is a definite downside to this new found unity!

This remark brought chuckles from the other two, which was what the Chief Warlock had been hoping for.

"Yes, I can see that this could be quite dangerous to poor over-worked Ministry staff," Kingsley replied; the other two did not miss the glimmer in his eye that told them he was joking.

"Nonetheless," Doge continued, "we must face up to the fact that we got nothing less than we deserved."

"It pains me to say it, but you're right. It's obvious that no-one has ever let Harry be Harry; well, not since Albus Dumbledore took it upon himself to ship him off to his aunt and uncle," Kingsley said. "I must confess, it rather rankles – I knew he was a manipulative old so-and-so but that did sound rather extreme."

"Are we quite sure of the facts?" Doge asked, his voice mild, though the other two were well aware that there was a good legal mind there, and Elphias would be determined to act only on proven facts.

"I think so," Arthur said. "Everything that we were told fits with what I'd seen before; the fireplace, the bars …"

Here Arthur went misty-eyed for a minute or two. At this point, their meals arrived; once they had been served and had dismissed the waiter, the other two quickly pulled him back to the present, demanding explanations; and so Arthur filled them in on his visit to the Dursleys' house, and the things he had heard from his children over the years.

It was a very sombre trio that left the lunch table mid-way through the afternoon. They had much to think about; but at least they did have a plan of action that they were all agreed upon.

ooOOoo

_Saturday 21 November_

Draco Potter-Malfoy woke up feeling like he was in Heaven. True, he had spent the week back at Hogwarts, and it had been yet another week of drudgery: making potions for the Hospital Wing; writing up his notes from before Blaise and Angelique's wedding; marking a ton of assignments that Borage had collected during the week; supervising the fourth-year Ravenclaws; and invigilating some quizzes given to the first years.

But none of this mattered a jot because of the simple fact that every night he went to sleep, and every morning he woke up, safely held in Harry's arms. Even when waking up had been followed by a bolt to the loo thanks to morning sickness, he had been helped and cleaned up and cuddled by his long-suffering, uncomplaining husband.

And now, after the week spent in the castle, they were back in the Lodge, with no responsibilities until Monday. Now that Harry was no longer in the Auror programme, he was dividing his days between working on his Muggle Studies project, assisting the Defense Professors, and helping Draco whenever he could. Not that Borage let him help much; Draco was, after all, an apprentice, and needed the experience. But he did allow Harry to perform some of the more menial tasks that might have interfered with Draco's pregnancy – particularly where potions needed to be made whose fumes could be dangerous.

Draco smiled as he kissed the famous lightning-bolt scar that was still visible on his spouse's forehead, though now much fainter since the defeat of Voldemort.

"Mmm..." Harry said as he came awake. "Do we have to wake up yet?"

"Of course not," Draco confessed, "but I thought perhaps I could make it worth your while…"

In answer, his husband rolled over on top of him and began to kiss all over his face.

"I love you, Draco Lucius Potter-Malfoy," he said between kisses.

"Mmm..," Draco moaned happily, his eyes closed in bliss. "I love you too, Harry James Potter-Malfoy."

Harry's left hand moved down Draco's torso as his right hand stretched out absentmindedly to retrieve the wand from the bedside cabinet. Draco's eyes sprang open as Harry effortlessly cast their usual preparation spells.

But before they could get any further, a demanding voice rang out from the Floo connection.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER-MALFOY!"

Harry gulped. It was Hermione, in full fighting mode. He wondered, for a moment, if they could pretend not to be there. But he knew it wouldn't work, and groaned as he pulled on some clothes and went to face the music.

ooOOoo

As Harry entered the Floo parlour, the primary feeling he had was relief. He had known at Blaise and Angelique's wedding that Hermione was going to grab him for an in-depth talk sometime soon; she had had that "you are going to tell me all about this, Mister" look in her eyes that, he realised, he hadn't seen for quite some time. He was under no illusion that she would have forgotten about the issues raised at the wedding; the fact that the conversation hadn't happened during the week probably only meant that she was busy at work and respected the fact that he and Draco had been equally busy studying at Hogwarts.

"Come through, Hermione," he said, opening the wards for her with a simple wave of his hand before walking through to their sitting room.

As she did indeed come through into The Lodge, Hermione was rather shocked. It seemed that Harry really had changed a lot; in former times, using his full name in her most peremptory tones as she had would have had him quaking in his boots and anxious to appease her. As she entered the sitting room, a small smile played around her lips. She approved of this more balanced, confident Harry; but he wasn't going to have it easy. No, she decided, she was going to have fun.

ooOOoo

Draco decided that Harry and Hermione needed a little time together. That was, he told himself, the only reason that he took his own sweet time getting out of bed and getting ready for the day. He was not, in any way, afraid of the bossy brunette Muggle-born. The very idea was laughable.

All of this self-confident talk was completely shattered the moment he walked into the sitting room. Hermione spotted him instantly, and her gazed fixed on him so thoroughly he almost felt she would bore holes in his head with it.

"Draco!" she announced, "Good! You can tell us about that red light."

Draco carefully and slowly sat next to his husband,

"And good morning to you, too, Mrs Weasley," he said, falling back on good manners.

"None of that!" Hermione said, understanding in an instant what he was doing. "It's Hermione to you."

Draco nodded, but said nothing. Hermione could feel that the blond was at least a little afraid of her, and inwardly smirked at the thought. But she carefully schooled her face in a neutral visage, not wanting to scare him off.

"Now," she continued, "Harry and I have been discussing the events of the last few months…"

Harry snorted, drawing the attention of the other two.

"Sorry," he said, clearly not sorry at all. "What Hermione really means is that she's been telling me about them, and I've been nodding and learning."

"But you admit I'm right?" Hermione said fiercely.

"Right about what?" Draco asked. Hermione immediately turned to face him square on, and Draco knew he was in for a rant. The only thing that stopped him from fighting it was the look of relief on Harry's face, which was (fortunately) not visible to Hermione; clearly Harry had been given quite an ear-bashing. So Draco decided he needed to grin and bear it, for Harry's sake if nothing else.

"It started when Harry returned your wand," she began, and then went on to explain things from the point of view she had seen all week – particularly about the loss of freedom that had followed.

"That's all very well," Draco said, when she first drew breath – and he was privately quite impressed that that had taken her a good ten minutes – "but can you honestly say that we are worse off than we would have been?"

And here, for the first time, Hermione's righteous anger seemed to falter. She looked down at her feet.

"That's the problem I have with myself," she said, much more softly than before. "I have to admit, things could have been so much worse. We've seen our society pretty much come together within months, and there's been incredibly little blame spread around."

"Exactly," Draco agreed. "And isn't that due to what Harry did?"

"Yes," Hermione replied slowly.

"So what's the problem?"

And here she looked back at him, the fire returning to her eyes.

"It's the principle of the thing!" she replied. "People's free will was compromised by what Harry did!"

_Ah,_ Draco thought. _Here it is._

"And," he said softly, "what about Harry? Did he mean to do this?"

"No, of course not," she said. "He just wanted to give you your magic back."

"So it wasn't his free will, either?" Draco pressed.

Hermione looked at him a little confused. "No," she said, and it was obvious from her tone that it hadn't really occurred to her to see things in this light.

"Well," Draco said, "if Harry's free will was compromised too, I don't really see that you have any call to come here and yell at him."

Hermione's cheeks flushed bright red.

"You're absolutely right," she admitted, and turned to her oldest Wizarding friend. "Harry, I'm sorry, I…"

But she did not get any further as Harry leapt at her from his seat and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey!" Ron's voice called from the Floo parlour. "Harry and Draco, have you seen Hermione? She's gone, and she hasn't even had breakfast yet."

Harry smirked. If Ron still thought about food so much, their world really was returning to rights.

"Yeah, she's here," he called out. "You'd better come and join us for breakfast."

ooOOoo

Breakfast was a very lesiurely affair indeed; in the end, the Weasleys spent the whole morning at The Lodge. Hermione did question Draco further about the red light that he had seen, though Ron did insist the discussion wait until they had eaten.

After breakfast, they rugged up and went for a stroll in the garden in the weak November sunshine, and Draco shared his memories again; though there was not much more than he had said at the wedding.

"Hmm," Hermione said, imbuing the monosyllable with a great deal of thoughtful meaning. "I have been looking up this idea of using magic without spells…"

"Of course she has," Ron muttered, but his wife ignored him.

"… and I've found there are a few documented instances of it. It seems to have gone by the label of 'unstructured magic', and is generally associated with very powerful wizards indeed."

Harry blushed at this, but the other two wizards looked entirely unsurprised.

"And what did it involve?" Draco asked.

"Well, that's the interesting thing," Hermione said. "Having struck a blank on male pregnancy, I find that two of these episodes actually resulted in it. It's quite exciting, though it's early days in my research yet; but perhaps you may be able to do something for Neville…"

At this point in their walk, they turned a corner to see a vista of flowerbeds lined by hedges, ending at a gate that gave on to fields beyond.

"Your gardens are beautiful!" Hermione gushed, before a thought struck her.

"Harry," she asked, "who does the gardens?"

Harry gulped. "Tiny!" he called, and the little elf popped into view.

"Yes, Master Harry?" she asked. "How can Tiny be helping the Potter-Malfoys?"

"It's Twinkle who does the gardens, yes?"

"Oh yes, Master Harry!" she answered promptly. "Twinkle loves to garden!" And then a note of concern crept into her voice, "Is they alright for the masters?" she asked, looking around and seeing bare trees and no flowers in the bed. "It is being nearly winter…"

"They are lovely, Tiny," Draco said kindly. "Twinkle?" he called, and the elf popped alongside Tiny. "We are very happy with your work in the gardens. Are you happy to do it?"

"Oh yes, Master Draco!" the elf replied fervently. "Twinkle is very happy to work the gardens! And he is being working at the Manor as well!"

The old elf was so obviously ecstatic at this turn of events that even Hermione was smiling now.

Draco turned to her.

"You see?" he asked. "They really adore serving."

"Yes," the creator of the Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare had to admit, "they really do. Mine you, you'd better treat them properly or …"

"Yes, yes," Draco said, "I get the message. Let's return to the house; it's time for morning tea already."

ooOOoo

When they got back inside, they found they had another visitor.

"Mr Weasley!" Harry said as soon as he saw him, and rushed up to him.

In past times, Arthur Weasley had been a little loath to be physically demonstrative with Harry; he had really felt unsure of what to do with the boy. And after their conversation a few days ago, he was feeling even more uncertain than ever, so proffered his hand. Harry ignored it completely and gathered his surrogate father into a hug.

Arthur, emboldened by Harry being so demonstrative, returned the embrace quite firmly, and did not let go until Harry started to pull away.

"Please," he said, "Harry, you're my son. Call me 'Arthur' or 'Dad'!"

"It's good to see you, Arthur!" Harry said as they broke up. "Come and have tea!"

Once they were seated, Draco asked where Molly was.

"Ah, that's the thing," Arthur admitted. "She's gone shopping. She doesn't know I'm here; and it might be better to keep it that way."

"All right, Dad," Ron said, recognising his father's guilty nervousness at once, "what have you done?"

"Ah," Arthur said, "it wasn't just me, I'm afraid. And I'm not sure if I should say it in front of you all."

"I really think you had better, now," Draco said, a touch sternly.

And with that, he launched into an explanation of the meetings that he had been to – both the first one, including both Malfoys and the Professors, and the second one with just Molly and Narcissa.

"So you see, Harry," he finished, "I hope being so open about it will help you see that I really do think we were not doing the right thing, and I want to make sure you are given the chance to make your own decisions."

"Thank you, Dad," Harry replied; and the tears in Arthur's eyes made it clear he understood the depth of forgiveness and trust that Harry had for him.

"More tea?"

ooOOoo

They Flooed Molly and the Malfoys later, and had an impromptu family lunch.

"Thank you, Tiny," Lucius said as the little elf expertly opened the bottle of elf-wine he had brought. He poured it out for Narcissa, Molly, Arthur and himself; Draco refused, being pregnant, and Harry refused in solidarity with his husband.

Once their glasses were filled, Lucius looked at the other parents with a rather sneaky smirk on his face.

"I hear on the Ministry grapevine that the three of you had rather an interesting meeting on Wednesday?" he said.

Arthur looked at him a little sternly. "And just who has been speaking out of turn?" he asked.

"Oh, that would be telling," Lucius replied cheerfully. "But let's say that when the Minister and Deputy Minister have a morning meeting and disappear afterwards for most of the afternoon, it does tend to get remarked upon…"

Arthur sighed. Well, he knew he was going to have to 'fess up at some stage.

"I suppose you could say it was interesting," he said, more calmly than he felt. "And Harry and I have had a little chat about it. It seems that we were walking down a road that perhaps wasn't the best, and Narcissa and Molly kindly set us straight."

As he expounded a little more, Molly beamed at him. She knew her husband was a wonderful man, of course, but it was nice to see that he was humble enough to admit when he was wrong. Narcissa smiled, too; it was good to see that the message really had got through.

And Draco? Draco watched his husband carefully; it had been a very emotional morning, after all. But in the end, Harry was pleased. It seemed like they had talked through all of the manipulations that had arisen from his impulsive actions in the Hogwarts Great Hall in May. Maybe, just maybe, things might settle down now …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks to Padfootette, diddleymaz, michehp, and bevfan for their kind words.
> 
> Bumblebees comments that "too many people are OOC"; I invited a discussion on the point on facebook, and the response was generally that perhaps going through a war and being under an enchantment might do that to you. The particular example Bumblebees cited was Hermione; but I think we can see what happened there in this chapter. She's still herself underneath. Perhaps it should also be said that different people may well see the same character in different ways; this is what makes fanfiction so interesting, in my view.


	90. Mentoring returned

**90\. Mentoring returned**

_Sunday 22 November et seq_

Elphias Doge was concerned.

For reasons of diplomacy, he had been invited to the Zabini-Delacour wedding in France, but had politely declined, citing his advanced age. The truth was he actually preferred his own company, and didn't really want to cramp anyone's style, but no-one needed to know that. So instead of a busy weekend full of meeting people and having inconsequential discussions, while taking care not to say anything of consequence himself, he had spent a peaceful time in England, tending to his garden when the rain let up, and sitting inside drinking mulled wine when it didn't; but, as he ventured out into Diagon Alley on the Sunday afternoon, he began to realise that all was not as it should be. There had been a general undercurrent in the conversations in the Wizarding World, in the words spoken behind the hand, the little facial movements which people made when they thought no-one was watching. But Elphias was watching, and he remembered. This was a development he remembered from before the first Wizarding War against Voldemort, and not one he liked. It seemed that the old blood prejudices, which had been put away after the War, were not in fact dealt with; they were still there, just hidden, and now gone underground.

Of course, there had been no outright accusations, no violence or skirmishes or anything one could get hold of and deal with; just mutterings and gossip. But after the week spent trying to present a more balanced view, he was sick of it.

And then the meeting on Wednesday had been a major wake-up call. They had been wrong, so wrong, about Harry Potter. Not just the people in the room, of course; the whole Wizarding world had a romanticised, and completely fictional, view of Harry's life. Now, they could, and definitely would, take steps about that as far as it impacted Harry; but who else?

Elphias was a slow and methodical thinker. He had a fine legal mind and could handle the Wizengamot easily because he had watched their posturing and manoeuvering for the better part of a century; but handling this sort of tricky gossip was another matter entirely So it was that it took him until the Sunday evening a week after the wedding to decide he needed to take firm action, and, more importantly, the best person to help.

Accordingly, on this rainy Sunday evening, he Floo-called Lucius Malfoy.

"Elphias!" the Malfoy patriarch intoned as he swirled the glass of port. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you," the Chief Warlock replied. "May I come through?"

"By all means," Lucius replied.

ooOOoo

Lucius sat in his study till very late that night, thinking over everything that the Chief Warlock had said. Of course, Elphias was right, and there was too much gossip about. Of course there was a huge risk of it all reverting to blood-status warfare. And of course neither of them wanted a return to that. Elphias, Lucius was sure, out of a general Gryffindorish idealistic desire for fair play; Lucius, for the much more pragmatic and simple reason that he was quite sure that such a return would see the Malfoy family the first ones at the end of some vigilante's wand.

The problem was that neither of them knew what to do about it.

He was roused from the semi-slumber he had fallen into as the clock struck midnight. He stared around him bleary-eyed. The port bottle was empty, the fire in the grate had gone out, and he had nothing to show for his hours mulling over the problem except for a sore neck and an ache in his back.

It was a rather worried Lord Malfoy who went to bed that night. As he lay in the sheets, Narcissa rubbed his temples while holding him close.

"That's nice," he said, sleepily.

"What did Elphias Doge say that's got you so worked up?" she asked.

"Just some home truths about this enchantment lifting," Lucius replied, and then went on to recount most of the conversation for Narcissa. He found, as always, that talking things out with her did help him organise his thoughts; but neither of them was able to come to any sort of conclusion or plan of action.

"Let's sleep on it," Narcissa suggested. Lucius, seeing the very obvious wisdom of that, agreed, and hunkered down to sleep.

And then sat up bolt upright, a truly evil, Slytherin-worthy grin on his face.

"Got it!" he said.

Narcissa smiled at him.

"Care to share?" she asked.

He did. And they both smiled, and slept well that night.

ooOOoo

As Lucius worked hard at his plans during the week, Harry and Draco settled into a happy routine. Harry helped Draco with his potions work as much as he was allowed to, which was generally each morning. To his surprise, he found what Draco was doing very interesting, and learnt a lot himself. He tackled Potions Master Borage about this; from what he had heard, he had expected Draco to be doing a lot of very uninteresting preparation work.

"No need!" Borage replied succinctly. "He knows all that. Snape did a good job with him; so I'm happy to get him onto work that is actually stretching him. I know a lot of Masters see their apprentices as not much more than cheap labour, at least in the early stages; as far as I'm concerned, we have house elves for that."

Apart from helping Draco, Harry spent most of his time working hard on his Muggle Studies project. Somewhat to his surprise, he found the research fascinating: it was very interesting comparing the two judicial systems, the British Muggle and Magical. To be sure, both systems had their flaws; he was well aware of the wizarding ones, of course, having done a lot of research for the Potter Code, and he became increasingly aware of the Muggle ones during his reading.

Naturally, his findings had a direct personal application: there seemed to be a whole string of systemic failures as far as his own life was concerned. To begin with, his primary school teachers should have reported the signs of abuse they had seen; he knew perfectly well that they had seen them, of course, but can't have reported them. Or perhaps they did report them, and were not believed, or their reports buried. And then there should have been Muggle health visitors checking him out; he couldn't remember a single such visit. And surely the neighbours who did not believe the Dursleys' claims about him must have reported signs of abuse, while those who did should have laid official complaints about his alleged delinquency. The list went on and on. Though Harry found himself oddly detached from the whole thing now; it was as if it had all happened to someone else.

As they went to bed on Tuesday night, he discovered that his mulling things over had not gone unnoticed.

"All right Potter," Draco said, staring at him, "you've been distracted all evening. What's going on?"

Harry blushed bright red.

"Er – it's not really that important…" he began.

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

"How can it not be important?" Draco said archly. "It has obviously been occupying your mind all day. Why, it's even distracted you from thinking about me!"

Harry was indeed distracted; so much so that it took him a few anxious seconds to realise that his husband was joking. He should have known, really; Draco only called him 'Potter' these days when he was teasing.

"It's only my Muggle Studies project," he said apologetically. "I was just thinking today about all of the shit that happened to me before I came to Hogwarts…"

"Harry…" Draco began, but he was cut off.

"No, it's ok really, Dragon. I was just thinking that it just doesn't hurt the same way any more. It's still terrible, of course, and should not have been allowed, but it's like it happened to someone else. Does that make sense?"

"Do you mean that you're finally beginning to accept that you belong to a completely different family now and not to those pathetic excuses for human beings? And that this family actually loves you?"

"Oh I think so," Harry replied, then added waggishly. "But I wouldn't say no to further demonstrations of that love …"

ooOOoo

_Wednesday 25 November_

Harry woke up with a brilliant smile on his face. Draco had definitely made it clear that Harry was loved last night; now it was Harry's turn to reciprocate, he decided, as his hand wandered down the bedsheets. The blond was still asleep, but that didn't last long.

"Mmm," he practically purred in delight, "if I have to wake up, that's certainly the way to do it."

Harry smirked at him, rather chuffed to have found a safe way to wake up the definitely-not-morning-person that Draco had become during the pregnancy. At least, one that didn't involve pain.

ooOOoo

"Is it my imagination, Minerva," Flitwick asked the Headmistress at breakfast, "or are Harry and Draco looking in a rather better mood this morning?"

"Yes indeed," Minerva replied, her eyes twinkling mischievously, in a way that would have done Albus Dumbledore proud. "I wonder what could have happened to cause that?"

Filius blushed as it occurred to him just exactly what McGonagall was referring to.

"Ah," he said softly. "Never mind."

"Are your mentoring sessions continuing?" the Headmistress asked, deciding to give her friend a reprieve by lapsing into serious subjects.

"Ah!" the half-goblin replied. "No, they seem to have fallen by the wayside a little, I confess. Do you think I should do something about that?"

"I think it would be wise," the Headmistress replied with an accompanying brief nod of her head. "Especially given all the business of this enchantment lifting. It's all still rather vague; I suspect both the Potter-Malfoys might welcome a chance to talk about it."

"Hmm," Flitwick mused. He was always a little wary of these well-intentioned suggestions from the Head; although to be fair, the ones coming from Albus had always rather reeked of manipulation to him, while Minerva's clearly were motivated by genuine concern for the student body. He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"As you can imagine," he said, "my Ravenclaws have been discussing that at some length."

"Indeed?" Professor Merrythought, sitting on Flitwick's left, interjected. "And what have they decided?"

"On the whole, that it was a good thing for a short time, but also a good thing that it's lifted. It stopped us from rushing into decisions that would almost certainly have been motivated largely or entirely by revenge; but now we can see that, and appreciate that the decisions were generally good ones, helping to build up our society again, and own them without any form of compulsion."

"An interesting view," the aged Defence Professor replied. "And, interestingly enough, one that my mother put forward to me. She was commenting on the difference between the events after this war and the last couple, the first Voldemort war and the aftermath of the Grindelwald-Dumbledore confrontation, when no-one could say a word against Dumbledore. She had been very concerned at the time because he became entrenched in a position of considerable power as a result; and after Voldemort's first defeat the animosity against pure-bloods was horrendous. This time, we've seen a real attempt to build a system that will include everyone, and has a chance of lasting more than five minutes…"

“And I’m sure that’s largely down to the character of Mr Potter, now Potter-Malfoy,” Pomona Sprout added. “If the enchantment had been due to Albus, say, I think we would be facing a huge backlash of witches and wizards claiming that the decisions of the last few months were moot and all the laws should be reviewed; but as it is Mr Potter’s magic, there seems to be a general feeling that we should just get on with things.”

“Indeed,” Flitwick agreed, “and that certainly seems to have played out amongst our students.”

“I concur,” Slughorn added in his pompous way. “Why, only the other day I came across two Hufflepuffs helping some of my snakes with their charms work.”

“Ah!” Sprout interjected. “And gave them ten points each, perhaps?”

Slughorn nodded, and Pomona continued, “I had wondered where those points came from.”

McGonagall sat back in her chair. Slughorn admitting such a thing was completely unprecedented, and to have given points for it was quite shocking. Gone were the days of the obvious and unchecked bias of Severus Snape, it seemed. The Headmistress was secretly very pleased with how smoothly the school was running, and how her staff were really looking out for their students; but she was of the Old School and it would be a cold day in Hell before she told them so.

"Pass the butter," she requested, and breakfast sank back into its normal groove.

ooOOoo

The afternoon found Harry once more sitting in the library, considering the short-comings of his own experience with the Muggle system, or rather, since he had never actually been contacted, his lack of experience; and all of the things that should have happened. But, he decided, 'should haves' right no wrongs, and bring no comfort; so as he considered the failings he focused on how their own Wizarding system might be improved. He also decided he needed to cast his net a little wider: the systems in other countries were quite different, in both Muggle and Magical Law, and by now he was heavily invested in the whole thing and wanted to make the Potter Code the best he could. He also wanted to extend Lucius's work with the orphanage to ensure that magical children were protected; if he could stop even one person from having a childhood like his own then his work would be a success.

He was busily writing up his thoughts and was rather startled when a discreet cough alerted him to the fact that he had company. He looked up to find the eighth-year co-ordinator smiling at him.

"Professor Flitwick!" he said in surprise.

"Indeed, Mr Potter-Malfoy," Flitwick replied. "The Headmistress and I were chatting about pastoral care this morning and I was wondering if perhaps we should re-institute our mentoring sessions?"

The broad grin on Harry's face was answer enough for Filius, who suggested they adjourn to his office. It took Harry almost an hour to fill Flitwick in on his hopes and intentions.

Filius was most impressed with Harry's endeavors, and encouraged him to persevere.

"You are absolutely right about the improvements needed," he twittered. "And you bring a very refreshing perspective to the issue. But I also have to ask you how you feel about the enchantment?"

Harry's brows knitted.

"I confess, I don't really know what to think," he said. "I had a discussion with Hermione on the weekend—" and here Harry stopped, seeing an uncharacteristic smirk on Professor Flitwick's face.

"I suspect," the Professor said drily, "that it was a rather one-sided conversation."

Harry grinned. Clearly Flitwick had Hermione's measure.

"Er, yeah. And she was getting a bit agitated about me compromising other people's free will, until Draco pointed out that I had no intention of doing so, meaning that I was as much a victim of events as everyone else."

"There is a truth in that," Flitwick mused; then added, after a few seconds' thought, "yes, I can see how that is a helpful way to think about it. Does it help you?"

"Well, yes, I suppose it does," Harry said, a little surprised to be asked the question. Flitwick could see that Harry hadn't thought about his own need for help at all; clearly, regardless of Harry's academic performance, the mentoring sessions were still very necessary.

ooOOoo

_Thursday 26 November_

Harry had told Draco all about his mentoring session with Flitwick, and the blond could see that they would do his husband a great deal of good. He could also see that his husband had been a bit shaken up about it, not least because they really didn't have many answers; and while the physical closeness that they both offered and enjoyed was helping, he decided something a little more deliberate was called for.

Accordingly, Harry woke on Thursday morning to find a small table in their room, set with crisp white damask napkins and silver cutlery.

"Er, Draco, what's this?" he asked, a touch sleepily.

"I was hoping that my husband would like to have a private breakfast with me," Draco replied simply.

"I'd love to!" Harry replied, then, a little worried that he might have forgotten some important date – not that he could think of one, Draco's birthday was in June and their anniversary in September – asked, "er, is this in honour of some special occasion?"

"Yes," Draco replied with a poker face, secretly a little delighted at the slight look of panic that Harry was now sporting, before putting him out of his ministry. "It's in honour of the fact that I love my husband."

"Prat," Harry said, suppressing a laugh as he climbed out of bed and sat at the table. He lifted the cloche in the centre of the table and his laughter spilled out of him.

It was pancakes again …

ooOOoo

Draco's morning was interrupted so he could visit Arthur for his own mentoring session at the Ministry. Not needing to help in the Potions Lab, Harry felt at a bit of a loose end until Narcissa, who knew their schedule, had been told about Arthur's plans to keep up the mentoring, and suspected Harry could do with a break from the castle, Floo-called to ask if he would like to come to the Manor for the morning and visit with Teddy and Andromeda. When he arrived, he found the other two were already there, and not long afterward, Miriam and Margaret Granger turned up. He could see that the three witches were rather wanting a private chat, so he suggested that he could mind the two children while they did so.

"Are you sure?" Narcissa asked. "Dippy would be very happy to look after them."

"I'm sure she would," Harry replied, "and that she would do a great job. It's just that so would I."

Narcissa looked closely at her second son and realised that in truth, he really did want to do this; though she rather suspected he was also giving them the chance to chat without distractions. She wasn't going to look a gift unicorn in the mouth, she decided; in truth, she was delighted to take the opportunity to have a quiet discussion in her study without the presence of precocious little children.

"Very well," she said, "but you have to explain to Dippy why she wasn't called!"

With that riposte, she led Margaret and Andy to her study while Harry grabbed Teddy and Miriam and took them into the drawing room that had been set up for them.

Harry had been playing with the babies for about an hour when he was interrupted.

"Ah, a meeting of brilliant minds, I see," a familiar voice drawled.

"Hello, Lucius," Harry said, smiling at the man as he stopped Miriam from trying to hit Teddy with her hammer. Not that the foam toy would have done any harm, but it wasn't a habit he wanted them to get into.

"Tea?" Lucius asked. "I heard you were in the manor so I came looking for you, rather hoping that we could have a little chat."

"Sure," Harry replied, rising to his feet. "Except I have these two to look after."

"Dippy!" Lucius called, and the little elf appeared at once, looking a little dusty, though the pillow-slip she was wearing was quite clean.

"Yes, Master Lucius?" she said with a bright smile. "How can Dippy be helping Master Lucius today?"

The two babies giggled at her appearance, and Harry found himself smiling as well.

"You seem happy today, Dippy," he said gently. "What have you been doing?"

"Dippy is being dusting Master Abraxus's treasure room!" the elf replied proudly.

Lucius laughed at this, and said, in answer to Harry's questioning look, "my father had a reputation, entirely deserved, as a harsh, cruel tyrant; but he had a little secret vice: he used to collect china figurines."

Harry's eyebrows rose disbelievingly, but Lucius went on by way of explanation. "He adored them; but he also felt it wasn't a suitable occupation for a Slytherin or a Malfoy, so he hid them away. The room they are in has been ignored for years, but we decided to open it up and air it; and Dippy is busy removing decades of grime for them. Though I see you have been using an apron?"

"Oh yes, Master Lucius!" she replied happily, her head nodding. "Dippy is very happy to be adopting Master Lucius's suggestion!"

"Very good," the man replied. "Now, do you think we could tear you away from dusting for a few minutes to watch over these two while Harry and I have a chat in my study?"

The little elf stood there, water coming to her eyes.

"Master wants Dippy to mind the babies?" she asked nervously.

Lucius nodded. Instantly, the little creature leapt on him and cuddled his lower legs, they being all she could reach.

"Oh, thank you, Master Lucius, sir!" she exclaimed. "Dippy is being taking good care of the little ones."

"I'm sure you will," Lucius replied, then turned to Harry. "Shall we?"

Harry shook his head in wry amusement at the whole scene, and walked out behind Lucius. _I do wish Hermione had been here to see that,_ he mused. _It would knock S.P.E.W. stone dead._

ooOOoo

"So, what did you want to discuss?" Harry asked once they were ensconced in Lucius's study, and had foregone tea entirely in favour of butter beer (for Harry) and fire whiskey (for Lucius).

"Ah," Lucius said, putting down his glass. "I had a chat with Elphias Doge over the weekend. He is rather – concerned."

"Yes?" Harry asked, wondering where this was going.

"Yes. As you are aware, it seems we were under an enchantment that has lifted; as a consequence of that lifting, Doge is concerned that people will be taking a long, hard, and very cold look at what's been going on. Especially as regards pure-bloods."

"And," Harry continued, grasping the point, "as regards particular pure-bloods whom they may feel should be in Azkaban, not swanning about the Ministry."

"Yes," Lucius agreed with a smirk, "something like that."

"But you have a plan?" Harry asked.

"Indeed. How did you know?" Lucius asked in mock-surprise.

"Otherwise you'd be rather worried, I should think," Harry replied.

"True. As you know, I've been working quite a lot in the Muggle housing world, particularly looking at those Mud- - er, Muggleborns, who were dispossessed during the War. We've managed, quietly, to rehouse everyone we know about. We offered to build new houses for them, as most of them were traumatized about their current locations and actually wanted to move. As a result, their existing houses are now available. At the same time, your friend Miss Granger has been doing some research tracking down squibs. Many of them, having been disowned from pure-blood families, are destitute. And bear a huge grudge against the Wizarding World. How we didn't see the danger to the Statute of Secrecy I don't know.

"So we have a plan to move them into the unused properties, thus getting them back close to the Wizarding World."

"I see," Harry said, thinking this through. And he really could see: not only was this going to benefit the squibs, and the Wizarding World, the idea had an obvious appeal for Lucius personally.

"And the fact that you get to be known as the man who brought the Squibs back into our world is just a happy bonus, right?" he continued.

Lucius smirked. "Oh," he said casually, "I'd be quite happy for my son-in-law to take the leading role in the enterprise."

Harry's smirk became a full-on belly laugh.

"So you'd have my backing as well. You truly are the arch-Slytherin, Lucius."

And for once in his life, Lucius Malfoy was rendered speechless.

ooOOoo

The last three weeks of the term flew past for Harry and Draco. Now that Harry was back in the Castle full-time, his days were filled, helping Draco, working on his Muggle Studies project, and finding himself drafted in to teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts students. Not that it took any effort on Professor Merrythought's part to convince him; he really loved the lessons, which became an extension of his former work with Dumbledore's Army. The students all loved him, and clearly valued the chance to be taught by a bona-fide war hero.

Draco's morning sickness seemed to all but disappear now that he and Harry were sleeping together full-time again, and they were not at all sorry about this turn of events, especially as the blond's apprentice duties soaked up so much of his time that Borage had to put his foot down and insist that Draco stay out of the potions lab altogether after eight p.m. and on the weekends, something Harry was most grateful for. Though Draco did still manage to find plenty to do, especially as his own Muggle Studies project had slipped a bit. But Harry made sure they spent the Saturday nights at Malfoy Manor, where Narcissa practically forced Draco to abandon his books and be social.

Flitwick continued the Wednesday meetings with Harry on a weekly basis; and Arthur, with Borage's blessing, had them both over to a session each Thursday at eleven o'clock, where he stuffed them full of tea and pastries and discussed all manner of topics. Harry was delighted to see that, over the weeks, Draco came to warm to Arthur and discussed everything that was going on. So much so that, after having had a visit to St Mungo's on the morning of the last meeting of term, the blond even took along pictures of the scan that he had had. It was quite special to them, showing the twins clearly, though not yet giving any indication of sexes, and Harry was rather teary-eyed both to see actual visible proof of his own flesh and blood, and that his husband made sure there were copies made for both the Weasleys and the Malfoys.

Arthur was, of course, delighted to see the scan; especially when he was told that the copy he held was for him to take home and show Molly. And if his eyes moistened a little, none of them commented on it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. This chapter was especially difficult, and needed a lot of coaxing; in fact, it's been split in half, so the next one, hopefully, won't take seven weeks to get up!
> 
> I notice that the interval actually includes the second anniversary of RtS; it astonishes me that my intended twelve chapter story is now ninety chapters long, has garnered over 220K views on , and still isn't finished ...
> 
> **Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook and AO3. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> **Thanks:** To all who are following! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and tea and scones and jam and clotted cream to all who have commented.


	91. Slytherins Returning to Type

**91\. Slytherins Returning to Type**

_Friday 27 November_

"So of course as soon as I realised there was a problem I came to you for help," the elegant pure-blood said as he placed his teacup down on the table.

"Ye-es," the ministry official opposite him said carefully. The 'problem' didn't seem to amount to much to him, but this was Lord Malfoy, who had been working the system since before Bruzzen had been in nappies. Still, squibs? Surely Lord Malfoy knew better than to bother senior ministry officials about squibs? It wasn't as though they were scrambling for something to do, after all.

"Forgive me, but surely squibs are dealt with through the Committee on Muggle and Squib affairs – surely old Perkins can deal with it? I'm not entirely sure why you want to bring this to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Their visitor smiled inwardly. Peter Bruzzen was a young and very ambitious wizard; not to mention brash, arrogant, and rather charmless. He was very fond of stating his views, and they were largely views that Harry Potter would not agree with, a circumstance that Lucius's debt could not ignore. He had no real understanding of how to deal with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, on the other hand, knew everything about him: "know your enemy" was still an important rule of warfare. And while the War was over, of course, that wasn't going to change how Lucius saw these little skirmishes; nor, come to that, diminish his enjoyment of them. He knew he could take this man down without even trying; he was about to prove it.

"Well, you see," he said, dropping his voice and affecting the air of a man imparting a great secret, "the real problem isn't the Squibs at all; it's the Act of Secrecy."

Bruzzen looked dumbfounded at this, but the older wizard on his left nodded sagely.

"I see," he said. "You are suggesting we're taking a huge risk letting people simply walk out of the Wizarding world, and not following them up."

"Precisely," Lucius replied. "We've been lucky up till now; but we must not get complacent. Muggle security is getting better and better all the time, it's only a matter of time before someone notices us, and an aggrieved Squib tipping them off…"

"But that's preposterous!" Bruzzen snapped. His superior turned and stared at him, and he continued, a touch sheepishly, "surely!"

"Not at all," Merton Anderson, Undersecretary and Head of the Committee of Wizarding Security replied sharply. He was a little disappointed in his subordinate, to be honest; he expected great things of Peter Bruzzen but the man knew it and had his eyes on the top job. Ambition was all very well, but you have to show you're good at your current job, and not thinking of the security angle immediately was a black mark. "In fact, it is something I have been concerned about for a while. And the Ministry is indebted to Lord Malfoy for compiling these figures for us," he continued, waving a hand at the documents Lucius had tabled.

The blond waved the compliment away. He wasn't interested in pretty words today. Not yet, anyway. They would come, and far more publicly, from the Daily Prophet.

"Of course," he murmured. "But what to do…"

"There is the question," Merton replied. "I'm sure the Minister won't thank us if we don't bring him an action plan."

Bruzzen sighed thoughtfully. "We could… I don't know, kidnap them maybe?"

Lucius turned steely eyes on the man, but inwardly he was smirking. Another promising career at the Ministry was going up in smoke before his very eyes. It was always so entertaining.

"That won't do at all!" Anderson replied, and Lucius knew immediately that Bruzzen's goose was well and truly cooked.

"If I may," he said smoothly, "I do have a modest proposal?"

He passed a folder over, and Anderson opened it and perused the documents inside. Then he looked back at Lucius, who knew at once that he had his man. Merton was no fool; he could see immediately that this proposal not only neatly solved all the problems, but managed to get rid of a drain on Ministry resources: while the properties were vacant, the Ministry had to take responsibility for their upkeep. Of course, he was no fool: he could also see that accepting the proposal would be quite a feather in Lucius Malfoy's cap. But the report had been carefully crafted so he could present it to the Minister as his own approach to Lord Malfoy, rather than the other way round. There was, of course, the small matter of Bruzzen, the only witness otherwise; but as his junior had just proved himself both useless and heartless, his move out the door was sealed.

He smiled at Lucius. "Excellent!" he said. "I'm sure we can present this to the Minister in our weekly meeting this afternoon. Though Peter, I believe you are scheduled to visit our security facility in Newport?"

Bruzzen groaned. He was well aware of the faux pas he had made, and the meeting this afternoon was one they had been planning to ditch. Apparently no longer. Not good for his career; he only hoped he could salvage some part of his job out of it.

"Never mind," the undersecretary continued. "Lord Malfoy, would you care to join me for lunch?"

"That would be delightful," Lucius replied, and meant it. Merton was a good host; and it was clear that Bruzzen was not invited, a snub that Lucius relished. The uppity little shit was only getting his just desserts, in Lucius's view.

Two hours later, Lucius smirked as he left the Ministry. As he expected, his proposal was all signed, sealed and delivered. Happily, the Minister had also been at lunch, and agreed wholeheartedly, especially when Lucius dropped the fact that Harry was aware of, and approved, the plan. Kingsley had even agreed to Lucius releasing it to the Press under his own name, which was quite a concession; though the Malfoy lord would make sure Anderson got a good mention. It would cost him nothing, and earn him a favour from the man.

A delightful day's work: one idiot's career sabotaged, another's assisted but with Lucius's hooks in him. It was just like old times. Next stop, Barnabus Cuffe's office at the Daily Prophet. This had all the makings of a major Sunday supplement, he was sure.

_Saturday 28 November_

"So of course I came to you for help," the elegant pure-blood said as she sipped her tea.

Her hostess sighed and adjusted in her seat. Galatea Merrythought was now a hundred and thirty-nine, and she was starting to feel each and every one of those years. Still, it was hard not to be flattered by a pure-blood coming to her for help on pure-blood matters; she had to admit it was definitely a request that piqued her interest. To be sure, she had given up formal teaching a long time ago, but a true teacher never loses that fire of excitement, though it might burn low: the fire that is kindled best by that fleeting look on a student's face when they suddenly grasp something.

She had to admit it to herself, at least. There was no need to let her visitor know how she felt; not straight away, anyway. Her visitor was a Slytherin, so she would definitely be treading carefully. There was always an ulterior motive in there somewhere.

"Well, I suppose I should be flattered that you sought me out," she replied, looking at her teacup with studied nonchalance.

Narcissa Malfoy smirked inwardly. She knew this game very well; Poker Diplomacy her mother had called it and, while she had to admit that Galatea was much better at it than most, she was no match for her visitor. As a Black, Narcissa had practically taken it in with her mother's milk.

"You're too kind," Narcissa answered, with _just_ the right flutter of the eyelids and _just_ the right curl of the lip.

Galatea laughed.

"All right," she agreed, "I shall help you teach Mr Potter the finer points of a Wizarding Yule," and so saying, she called for her house-elf, who appeared almost before Galatea had finished saying her name.

"How can Misty be helping Madam Merrythought?" she asked.

"We shall need the Book on General Wizarding Rituals," Merrythought replied, rather imperiously.

"Yes mistress!" the elf replied, and popped away, retouring scant seconds later with an ancient and obviously well-read book.

"That will be all," Merrythought said, and Misty vanished.

Narcissa smiled inwardly. She recognised this treatment of house-elves; after all, it was exactly the same as her mother and grandmother, and had been inculcated into her too. It was only Miss Granger, and of course Harry, who had opened her eyes to other possibilities: that one might be polite, even kind, to house-elves would never occur to Galatea; but then, Misty probably wouldn't be able to cope with such behaviour. The two had been together for the best part of a century, and it was clear that they got on well together. It wasn't going to change. In the same way, there was just no point in reminding her hostess that Harry had changed his name from Potter to Potter-Malfoy; she'd done so twice already, and the woman had simply ignored the point. There were more important battles to win here. Or at least, there were battles that were easier to win.

Meanwhile, Galatea had opened up to the section she required.

"Now," she said, in full-blown Professor mode, "there are some very important Yule rituals. The Sun being absent for the longest period has created the general belief that rituals involving the Dead are in order. Of course, we shall steer clear of actual Necromancy in any form; but I know Mr Potter has lost many people close to him?"

As Galatea outlined some possibilities, Narcissa's eyes grew very wide indeed. She had thought she knew plenty of Dark rituals; but of course much of what she knew had to be kept rather secret while the Ministry was no longer swayed by the Dark side. Her knowledge of legal rituals was rather scant, which was why she had sought the old witch out in the first place; Galatea was a mine of information, especially concerning rituals that weren't exactly Light Magic but weren't banned either.

ooOOoo

Merrythought sat long into the night, staring at her fire. It had been a most unusual day. When the Malfoys had made it clear that they were for Voldemort (and yes, Dalmatea called him that, she had no time for ridiculous circumlocutions like "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"), she had assumed that was it; she had never expected to see Narcissa Malfoy again, at least, not without wands being drawn. To have her come visiting, and doing it strictly by the book, sending calling cards instead of curses ahead of her in the proper formal pure-blood way had rather rattled Galatea. In her old age, life had become rather black-and-white; it seemed that perhaps, as Dalmatia had suggested to her on Sunday, the certainties she had grown up with were being stripped away.

In many ways, she mused, this was a good thing. There was no doubt that the changes she had watched over the last few months as their society came to grips with being at peace were in large part due to Mr Potter; the Potter Code, and the way he had handled the Wizengamot, had been masterful. Not that she was a member of that august body any longer, of course, but Dalmatia came over every Sunday and told her everything that went on, and she felt she was as well-informed as when she had been there herself. Her daughter had always had a wonderful gift for explaining things; that was one of the reasons why she had pushed her to take the job at Hogwarts.

And hadn't that worked out well! She heard nothing but praise from Minerva McGonagall; evidently Dalmatea had taken to teaching like a duck to water. Like mother, like daughter, it seemed. She thought back on the discussion they had had last Sunday, comparing Voldemort to Grindelwald. Of course, there were more differences than similarities: Grindelwald had not actually been certifiably insane, for a start. Galatea had wondered just how that had happened to Tom Riddle but when she learnt that he had created horcruxes the answer was clear. The man might have been brilliant, but he seemed to have overlooked the rather obvious fact that splitting your soul into pieces was pretty much guaranteed to do irreparable damage to it.

Her mind circled back to Harry Potter. There was no insanity there; in fact, she rather admired his evident level-headedness, especially given the way Dumbledore had treated him. For Galatea had few illusions about Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: the rest of the Light might think that the sun shone out of his behind, but she had taught him, and in her opinion he had never stopped being a naughty boy. And what had been enchanting in an eleven-year-old was, in her view, positively dangerous by the time the wizard was a hundred and eleven.

Still, water under the bridge, she supposed. She had outlived him; she had never expected that. He seemed to have ensconced himself in Hogwarts and it had looked like nothing was ever going to get him out. And now Minerva was Headmistress, and what had become in the end a rather stagnant pond was getting a good stirring. It might unsettle her certainties; but really, that was no bad thing.

She had outlived them all: Dumbledore, and Voldemort, and Grindelwald. Three wizards who had all, in their own ways, wanted to be immortal, and perished in the attempt. Horcruxes! Riddle may have been clever, but he was a clever fool. And 'the greater good'! It had sprung forth so effortlessly from Dumbledore's lips that it had been quite a revelation to learn that it was really Gellert Grindelwald's phrase. And as for him: obsessed with the Deathly Hallows, an obsession that Albus had shared, though Voldemort seemed to have been only interested in the Elder Wand. And now, it seemed, the Elder Wand was no more. She wondered just what had become of the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility; did Harry Potter have them, perhaps? Was that the secret of the enchantment that the Wizarding world had only recently thrown off?

"Mistress!"

Misty's voice cut through her meandering thoughts.

"Oh, Misty, sorry, you startled me," she said.

"It is being past midnight, and time for mistress to be in bed."

Galatea smiled. Whatever happened in the world, her house-elf was still rabidly protective of her.

ooOOoo

_Sunday 29 November_

Weekend breakfasts at Malfoy Manor seemed to have settled back into the lovely lazy groove Narcissa fondly remembered from when they were first married, and which seemed to have gone forever once baby Draco was mobile and demanded to be up and doing at five o'clock every morning. Those days were long gone; and while she didn't miss the early wake-up calls, it did feel a bit sad these days to wake up in the huge, all but empty manor, now that Harry and Draco divided their time between the Castle or the Lodge. She wondered idly if her sons would ever live in the Manor; though perhaps it would be better used for something else. It had unpleasant memories for all of them. Not that she would ever get Lucius to live anywhere else, she knew that well enough, but there was no reason why Draco needed to be tortured by memories of the past.

She berated herself for getting off track. All right, she missed having the boys around. Still, she was sure she could tempt them to the Manor for Yule. Given what she planned following Galatea's advice, she was certainly going to try.

"How was your visit with old Merrythought?" Lucius asked, unconsciously echoing Narcissa's thoughts, as he took a sip of his tea and put down the Daily Prophet.

"Very productive," Narcissa replied enigmatically.

Lucius looked at her sternly, then gave a wry grin. "Well, I guess if you want to tell me about it, you will."

"Of course," she said drily, buttering her toast and taking a bite.

Lucius picked up the Prophet again. No doubt Narcissa was scheming about something; as she hadn't involved him yet, he suspected it had to do with Draco and Harry. Well, that would be good; much better to have her focussed on them than him. He loved his wife dearly, but being in the centre of her attention had its own attendant dangers. Usually involving going shopping. And spending a lot of money on clothes. Two activities that he could generally do without.

His own plans were proceeding well; after his conversation with Harry on Thursday and the meeting on Friday, the Daily Prophet had made wonderful reading over the weekend. To be sure, the article he enjoyed most yesterday was buried away on page 14; internal moves at the Ministry were not exactly big news, especially when a relatively junior employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement got moved to an equally junior position in the Department of the Care of Magical Creatures. He was sure it would be entertaining over the next few months to see if Bruzzen could resurrect his career from there.

And today the article he had discussed with Cuffe had come out, and the Ministry had even written a press release which had also been published in today's edition. Lucius was delighted to discover that, while Dempster Wiggleswade might still be the legal issues columnist for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, either he had had a major style change or Cuffe had found a new editor; the article had a certain zip to it that he couldn't quite place … except … his mind drifted back over the summer, and he remembered they had had an intern … Susan Bones, perhaps? Though she would be at Hogwarts; but then again perhaps she had a weekend job during term time. He would probably follow it up later; good journalists were definitely worth cultivating.

Not that it mattered a jot, of course; the article was a good one, and painted Anderson in just the right light of a caring Head of Committee with a genuine concern for Wizarding safety "who had been delighted to ask Lord Malfoy's advice and discover that the man had a plan that neatly dealt with potential security problems while at the same time offering solace and shelter to those poor squibs who had been so cruelly discarded by their families but deserved better," the article said. Lovely.

"Anything in the Prophet?" Narcissa enquired.

"Oh, just an article about a new proposal for getting squibs back into our society," he replied, passing her the paper opened at the relevant page and watching as her eyebrow rose when she found out just exactly who had proposed the action.

"Intriguing," she said when she had finished, laying the paper down. "I wonder what Harry will have to say about it."

Lucius had noticed that Harry wasn't mentioned, of course, but that could actually work in their favour; Skeeter could be pushed to ask him what he thought about it, and they'd get a second piece of good publicity out of it.

"Oh," Lucius replied off-hand, "he's in favour of it."

Narcissa looked at him, a touch surprised at this. "When exactly did Harry give his backing?"

Lucius smirked. "That would be on Thursday," he replied.

She looked at him with admiration. "I see. When he came to the Manor," she said simply, thinking out loud. "Making hay while the sun shines?"

"Something like that," he replied, passing her the jam before she could ask. "Are you going to tell me about your project?"

"Yule," she replied.

"And…"

"Harry."

"Ah. Merrythought had some suggestions?"

"Some very good ones," Narcissa agreed. "Though I will need some help sourcing some of the woods she recommended."

"Hmm," Lucius mused. For Narcissa to say she needed help meant she must be really stuck. He let his mind wander through their contacts for a minute, and she watched in silence, appreciating the obvious effort he was making on her behalf. Not for the first time, she was very grateful to be married to a man who always took her quite seriously; most pure-bloods she knew treated their wives as little more than chattels. _Most pure-bloods I know are dead or in Azkaban_ , shethought ruefully.

"Mr Longbottom, perhaps?" he suggested, breaking in to her reverie

Narcissa beamed at him, and rose from her seat.

"Perfect!" she replied, favouring him with a kiss before repairing to her study. She had a celebration to plot.

ooOOoo

Narcissa Malfoy sat in her study in a bit of a quandary. After her discussion with Galatea Merrythought, it was clear that she needed to make contact with Neville Longbottom. The problem was, how to do so discreetly. While she was on nodding terms with the man, he wasn't the sort of person she could simply owl an invitation to afternoon tea to. And anyway, that was quite the wrong way to go about things. An owl implied organisation and planning; it would be much better if the impression was given that the meeting was a fortuitous thing, a spontaneous event taken advantage of.

But meeting with Neville rather necessitated a visit to Diagon Alley, and that caused the problem. Quite simply, Narcissa Malfoy did not wander Diagon Alley. Not that she couldn't, of course; just that she didn't. Why would she? She had house elves to do her shopping, and Lucius did most of the business of the family. No-one would believe for a moment that she just happened to be strolling there for no particular reason; they would be looking for the ulterior motive. Not, of course, without reason. But the fact remained that her just appearing there would cause comment; and much more so if she were to enter a shop like Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. And comment would probably get back to Draco, and then Harry; somehow gossip always did manage to get back to the very people you wanted kept in the dark, in her experience.

So she wracked her brains to find some plausible reason to be there; surely, she told herself, a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black could think of something. Ideally, something that only she could do, to explain why she had not delegated the task to a house-elf or husband. It was a pretty problem. How to explain her presence in the Alley, and get to meet with the twins and Neville, without causing surprise?

It took perhaps ten minutes before the news from the breakfast table filtered into her thoughts. Lucius had set up a programme to re-integrate squibs into the Wizarding World. On the whole, that could be a good idea, she mused. Especially if the hand of friendship was offered by the pure-bloods, as a sort of peace offering, since it was mostly pure-blood families who had thrown them out in the first place. An act with a great deal of symbolic power. Yes, a very good idea. One they wanted to be seen to be behind …

An evil grin spread across her face. What if the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black actually put its weight behind the idea? Harry had even made it easy for her; not really wanting another title for himself anyway, he had made it clear that Teddy Lupin was to inherit the title of Lord Black, and Narcissa and Andromeda had been given joint stewardship over most of the Black estate until Teddy reached his majority.

She placed a Floo call to her sister. They could set things up so that some empty Black properties were made available to the squibs; and at the same time, it would give her a very positive reason to visit Diagon Alley, as obviously they would want to sort things out with the goblins in person. And then it would not surprise anyone if she took advantage of being there to do a little shopping …

Two hours later, Lucius happened upon a familiar scene: Andromeda and Narcissa were sitting at the Manor having tea while Teddy gurgled happily at their feet.

"Good morning Dromeda," he said warmly. "Staying to lunch?"

"Oh!" Andromeda said, and thought for a second before replying, "I hadn't intended to, but if it's no trouble…"

"Of course not!" Narcissa said joyously. "The boys are coming over, Harry will be delighted to see his godson again."

And indeed, Andromeda mused a couple of hours later as she sat on one of the drawing-room sofas with her nephew Draco and watched Harry crawling all over the floor chasing Teddy, it was clearly a very good idea.

Right now, they seemed to be playing some infant version of hide-and-seek: Teddy had somehow managed to hide himself under a table, and Harry was pretending he couldn't find him. Narcissa roared with laughter at the ludicrous expression of surprise on Harry's face when he finally 'found' Teddy and lifted him up in the air for a cuddle while pretending to eat him.

Harry, feeling a bit tired out by his godson, fell onto the sofa next to his husband, Teddy giggling as he in turn collapsed onto Harry's chest. Draco smirked.

"Has he tired you out already, Harry?" he asked mischievously.

"Ry!" Teddy echoed, reaching out his hands and thumping Harry for all the world as though he felt a percussion accompaniment was needed.

"This whole family!" Harry mock-complained. "All Lucius's politicking is making my head spin! And you want to involve the Black family, you were saying?"

"Yes," Andy said firmly. "What better way to cock a snook at our ancestors than to welcome with open arms the people they threw to the wolves – in some cases, literally."

Narcissa shuddered. There were certainly stories of some of the more heartless Blacks waiting until the full moon especially to throw squibs out of the family and into the hunting grounds of werewolves, and knowing her family as she did, she did not doubt there was some truth to them.

"I thought, for example, we might go to Gringotts this afternoon and see if there are any obvious vacant properties that could be used to house squibs. If, that is, you were agreeable?" Narcissa asked, taking care to keep her facial expression open and honest as she looked to Harry for his approval.

"Sounds like an excellent idea to me," Harry replied. He turned to his father-in-law. "I take it that doesn't steal your thunder?"

"Not at all," Lucius replied. "Uniting the pure-blood houses of Malfoy and Black behind this plan will send a very strong signal to our community."

Harry laughed. "Politicking again," he said, with a mock groan. "Oh, and Narcissa, see if you can get Bill Weasley to show you his map. It's really spectacular."

"Map?" Narcissa asked, puzzled.

"Oh yes," Draco replied. "It's a map he made at the last solstice, of the Spheres of Existence."

"My word," Lucius said. "I had heard of such things; but he actually has one?"

Harry nodded.

"Remarkable. You'd better hunt Weasley out. He works at Gringotts?"

The question was asked of Harry, who nodded again.

"Excellent!" Narcissa replied. "Well, I think there's only one more thing to be asked."

"What's that?" Draco replied.

"If you two boys will look after Teddy for us while we visit Gringotts," Andromeda replied, and Draco had the feeling he'd been conned. Of course, they had to agree; but at least Harry and Teddy were happy as the two ladies Flooed away and, surprise surprise, Lucius remembered some urgent paperwork in his office.

ooOOoo

One thing Narcissa appreciated about the Goblins was their efficiency. It took ten minutes for them to be in front of Sharpfang, the Black account manager. They outlined their plan to him, taking the trouble to explain the reasoning, while at the same time keeping their presentation crisp and succinct. To the Goblins, time was money.

Sharpfang was actually quite impressed. Generally speaking, he had a low opinion of wizards, and an even lower one of witches: in his experience, they tended not to be good for much more than fits of histrionics when threatened with foreclosure. Not good for business. But his customers in the Black account were an entirely different kind of Magical: for a start, Lord Black, or Potter-Malfoy as the boy called himself now, was both a Dragon-rider and a Goblin-friend, and those titles garnered him a lot of respect throughout the Goblin nation. Add to that these two witches, who had just given him one of the best presented arguments for what was essentially charity work that he had ever seen from a pure-blood, and it was no surprise that the Black account was sought after in the bank. Well, no one was wresting it from his hands. Not without a fight, anyway. He'd like to see the young bloods try, he thought grimly; he'd be leaving their blood on the floor if they did. Sharpfang was no slouch with a sword, and, more importantly, this fact was well-known to his fellow Goblins; the rumour of his skill saved him from fighting all but the stupidest opponents, who proved to be no match for it.

In the meantime, he needed to pass from these happy thoughts to the matter at hand.

"While I can see that this means properties standing idle will get used," he said once the ladies had finished, "You do understand that these properties cannot just be given away, nor do the terms of the Black estate allow you to sell them. As your account manager, I must consider the revenue angle…"

"In the short term, there won't be one," Andromeda said firmly. "We're doing this to get squibs back into the community. Which will, of course, only increase commerce in the Wizarding world. Perhaps, in time, since we can't sell the properties, we will be able to charge rents; but to begin with we want to seem open-handed."

_Sneaky,_ Sharpfang thought. _Get them in, then a sucker punch once they are committed._ He liked it. Not that he was about to say so; nor was it really his place to. If the lawful stewards of the Black estate wanted this, he couldn't really stop them.

"What does Lord Black have to say?" he asked, just to cover all the bases.

"Harry is in full support of the project," Narcissa replied.

"Very well," Sharpfang said. "There are four properties I would suggest …"

As he was speaking, the goblin laid out four folders on the desk, one describing each property, facing the two witches, with wizarding photographs on the front. Narcissa realised at a glance that the choices were excellent – these properties were all well sited, had land around them, but not so much as to make people feel isolated, and exuded a feeling of cosiness and comfort.

"Excellent," she said, and Andromeda nodded in agreement. "Well, that's all we need really; if you could add those properties to the list the Ministry is compiling …"

"Of course," Sharpfang responded immediately. One did not say no to such clients. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"There is one thing …" Narcissa began.

ooOOoo

Bill Weasley was in conference with Raredd when the two witches entered the curse-breakers workroom; it was the goblin who noticed Narcissa and Andromeda first, largely because they were with Sharpfang. While Raredd and Sharpfang were not exactly enemies, there was little love lost between them; add to that the fact that, as a manager, he surely had better things to do than escort people around the bank, and Raredd's curiosity was well and truly piqued.

"Sharpfang!" he roared as he entered the main body of the workroom. "What brings an exalted Senior Account Manager to my humble abode?"

"I hear, Raredd, that, amongst the trinkets you keep here, you have an artefact here that is worth viewing – some kind of map?"

Raredd grinned. "So, news of the Map of the Worlds has reached even as high as your ears, then?"

Bill could hardly rein in the smirk from his face: Raredd was six inches taller than Sharpfang, so the comment was in fact a sarcastic way of pointing out the latter's lack of height. It was obvious that Sharpfang was well aware that he was being needled; and Bill was sure that, if the two witches had not been present, they would have been treated to either a stream of profanities or an outright challenge to duel.

But Sharpfang was not for doing either of those things in the presence of such illustrious clients. The Black account was sufficiently important that he was prepared to overlook Raredd's barbs.

"Indeed," he replied calmly. "And, dear friend, now that my ears have heard of it, my eyes desire to see it. As do these two important clients of the Bank."

"Yes, yes," Raredd replied, not missing the ironic 'dear friend', nor the subtlety of the other pointing out that the two witches were important clients – which, of course, Raredd knew perfectly well; like practically everyone else in the Bank, he could recognise Narcissa Malfoy immediately, and the other was too much like her to be anyone but her sister. And, also in common with almost every other goblin, he was well aware that these two had considerable clout over the Black account, one of the oldest and most profitable in the bank.

Still, Raredd thought, it would not do to let Sharpfang think he could best him. "I'm sure Senior Curse-Breaker Weasley will be happy to show you the Map, and explain how he came to make it."

And with that, much to Sharpfang's consternation, the Head of Curse-Breaking at Gringotts returned to his office.

As his boss walked out on them, Bill went over to a tall cupboard hidden in an alcove and pulled out a scroll which he brought over to the large worktable in the middle of the workroom. As he unrolled it, he casually weighted it down with whatever was to hand – bags of gold coins, mostly, but the occasional large jewel. Like McGonagall had before, Andromeda chuckled softly to see the incredible nonchalance displayed as the curse-breaker casually used ridiculously expensive stones for no other purpose than to weigh the scroll down.

Bill heard the chuckle and well understood the reason for it.

"Goblins have a rather different view of precious stones than we do," he said, not unkindly. "They value them, to be sure; but things need to be useful as well as beautiful in the goblin world, and this merely proves their worth. Anyway, let me explain the map."

Fifteen minutes later, a rather wide-eyed Narcissa Malfoy was struggling to retain her composure. Even Sharpfang looked a bit shocked, not that his general demeanour indicated it in any way.

"Thank you for showing off your toy," he said to Bill, "but now I'm afraid I must get back to some real work. Ladies," he said, nodding to Narcissa and Andromeda before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

"Officious git," Bill said under his breath.

Narcissa privately agreed, but did not say so. Gringotts was, after all, his patch; and a guest does not insult the host in their own home.

"What you have here is amazing," she said, choosing to ignore Sharpfang's exit altogether. "And you seem to have learnt a great deal from it."

"Yes," Bill agreed. "What would be nice, of course, would be to make a similar map at the Winter Solstice in December."

"What would that tell you?" Andromeda asked.

"Hard to be sure," Bill replied, "but it might be a way to discover a bit more about the Sphere of Intangible Absence; it's the thing we know least about in the whole set-up."

"The Winter Solstice?" Narcissa echoed musingly. "That's at Yule, is it not?"

"That's right," Bill said, and the honest countenance he turned to her helped Narcissa make up her mind.

"I wonder if I could beg your help," she said. "I'm hoping to give Harry a taste of what a real old-fashioned Yule is like, so I'm doing some research into the old customs…."

"Oh what a brilliant idea!" Bill said. "I can't be there on the day, unfortunately, but I'd love to help with the preparations. Were you thinking of something like the Ceremony of the Woods?"

"Yes," Narcissa answered, a serene smile on her face belying the turmoil of her thoughts as she realised that his comment about how it would be nice to have a Winter Solstice map was, in fact, not a wish at all, but a definite plan; this was, surely, the only reason why he would not be available for a celebration. "You know it?"

Bill nodded. "Might be tricky to get the woods you need, though." He thought for a second. "Tell you what, let's have a chat with Neville Longbottom about it. He's passionate about plants, if anyone can source them, he can."

Narcissa carefully schooled her face into an innocent visage; she didn't want Bill to suggest this was exactly what she was hoping for. "That would be wonderful. Do you think you could raise it with him?"

Bill cast a tempus. "Tell you what," he said, "I'm done for the day; we could pop over to the shop and see them now, if that suits you."

"How kind," Narcissa replied. "Perhaps we could have you all to dinner?"

"Ooh, yes please!" Bill said with a grin. "Fleur is away so I was going to eat with the lads anyway." Which pretty much meant it would be takeaway as like as not, but he wasn't about to tell Narcissa that.

_Too easy,_ Narcissa thought, as the three of them left the bank together.

ooOOoo

It was quite a large party who sat down to dinner at the Manor that night. Harry and Draco were still there, and their numbers were increased as Margaret and Miriam had turned up so that the little girl could play with Teddy. Narcissa had not only insisted that they stay, and fetch Peter Granger, but invited Ron and Hermione as well, ostensibly so that Hermione could spend time with her family.

But Narcissa was a Black and a Slytherin. Andromeda Tonks, watching the group, strongly suspected there was an ulterior motive. A suspicion that hardened to certainty as she watched her sister work the drawing-room after dinner, effortlessly manoeuvring her guests so she managed to have what were obviously quite serious conversations with Neville and one of the twins – Neville's husband, she supposed, so that would be George. And then the sickle dropped: all of these people made an excellent smoke-screen for having a private conversation, in plain sight, with people her sister would not normally see. It was a masterstroke. She only hoped that whatever was being planned came off; from what Narcissa had said at Gringotts, it was most probably a nice surprise for Harry. And if anyone deserved such a thing, Andromeda thought, he did.

ooOOoo

As he got ready for bed, Lucius realised, somewhat to his surprise, that he had really enjoyed himself that evening.

"A very pleasant evening, my dear," he said to Narcissa as they bedded down.

"Glad you enjoyed it," she replied, casting a Nox to extinguish the lights.

"Did you get everything you wanted done today?" he asked.

"Oh, I think so," Narcissa replied. Yes, it had been a most successful day. Keeping these Gryffindors in the dark was like taking candy from a baby, Narcissa thought smugly, as she fell asleep.

ooOOoo

At Hogwarts, another married couple were also bedding down for the night.

"Did you enjoy playing with your godson?" Draco asked.

"Very much so," Harry replied as the cuddled together, lapsing into a profound and comfortable silence.

But Harry couldn't get straight to sleep; he found the day's events replaying in his head.

"Draco," he asked a little while later, "just what exactly is your mother up to?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
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> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook and AO3. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
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> Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and Galatea Merrythought's seed cake to all who have reviewed.


	92. Returning Father's Hearts to Their Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Elijah … will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers; or else I will come and strike the land with a curse."_
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> **Malachi 4:6**
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> WARNINGS: This chapter is a bit non-linear in order to introduce a new character.There is a reference to a graphic death scene.  
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Andreas Nott blended into the South African landscape as though he had been born there. Tall, lean, blond and tanned, he found he was accepted as 'one of us' everywhere he went. And, truth to tell, he adored it. The famous to the point of legendary South African hospitality had proved to be entirely real; after eight years, he was beginning to feel that, like the trees he loved, he had put down roots.

He felt a true sense of belonging here. A sense he had never had back in the land of his birth. No, in England, he had been shunned and reviled. For Andreas was a Squib. His family had been given the final confirmation one dark and stormy October evening; the four-year old had found himself on the doorstep of an orphanage that very night. It had not taken him long to realise how his world worked: rejected by his family, he had never been picked by anyone else, and had left the orphanage at sixteen, a bitter youth hell-bent on revenge against his family.

But it isn't that easy; how can a Squib wreak vengeance against wizards? Even when he tracked them down, which took him five years, he still couldn't enter his family's properties: the wards had been crafted well, and there was no-one to help him. In desperation, he had sought out the Wizarding World, having heard rumours of a community somewhere in London; but even when he found Diagon Alley, there was still no-one to help. Everyone was caught up in some kind of war, which surprised him greatly, as there was no news about it at all in what he was now calling the 'Muggle' world.

So he had retreated back into the Muggle world and started to make a life for himself. He married one of the other former orphans, and settled back to enjoy life. A son came along a couple of years later, and he had begun to believe that perhaps his life might actually be worth living.

And then his son turned two, and all hell had broken loose.

For it turned out that his son, his lovely Adam, was a Wizard. On his second birthday, he had managed to use accidental magic to levitate a piece of birthday cake to him. While Andreas was very proud, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end to think of what his family might do if they ever found out …

It was a bitter blow that it had taken him five years to find his family, but it took them less than a day to find him. Most people at the birthday party seemed not to have noticed, or to have assumed they were just imagining things; but, unknown to Andreas and Candace, one mother was a witch, who happened to mention the incident to her husband, who happened to mention it to his friend Godfrey Nott …

He still remembered the day as though it were yesterday. The knock on the door had come soon after dawn, and, followed by a very inquisitive Adam, he opened up, still bleary-eyed, to find his parents standing on the doorstep. His mother, that vicious, cold-hearted bitch, had demanded he hand over the child. 'The child.' Her very words. She did not even know his name, and yet she arrogantly stood there and demanded him, all because Adam had magic and Andreas did not.

When he refused, she had simply placed Andreas in a full body-bind. And then his beloved Candace, who had intuited that all was not well, raced in and, screaming, had clasped Adam to her bosom and declared that they would take Adam over her dead body. His mother had been only too pleased to oblige, stunning her and then ripping the terrified, sobbing boy from her arms before cutting her throat with a severing charm.

It had taken two hours for the body-bind to wear off; two hours standing there, staring at Candace's lifeless body. As soon as he was free, he packed up everything he valued and left, taking the next flight for Johannesburg. It wasn't until half-way through the flight that it hit him just how stupid he had been: of course the police would find the body, and no doubt there would be a welcoming committee to meet him in South Africa, just ready to extradite him back to the United Kingdom.

He still remembered that fateful meeting with the Customs official when he landed at Jan Smuts International Airport, as it had been called then. As he feared, he had been called aside into a private office. He fully expected the police to be there ready to cuff him; he was shocked when instead the official sat next to him and offered him a cup of coffee, and his open hand.

"Hi," he'd said with a broad grin. "I'm Dirk Coetzee. Tell me what you're running away from."

It had been the beginning of a wonderful and lasting friendship. It turned out that Dirk wasn't there to arrest him at all. He was a Muggle-born wizard; it seemed that many magical people entered South Africa, and Dirk had got himself a job in Customs mainly to intercept them and guide them into one of the burgeoning magical communities. So of course the man was quite expert at spotting Magicals, including, it seemed, squibs.

When Andreas told him the story what was now the previous day's events, Dirk's face had darkened with rage.

"Bastards!" he had said, softly, too softly, the voice of a man just holding himself together.

Andreas had been shocked. He'd imagined being arrested and locked up, then extradited back to the United Kingdom; it had never crossed his mind that anyone would simply accept his story.

"You believe me?" he said.

"We hear stories like this from your country too often to doubt that you are telling the truth," Dirk had replied, and the acceptance and friendship just grew from there. Two weeks later, he found himself part of a small magical community just outside Capetown, with his own house, and a job at a local plant nursery, run by Dirk's father. The latter had rather surprised him; he'd been an office worker in England. But here, he discovered, he could be whatever he wanted, and he had found he had something of a gift with plants.

He'd been in the job for six months when the boss pulled him aside.

"Andy," he'd asked, "are you happy here?"

"Absolutely, Mr Coetzee!"

"Good to hear!" the warm-hearted man exclaimed. "I have to say, I don't know how you do it; I've watched you over the last few months moving the potted trees around, changing the fertilizers, doing all sorts of things. I didn't understand it; but I go by results. Your trees are doing better than any I've ever seen. Keep it up."

And that had been his one-and-only formal review. Old man Coetzee didn't go for formality very much; if you were doing something wrong, he'd soon tell you, and if he didn't, that meant he was happy. Andreas looked back on the experience quite fondly. He'd even gotten a pay rise out of it.

And he was still here, working for the same firm – now a major supplier of trees world-wide – and still enjoying the country very much. The only fly in the ointment was the memories that surfaced from time to time. Especially, of Candace. Somehow he had felt closer to her then than ever before. Something had happened; from that point on, he seemed drawn to where things were wrong. He couldn't explain it; but he knew when a tree needed to be rotated a bit, or have a particular branch lopped; and he knew when people particularly needed a kind word or a telling off, and gave both freely. All his friends commented on how empathetic he was, and, apart from the memories, it had made for a happy life.

He just tried not to think about Candace and Adam. He tried. Perhaps, one day, he would manage it.

ooOOoo

Vernon Dursley didn't get much sleep these days. Not that anybody forced him to get up; he had just slipped into an easy rhythm of cleaning during the day and walking the floors at night. The orphanage didn't mind; it saved them a security guard wage, he supposed.

Sometimes on these nocturnal walks he would come across something interesting – a child trying to sneak into the kitchens was the most common thing. He always made a bit of a noise if he heard them, and they managed to scurry away before he caught them at it. This suited him just fine; exactly what he would have done with them if he'd caught them was unclear, and in truth he'd rather not find out. He'd have to tell the Director, of course, but that was not without its risks. He was given a grudging measure of respect by the children now; he would sooner not lose it by being seen as what they called a 'dibber-dobber'.

But tonight had been one of the strangest events yet. He'd been passing the ten-year-olds' dormitory when he heard one of the boys speaking out loud. He popped his head in to see the young lad was sound asleep, but clearly in the grip of a bad dream. As he watched, the boy sat bolt upright.

"No!" he screamed. "No! You can't take me! I won't go!"

"Who's trying to take you?" Vernon asked softly.

The boy wimpered. "No, grandmother, don't hurt me. I'll be good, Grandmother Messalina!"

And with that, the boy fell down, fast asleep.

Vernon's face twisted. As far as he knew, Tony had no known family. No-one in the orphanage did; wizarding children seemed to be treasured, in his observation.

What to do? He hardly had enough evidence to bring to the Director, he decided; it's not like he actually wanted to talk to the man. No, he'd just have to wait and see if he could find out any more.

ooOOoo

Andreas's little world had been rather shaken up when Theodore and Pansy Nott arrived. At Dirk's suggestion, he hadn't ever told anyone his real name, choosing to use his son's name as a surname instead and styling himself Andreas Adams. This had turned out to be a very good idea; he had now met a couple of other Notts in the community, but fortunately there had been no suspicion about any family resemblance or anything – it helped that he took after his mother's family more than his father's in looks. Also, the Notts who had come to South Africa were not near relations of his father, so he felt no particular need to let them know who he really was.

But when it came to Theo, things were a bit different. He had no quarrel with that part of the family. Quite the opposite: he remembered Theo's grandfather quite well; the man had been kind to him, given him sweets and such, and, much more importantly, had argued with his parents when he was suspected of being a squib and even offered to take care of him. So he had slowly sussed out Theo over a few weeks.

Eventually, at one of the braais that they were always having, he pulled together his courage and sat next to his distant cousin.

"Tell me," he asked, "have you ever heard of a wizarding couple called Godfrey and Messalina Nott?"

Theo's eyes darkened at once. "Yes," he said, with venom in his voice.

"Not, I think, friends of yours?"

Theo gave an ugly grin.

"Er, no," Theo replied. "I've met them a few times at family gatherings. They're horrible people. My grandfather hated his cousin Godfrey with a passion."

"I see," Andreas said, looking thoughtful. "Was there a particular reason for that?"

"There was a son," Theo replied. "In fact, I think he might have been called Andreas too. But he was a squib, and they chucked him out."

Theo said this with such disdain that there was no doubting his feeling on the matter.

"And then, to top it off, I heard that he had a son who is magical – so his grandparents went and took him off his parents."

"What?" Andreas ejaculated, managing to have just the right look of astonishment and distaste on his face. "You don't say!"

"Yes," Theo replied. "Despicable." And then the epiphany happened to Theo, and his eyes went wide. "Hang on," he said. "How long did you say you've been here?"

"Just over eight years," Andreas replied, well aware of where Theo was going.

"And you're a squib called Andreas?" Theo said, giving him a hard stare.

The real question hardly needed to be asked.

"Yes," Andreas replied, in answer to both questions. "Yes, I was once Andreas Nott, and Messalina is my mother, and she killed my wife, my beautiful Candace, and stole away my beautiful little boy."

"Oh Merlin!" Theo exclaimed. And then he thought for a bit. Andreas waited patiently; it was a bit of a bomb-shell, he supposed. But Theo's eventual response was a big shock.

"You know what?" he said. "It's never occurred to me before, but I've met your parents. But I've never met your son. What was his name?"

"Adam," Andreas replied mechanically. "But how can you not have met him? Didn't he live with them?"

"Not that I heard," Theo replied. "Given how awful they are, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd parked him in an orphanage somewhere."

Andreas's face went red with anger. He had to agree; he certainly wouldn't put it past his hag of a mother to take his child away, just so he couldn't have him, but then sling him in an orphanage rather than go to the bother of looking after him herself. At the same time, he became rather apprehensive: what would this poor child think if he found him, having been apparently abandoned by his family for so long?

Theo looked at him wide-eyed. What could he say? He'd just found a new relative and a fractured family. In that moment, the thing that flashed through his mind was the incredible kindness that he had been shown by Harry Potter, and he knew there was really only one thing to do.

"I'll help you find him," he said simply.

Andreas looked at him and nodded in shock. Very much to his surprise, it seemed that not all of his family was so bitterly prejudiced against squibs. He didn't say anything; the lump in his throat wouldn't let him.

ooOOoo

"Tony!" the teacher said to him sharply. "Just what is wrong with you these days?"

"Sorry, miss," the ten-year-old replied. "I'm just tired."

"Well," she said primly, "perhaps you'd better have a nap."

"'M not a baby," the boy replied.

The teacher did not say anything; she simply looked at him sternly. It took twenty seconds or so; but eventually the boy got the message, and left for his room. On his way there, he passed the caretaker, but paid him no mind. The man never bothered them, so they'd decided to leave him alone as well.

Tony might have been oblivious; but Vernon was becoming concerned. The boy was obviously so tired he was about ready to drop where he stood; so the caretaker followed him to the dormitory, just to make sure he got there safely.

It wasn't till he reached his room that Tony realised he was being followed. He turned around to see who it was.

 _Oh,_ he thought. _The smelly old caretaker. Brilliant._

"What do you want?" he asked belligerently.

Vernon blinked. "Just making sure you're all right," he replied softly.

"Yeah?" the boy said. "Well, I'm not, am I?"

"Pardon?" Vernon asked

"I'm not supposed to be here," the boy went on, and Vernon could see he was slipping into his own little world. "I've got a family. They left me here. They –"

Here Tony stopped, shaking, and Vernon wondered if it was sorrow or rage; then he started up again, "the woman, she took me from my parents-" and now it was clear that there were memories coming flooding back – "she killed my mum and took me from my dad and left me here."

The last word came out in a whisper; for as he had been speaking, Tony's iron I-am-a-boy-and-will-not-cry resolve had been breaking down and, as he reached the end of his speech, it broke completely, and he gave himself over to howls of sorrow as big, fat, hot tears ran down his face.

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Vernon felt real compassion for another human being. It was a very strange feeling, and he was not sure what to do about it. He wanted to help someone, not because they might do him a favour later, or because he liked them, or to show how big he was, but simply because they needed it.

It was all foreign to him, but somehow he managed to sit next to the sobbing boy, who threw his arms around him and held on tightly.

They were still there half an hour later when Johann Ries, the orphanage's Director, came looking for the caretaker. He stood at the door and watched, open-mouthed, at the tableau before him: the arrogant, prejudiced, selfish man giving comfort to the distressed boy.

He turned away silently, heading for the boy's classroom to see if he could find out what the matter might be. _As for Dursley,_ he thought, _perhaps there is hope even yet._

ooOOoo

Theo was at a bit of a loss. He'd promised his distant cousin to help him; but he didn't know quite what to do. Gathering that Andreas didn't want the family to cotton on to who he really was, he made discreet enquiries; but most of the British magicals who had come to South Africa had done so to break with England altogether, so didn't want to know about what was happening back there.

He sighed. The only other thing he could think of doing without arousing any suspicion was to keep a sharp eye on the papers. And if the others thought he was a bit eccentric for having a subscription to the Daily Prophet, that was their problem.

Which is how, at the end of November, he came across an article about Lucius Malfoy's plans for integrating squibs. The moment he saw it, the answer to his problem was obvious: what sort of Slytherin was he, to have such excellent contacts and to have failed to use them. He should have written to the Malfoys ages ago. If anyone could help, they could; and, with Harry in the family, he was pretty sure they would, too. In fact, he rather felt that the whole article reeked of the effect that the Debt was having on Lucius; there was surely no way the arrogant patrician of yesteryear would be militating for squibs. But hey, if it did a good turn for Theo, and Andreas, he wasn't going to knock it.

He took out quill and parchment, and began to write.

ooOOoo

For the next week, Vernon watched. The boy, he learned, was called Tony. Tony Adams. But somehow he doubted that would be his real name; for Vernon did not doubt for a minute that Tony had been telling the truth. He had a family here, someone had stolen him from it, and dumped him here.

For the first time in his life, it struck Vernon just what it must have been like for Harry Potter.

For the first time in his life, he began to realise just how big an arse he had been.

For the first time in his life, he sat on his bed and cried tears of remorse.

And while Vernon watched, so did Johann Ries. The Director was well aware of what was happening to his caretaker; and, truth to tell, he was pleased.

Vernon was so distraught he took to the corridors muttering to himself about the poor boy. It was while he was doing this that it came to him. The answer, really, was obvious. It's just that he couldn't do it.

He couldn't ask Harry Potter for help.

Could he?

When he got back to his room that night, he was astonished to find, in his Spartan room, empty of all non-essentials, paper and pen waiting for him. It was as if the Fates themselves were prompting him.

ooOOoo

_Tuesday 1 December_

Breakfast at Malfoy Manor had been very cheery; Narcissa had received an owl from Neville Longbottom which detailed the best suppliers, and prices, of the things she needed for her Yule celebration. Much to her delight, it transpired that there was a firm in South Africa that could supply everything they needed at quite reasonable prices. Not that the price really mattered to her; she would probably have paid whatever was asked to give Harry a special celebration, after all. But her Slytherin heart rejoiced to know that they were doing a good deed and getting a good deal all at the same time.

Lucius was just pleased that his wife was happy; always a good start to the day. After breakfast he repaired to his study, where, as always, his own correspondence had been delivered. He was rather surprised, given the conversation over the breakfast table, to find the top letter came from South Africa, and wondered if perhaps Neville had given the firm Narcissa was talking about their address. He discovered, on opening it, that it was not so; even more intriguing, the letter was from Theodore Nott. Why, he asked himself, was Draco's friend writing to him? His curiosity piqued, he read avidly.

 _Dear Mr Malfoy,_ Theo wrote,

_Please forgive a letter out of the blue, but I read Sunday's article in the Daily Prophet, and wonder if there might be a matter here that would bear investigation._

"What a beginning!" Lucius said to himself. "Bear investigation, indeed. What you mean, Mr Nott, is that you want something from me, but don't want to be seen to ask for it."

He read on to discover exactly how correct he was: Theodore, it was clear, was going to ask him a favour, but managed to couch it so it made it sound like Nott himself was doing the favour. An old, and good ploy; just a shame that he saw through it at once. But as he finished the letter, he decided that, on balance, his correspondent was quite right; the story of Andreas Adams, né Nott, was definitely worth investigating. He remembered Messalina Nott quite well from pure-blood social events. She was an absolute tartar, and her husband Godfrey was just as bad; so much so that he had made a point of never inviting them to anything at Malfoy Manor.

"Were you talking to me, my dear?" a voice asked from the doorway, and he gave an involuntary gasp as he looked up in surprise to see Narcissa there.

"Oh, sorry, my dear, you startled me," he said. "No, I was just talking to myself; I have received an interesting letter from young Mr Nott."

"Indeed?" Narcissa replied, arching her eyebrow. "Draco's friend Theo, you mean?"

Lucius nodded.

"May I see?" she asked.

By way of reply, Lucius simply proffered the letter, and she walked into the room and took it from him, sitting down in one of the armchairs next to the desk as she did so. She took a minute or so to read the letter, then laid it down on the desk, a puzzled look on her face.

"Adams?" she said, clearly trying to remember something. "I think that might have been … Mappy!" she called, and the house elf appeared at once.

"How can Mappy be helping Mistress Narcissa?" he asked eagerly.

"Please fetch me the letter I received from Neville Longbottom from my desk," she replied crisply, and the words were scarcely out of her mouth before the elf had popped away and returned, holding the required item. He handed it over, bowed low, and disappeared, while Narcissa scanned the letter.

"Yes, here it is," she said. "I thought as much. Mr Longbottom has been doing business with a plant nursery in South Africa, and particularly recommends plants grown by a Mr Andreas Adams."

"Ah," Lucius remarked. "That does make things easier."

"How?" Narcissa asked.

"Well, you could always insist on dealing with Mr Adams in person. And have him come here…"

Narcissa grinned. This was like old times; a throw-back to the first days of their marriage, when they would happily scheme plots with each other. She enjoyed it very much indeed.

"I shall write directly," she replied, and left for her study.

Lucius smiled, and turned to the next letter. This again was unusual; it was paper, not parchment, and written, he was pretty sure, using a Muggle biro rather than a quill. For, in one of those moments that gives co-incidence a bad name, Vernon Dursley's letter was the next on the pile.

His eyebrows climbed high up his face as he read. It was very unexpected that Vernon would write to him; astonishing that the man would write on someone else's behalf; and then, finally, the boy in question…

Tony Adams? Andreas Adams? That couldn't be co-incidence. No, it had to be the same sort of thinking working twice – exactly what you would expect if Messalina Nott chose a new name for her grandson, while her son chose his own. Both, unconsciously, using the same idea. Even Tony as a first name, he realised, was rather telling: 'Nott' backwards made 'Tton' which easily became 'Tony' if you were hunting for a name.

No, with a mounting excitement in his breast, he was sure of it. He had, in one hand, the father, now seeking for any news of his son; and in the other, the son, unknowing that his father was out there, but, if Vernon was telling the truth, desperate for him. And surely there was no reason for Vernon Dursley to lie.

The way forward was clear. He would indeed do a favour for Mr Nott; the fact that, at the same time, it would become clear to the Wizarding World in general that Lucius Malfoy meant what he said, and was prepared to back up his words with action, well, that was just a little bonus. He puffed up his chest as with great pleasure he imagined the self-deprecating speeches he would have to make in the future.

He took up his quill, and began a letter to Johann Ries.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook and AO3. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and chocolate chip cookies to all who have commented.


	93. Return of Correspondence

Narcissa Malfoy to Hendrik Coetzee, owner, South African Magical Horticultural Supplies:

_Malfoy Manor,  
Tuesday 1 December_

_Dear Mr Coetzee,_

_I have been given your name by Neville Longbottom, who I understand does business with you, and speaks of you very highly. As you may be aware, following the wars in this country, the standing of pure-blooded witches and wizards is at an all-time low, and I am hoping to revive it by demonstrating some of the ancient traditions and helping other sections of our society to understand what they are and why they are important to us._

_As part of this demonstration, I am interested in performing the Ceremony of the Woods at Yuletide this year. As you may understand, this ceremony calls for a number of different woods, and I have attached a list detailing the types and quantities required. As you can see, I plan to leave a Ritual Circle in place._

_Would it be possible for you to provide these for me? If so, I have been told in particular to ask for those grown by Mr Andreas Adams, and would hope that he could deliver them in person to assist in the planting rituals. He would, of course, be most welcome to stay at the Manor and participate in the ceremony._

_I apologise for the lack of notice; the possibility of performing the ceremony has only been raised with me very recently._

_My very best wishes,_

_Narcissa Malfoy._

ooOOoo

Lucius Malfoy to Johann Ries, Director, Wool's Orphanage.

_Malfoy Manor,  
Tuesday 1 December_

_Johann,_

_I have received a most interesting piece of correspondence from a mutual sad acquaintance of ours. He is careful to make it clear that he is not writing on his own behalf, but is worried about one of the orphans – one Tony Adams. As you can imagine, this is surprising, if not shocking – from what we know from Harry, I suspect this is the first time in a long while he's expressed concern for anyone who couldn't do him a favour in return._

_It seems that all may not be as it seems with the boy. If our caretaker is right, he had a family and was stolen from it and dumped in the orphanage. You may consider this to be far-fetched; but by the most amazing happenstance I also received, the same day, some other correspondence that tends to corroborate the story. If I'm right there is a chance we could bring father and son together in the near future._

_Could you take a look at the boy and let me know your thoughts? Oh and I'm sure that I can rely, as always, on your total discretion. If someone did do something underhanded, we don't want them tipped off that they've been found out._

_Regards_

_Lucius Malfoy_

ooOOoo

Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, to Rubeus Hagrid, Professor of Care of Magical Creatures and Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts

_Tuesday 1 December_

_Mon très cher Hagrid,_

_Non, non, your letters are always very welcome. We were all very pleased to hear that our girls are behaving themselves – of course, Madame Dubois had already told us so, but it is very gratifying to have it confirmed by an outsider._

_Anyway, I have wonderful news: one of our Abraxans has foaled during the week, and we have two adorable twin colts. We were a little worried that their mother Lampon would not cope; happily, she is doing very well. And I must thank you again for the Scotch that you sent us. She was not very keen on the old Scotch that we had been given by Professor Slughorn many years ago; he claims it's the best there is, but I must say that when we opened the barrel you sent me, we could barely keep them away from it, and the whole herd is thriving, none more so than Lampon and her foals. I hope you can come and meet them soon._

_Also, I was astonished to read in your Daily Prophet that Lucius Malfoy is working on behalf of squibs. Can this possibly be true? There are many here who look at your country and despair, I wonder if that will soon change. And what of creatures? Our Veelas have not reported any overt prejudice. Is there work being done? On them or other creatures? Such as poor Grawp?_

_Please write soon and tell me how the blast-ended skrewts are doing._

_Olympe._

ooOOoo

Hendrik Coetzee, owner, South African Magical Horticultural Supplies, to Neville Longbottom, horticultural student:

_Capetown,  
Wednesday 2 December_

_My friend,_

_I have received a large order from one Narcissa Malfoy, and I gather I have you to thank for it. Appreciate you recommending us. I hope that we don't tread on any local toes though, most of what she wants is from British woods, after all, so you don't feel it worthwhile to try sourcing there?_

_The order raised some eyebrows here, I can tell you. Ceremony of the Woods? Never heard of it, but Theo tells me that it's an old one. Looks like things really are happening back in England? Please write and let me know. There are many folk here who claim to hate the place but are really secretly dying to go back._

_Mrs Malfoy has invited Andreas to go to the ceremony. Do you think that's a good idea? Has the lot of squibs really changed there? I did see that article by Lucius Malfoy which seems to indicate so, but it's always hard to separate fact from fiction at this distance._

_Oh, and the order is no sweat except for one thing. It includes Elder – that's the one wood we have trouble with. It hardly responds to Anders and absolutely won't grow for anyone else. Can you help out with that?_

_Hennie._

ooOOoo

Johann Ries to Lucius Malfoy

_Wednesday 2 December_

_Mr Malfoy,_

_I can't imagine who your other correspondent might be, but I think they're spot on the money. As it happens, I stumbled across the boy the other day, crying in his room and being comforted by the caretaker; I agree, surprising if not shocking._

_Following on from your letter, I've since talked to the caretaker – don't worry, I made it clear he was in no trouble – and he made a convincing case that there was something wrong. The boy is definitely troubled. There is no record of a family; but there's no record of anything at all, and that is suspicious all by itself._

_Do you want to meet him? A quick visit here might be opportune. Who knows, The Daily Prophet might get some anonymous tip-off._

_Johann._

ooOOoo

Neville Longbottom to Hendrik Coetzee

_Hogwarts,  
Friday 4 December_

_Dear Mr Coetzee,_

_Thank you for your letter. Yes, Mrs Malfoy did approach me and of course I had no hesitation in recommending you. I'm sure there's no-one in the UK with enough stock of acceptable quality – Mrs Malfoy is very discerning._

_Yes I really do think things are calming down a lot. Lucius's article was entirely real – it's not well-known yet, but his orphanage has been running for a while, and Draco tells me they are starting to rehouse squib families. You can tell people over there to get in touch with Lucius if they want confirmation. As for Andreas, not sure how to advise you. When I met him, I kind of got the impression there was bad blood there – I'm guessing 'Adams' isn't his real name and he's part of a pure-blood family. Or more likely, was part. But I suspect that Narcissa's invitation, and the thought behind it, are quite genuine. Tell him I'd love to see him._

_No worries on the Elder – I have managed to get it to grow quite well over the last six months. I'm not surprised you're having trouble; magical Elder likes strong wizards, and, while I suspect Andreas has some special gift, it's not going to respond to him nearly as well as other woods will. I'm pretty sure my success with it is due to Harry Potter being in the castle. You may have read that he won the Elder wand from, of all people, his now-husband, Draco Malfoy, who had won it from Albus Dumbledore. With the owner and previous owner of the wand in residence, my trees seem to have reacted with vigour._

_I'll let Mrs Malfoy know that I'll provide the Elder and you'll do everything else._

_Please give my regards to Theo and Pansy. We miss them!_

_Thanks_

_Neville_

ooOOoo

Dolores Umbridge, prisoner in Azkaban, to Messalina Nott, née Umbridge; letter delivered Friday, 4 December

_Messy,_

_Help!_

_Dolly_

ooOOoo

Hendrik Coetzee to Narcissa Malfoy

_Capetown,  
Saturday 5 December_

_Dear Mrs Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your enquiry. I confess I was unaware of the Ceremony to which you refer, and have discussed it with someone whom I understand is a mutual acquaintance: one Theodore Nott. He seemed most interested to hear what you were up to and I must say I was a little surprised that he hadn't heard; I hope I haven't broken any confidences!_

_We would be delighted to fill the bulk of your order. The only problem is that, at present, we cannot supply Elder as our own supplies are not of saleable quality. I have discussed this with Mr Longbottom and he assures me that he will be able to provide that for you from his own stock._

_As for the matter of transportation and delivery, I'm loath to send Andreas to you for three reasons: (1) he is invaluable here; (2) as a squib, would need accompaniment to travel magically, meaning I would have to send another worker with him; (3) as a squib, I worry for the reception he would get in your circles. Against these concerns, I note that you seem to be wanting to plant trees permanently as well as burning wood, and there I have to agree he would definitely be the man for the job. It seems strange, of course, to plant trees in the wintertime; but I suppose there is some magical element particular to Yule there?_

_Anyway, Theodore Nott has asked if he could accompany Andreas, which would help me as he doesn't work for me. So they will be bringing the woods for you. I trust that you will be able to accommodate the two of them?_

_Assuring you of our best attention at all times,_

_Hendrik Coetzee._

ooOOoo

Messalina Nott to Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic

_Monday 7 December_

_Dear Minister,_

_During the week I received a most disturbing communication, in the form of a letter from my sister, Dolores Umbridge. It is a very short missive indeed; presumably because it appears to have been written in blood. If this is due to Dolores being forced to use a blood-quill, I can understand her reluctance to write more._

_Is the Ministry now forcing its prisoners to use blood quills? I'm sure this is in contravention of several by-laws, especially for pure-blooded prisoners like poor Dolores._

_I also attempted to contact Azkaban to arrange a visit, but was told this is not possible. Since when has it not been possible to visit the poor unfortunates incarcerated there?_

_I am shocked to the core at the callousness that your administration seems to be displaying to those who are entirely dependent on its care._

_Messalina Nott._

ooOOoo

Narcissa Malfoy to Hendrik Coetzee

_Malfoy Manor,  
Monday 7 December_

_My dear Hendrik,_

_Thank you for your letter. That all sounds admirable. Neville had Floo-called to explain the Elder and that all seems in hand. I shall instruct Gringotts here to prepare the transfer of funds to your account ready for when the woods have arrived._

_I'm sure accommodating Theodore as well as Andreas will be no trouble at all. Theo is a dear friend of my son Draco, and I am sure they will enjoy catching up. Will his wife Pansy be accompanying him? She would, of course, be most welcome._

_We will make sure that Andreas being a squib does not cause any problems. Are there any special needs he has that I need to be aware of?_

_Best wishes_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

ooOOoo

Lucius Malfoy to Theodore Nott

_Malfoy Manor,  
Monday 8 December_

_My dear Theo,_

_Thank you for your letter. I have been looking into the situation. I certainly wouldn't put the actions you describe beyond Messalina Nott; I'm afraid your cousin-by-marriage is not a very nice woman, and highly intolerant of squibs and Muggles._

_Quite by co-incidence, I also received a letter from the caretaker at an orphanage I help run for magical children that. One of the children there had been showing some signs of distress; it seems that he was given into the orphanage's care but remembers having family who loved him, whom he was taken from. The child may well prove to be the boy we are looking for. To make sure, I interviewed him on Friday; there did seem to be some possible family resemblance between him and your cousin Godfrey._

_I understand from Narcissa that you and Andreas will be visiting England for Yule? That would suit very well. If you can arrange to have him here we shall make sure to schedule a visit during that time._

_Best wishes_

_Lucius Malfoy_

ooOOoo

Ministry of Magic  
Interdepartmental memorandum  
From: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister  
To: Gawain Robarts, Head Auror  
Date: Tuesday 8 December  
Att: Copy of letter from Messalina Nott to KS

_Gawain,_

_Attached please find a delightful missive from Messalina Nott. I see age has not affected her charms in any way. She describes a letter from Dolores Umbridge as 'disturbing'; it's not clear to me how it could be anything else._

_What's this about a blood quill? Knowing what she did to Harry, it's a brilliant prank but we should probably step in. We'll have to let her visit, I'm afraid._

ooOOoo

Ministry of Magic  
Interdepartmental memorandum  
From: Gawain Robarts, Head Auror  
To: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister  
Date: Tuesday 8 December  
Att: Copy of letter from Messalina Nott to KS

_Groan. I see what you mean about Messalina._

_Standard-issue quill and ink has been given to Umbridge. She's restricted to one letter a week and apart from M I can't see who she'd write to. Especially since we read the letters._

_There's a visiting day on Sunday, I'll give her clearance to go._

ooOOoo

Dolores Umbridge, prisoner in Azkaban, to Messalina Nott, née Umbridge (redacted)

_Tuesday 8 December_

_Messy,_

_Thank you so much for your efforts on my behalf! As you can see, I now have proper ink and quill, instead of the blood quill they made me use previously. I'm sure you're as outraged as I am about that; unfortunately, the prison staff don't seem to listen to me much …_

_I hope you will be able to write often. I am only allowed to write one letter a week, and am kept in solitary confinement by the …_

_Dolly_

ooOOoo

Rubeus Hagrid to Madame Olympe Maxime

_Thursday 10 December_

_Dear Olympe,_

_Sorry I'm not very good at writing (this is my third attempt to answer yeh letter!) but it was lovely to hear from yeh._

_Course I'll come and see new foals! Can't be before Yule, I'm helping Narcissa Malfoy with a party she's organising; some sort of funny pure-blood thing called the Ceremony of the Woods or some such. Do yeh know it? Didn't really follow it, but o' course I'm happy to help her out._

_Means I'm stuck in Britain till then, though. Perhaps I could visit over Christmas? Everything here will be fine for a week or so, and Headmistress McGonagall is always telling me to get away when I can._

_The skrewts are doing right well. Charming little things, they are. Mind, some of the third years have taken to poking them with sticks, which saw two students needing a quick trip to the infirmary. Nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix in a trice, though. They won't do that again, I suppose._

_Grawp has been moved. The Ministry was concerned that being here was "not a good environment for him", they said. Windbags. Anyway, Arthur Weasley, that's Deputy Minister Weasley now I should say, found a giantess in the North of Scotland who agreed to take care of 'im. He writes to me occasionally; his writing is coming on in leaps and bounds, and he sounds very happy. I miss him hugely, of course, but I s'pose it's best for everyone this way._

_Those rock-cakes you taught me to make are wonderful, by the way. I even offered one to Draco Malfoy (or Malfoy-Potter I should say now) when he and Harry visited the other day, and he ate it and asked if he could take some away with him! Even wanted the recipe but I told him it's not mine to give away._

_Anyway I won't bore yeh with any more._

_Hope to hear from yeh soon._

_Love_

_Hagrid_

ooOOoo

Messalina Nott to Horace Slughorn. Head of Slytherin House, Hogwarts

_Thursday 10 December_

_My dear Horace,_

_An issue has arisen with regard to my sister, and, remembering that you were always very interested in your former Snakes, I thought I should let you know._

_It seems that poor Dolores, who, I'm sure you know, has been incarcerated in Azkaban on simply ridiculous charges, has been forced to use a Blood quill for her correspondence. A blood quill! Can you believe it! Of course I demanded that this be remedied at once, and she has now written to let me know she at least has quill and ink. But it seems that she is being kept in solitary confinement. I'm sure you will remember how gregarious she was, so can imagine what effect this draconian punishment will have on her._

_I hope I can count on your support in having her treatment reviewed and this travesty of justice swiftly righted. To think that our own Ministry is treating pure-bloods in this way!_

_Your old friend_

_Messalina Nott_

ooOOoo

Madam Vivienne de Pompadour, Charms Mistress, Beauxbatons, to Rita Skeeter, editor, The Daily Prophet society pages

_Beauxbatons_

_Friday 11 December_

_Dear Rita,_

_Such exciting news! Hagrid has written to our oh-so-lovely Headmistress (rolls eyes as she said it) and it seems that Narcissa Malfoy is holding a party! For Yule! The Ceremony of the Woods, no less! My dear, how exciting! And don't tell me I knew it before you did – and yet it must be true, for otherwise you would have published, yes? You must find out all and tell me more!_

_I can also tell you …_

_Your old pal_

_Vivienne_

ooOOoo

The Daily Prophet society pages (Rita Skeeter, editor),

_Sunday 13 December_

_Well dear readers! I wonder what you have in mind for celebrating Yuletide. A little bird tells us that one Narcissa Malfoy is setting up no less an event than the Ceremony of the Woods – a somewhat obscure ceremony that used to be performed annually by our older pure-blood families, but has somewhat fallen into disuse over the last fifty years. Not much is known about it; but apparently it involves something about the different woods for the thirteen months of the Celtic year. Can any of our readers enlighten us about this? And if anyone could swing me an invitation, that would be wonderful too!_

_RS_

ooOOoo

Messalina Nott to Theodore Nott

_Monday 14 December_

_Theodore,_

_I don't know if, living in that backward country, you receive the Daily Prophet, so I have clipped some articles of interest from the last two weekends. As you can see, the country is going to Hell in a hand-basket; Lucius Malfoy, of all people, is coming out in support of squibs! And, instead of lining them up and hitting them with Avada Kedavra, he's giving them houses!_

_I'm sure you will join me in my revulsion to such nonsense. I understand, from the Society pages, that Narcissa Malfoy is planning on reviving some of the old pure-blood rituals; how the woman dares, given what her husband is up to, is beyond me. How these two, convicted of being part of You-Know-Who's faction, can prance around the country freely while fine upstanding pure-bloods like my sister Dolores languish in jail, is a cruel mystery._

_I assure you, you are well off out of this. It's possible that Draco might procure you and Pansy invitations to these rituals, so I felt it my duty to inform you how the land lies so you will know to refuse them._

_As for my poor sister, I have written to Horace Slughorn to ask him to intervene on her behalf, but no action has been forthcoming. It must have slipped his mind somehow. Perhaps you could write to him and encourage him to act?_

_Your cousin_

_Messalina_

ooOOoo

Godfrey Nott to Philippe Paquin, La Chetive Pecore, Marseille

_Monday 14 December_

_My Dear Philippe,_

_I have been made aware of some trouble that some mutual acquaintances of ours have been having with regards to a certain personage who is currently very highly esteemed in these isles. I was hoping that you might be amenable to seeking some form of payment for the expensive investment you have made in the matter? If so, I have a plan that would involve coercion being applied to one of the weaker links – our personage's father-in-law – but I require the assistance of some strong young men in the matter._

_Is this something you would wish to push further?_

ooOOoo

Draco Malfoy-Potter to Narcissa Malfoy

_Hogwarts,  
Monday 14 December_

_Dear mother,_

_Thank you for your little gift yesterday, the tartes au citron were truly wonderful, as ever. Though I must admit that, to Harry's great amusement, I've fallen in love with Hagrid's rock cakes. I'm claiming it's because of the pregnancy cravings. Annoyingly, Hagrid tells me the recipe is from Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons, so not his to give out. Perhaps you could write to her and ask for it?_

_I wanted to ask you about Skeeter's little comment in the Prophet yesterday. I'm guessing that you didn't exactly authorize it? I can't imagine you giving her the time of day, never mind an interview. She seems to have a bit of detail – I hadn't realised you were going for the Ceremony of the Woods. Am I hawthorn? Please say yes, I've always wanted to do it. And is Harry elder? Or holly?_

_Please forgive the impersonality of a letter, but so far we've managed to keep the article from Harry – thankfully he has no interest in the Society pages unless I bring them to his attention - so discussing it in a Floo call, when he would hear, doesn't seem like a good idea._

_Your loving_

_Dragon_

ooOOoo

Theodore Nott to Robin Banks, Auror and Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts.

_Tuesday 15 December_

_Dear Professor Banks,_

_Please excuse me writing to you out of the blue, but I couldn't think of anyone else who might be able to help. It seems that my lovely cousin Messalina Nott wants something done about Dolores Umbridge's conditions. Me, I'd want her locked up where no-one can ever contact her again, but apparently she's Messalina's sister so that isn't what my cousin had in mind._

_I've enclosed the letter so you can see if there is any possible credible threat here. Given what Umbridge did, I wouldn't put it past Messalina to try almost anything. Let me know if I should take any further action._

_Also, as you can see, she's been writing to Professor Slughorn as well. Somehow, I doubt very much that he will reply, I'm sure you can guess why._

_In the meantime, I'm scheduled to visit England for Yule; as Messalina says, I've been invited to Narcissa Malfoy's Yule party, and in fact I'm accompanying the man bringing the woods that are required. I really don't want to miss it especially as Draco is my friend, but I will if you advise me to._

_Best wishes_

_Theodore Nott_

ooOOoo

Philippe Paquin to Prisoner Gaston Gaspard, via pigeon post, enclosing the letter from Godfrey Nott.

_Tuesday 15 December_

_GG - Any idea what he's on about? Can't understand a word – PP_

ooOOoo

Ministry of Magic  
Interdepartmental memorandum  
From: Robin Banks, Auror  
To: Gawain Robarts, Head Auror  
Date: Wednesday 16 December  
Att: Copy of letter from Theodore Nott to KS

_Sir,_

_Are we aware of this? Looks to me like this Messalina Nott is trying to cause trouble. Not sure what he means about Slughorn?_

ooOOoo

Gaston Gaspard to Philippe Paquin via smuggled letter, returning the letter from Godfrey Nott.

_PP,_

_He's talking about the attack we made at the Zabini wedding. You remember the one, the attack that Potter foiled with that stupid shield and which put Eva and me in this hell-hole. He's got some angle on Malfoy père by the sound of it. Find out what it is and give him what he needs to stick the bastard for me._

_I'm sending back the letter. Don't want it here to incriminate me if anyone finds it._

_And for God's sake put the tavern prices up. You're practically giving the wine away._

_GG_

ooOOoo

Ministry of Magic  
Interdepartmental memorandum  
From: Gawain Robarts, Head Auror  
To: Robin Banks, Auror  
Date: Wednesday 16 December

_Auror Banks,_

_Yes, on both counts. Tell Theo to ignore it and come to England._

_Slughorn collects notable people. He would have loved Umbridge at the time – she rose up the Ministry ranks spectacularly; but now she's in Azkaban he won't want anything to do with her. Might tarnish his reputation._

ooOOoo

Narcissa Malfoy to Draco Malfoy-Potter

_Malfoy Manor,  
Thursday 17 December_

_My dear Dragon,_

_Of course I did not say a word to the odious woman! I don't know who her source was, but she got it quite correct. Yes, of course you are hawthorn, and Harry elder. I do hope I don't have to ask him? It would rather spoil the point. Blaise has agreed to the other. And thank you for keeping the article away from Harry. I'm very cross that it's gone public, of course, but Harry's the one I most wanted to surprise._

_I'm delighted to hear that your cravings don't involve things like coal or pickles. Though there's time for that, I suppose. I shall see if Olympe Maxime will give me the recipe – or more likely the Beauxbatons chef, who owes me a favour or two._

_Do give my love to Harry. Please forgive me for not meeting you at the station on Saturday, but we have guests from abroad to organise. Very much looking forward to seeing both of you next week._

_Lots of love to you, too._

_Mother_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy something a little different; I thought I'd try my hand at a roman des lettres. It's hard work!  
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook. The story is also now available on AFF should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and Madame Maxime's rock cakes (without real rocks!) for those who commented.


	94. Returning a Pure-blood Practice

**94\. Returning a Pure-blood Practice**

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _ _This is a work of fiction. I am sure I have taken considerable liberties with the Celtic calendar herein; I am neither a Pagan nor a Celt, nor do I have any intention of presenting anything other than what I hope is a good story. I apologize if my taking liberties offends anyone; I can only suggest that you write for us a story setting out your own understanding, thus clearing the record and giving the rest of us something to read at the same time._

_Saturday 19 December_

Harry was trying hard not to show it, but he was very excited to be going home to the family for Christmas (or, as Draco insisted on calling it, Yule). Really home. And really 'the family'. He'd never had them both together, not really. From the vantage point of the present, he could well see that, whatever Dumbledore had thought or said about blood wards, the Dursleys had never been family, nor their house truly his home. As for the Christmases spent at Hogwarts, well, they had been wonderful, to be sure; but, while the castle had felt like home, it was still not really his own family space. Until his marriage, he realised, the Burrow was the closest thing he had had to a home and family, and to be sure he still felt some sense of belonging there, especially now that he and Draco had their own room there.

But this year was different.

This year, he and Draco would be spending the Christmas break, from Sunday on, at Malfoy Manor.

He would be with his husband and his parents-in-law.

Undeniably, his family.

He couldn't wait.

He had suspected for some days that Narcissa Malfoy was up to something, and those suspicions had only grown during the last week when Draco had been vetting the Daily Prophet before Harry could read it. To be sure, the blond had tried to be subtle and hide his actions in grabbing the paper straight from the owl as the demands of a pregnant spouse; but Harry was not fooled. Not that he minded terribly; if his in-laws wanted to keep what they were doing a secret, he was sure that he could trust them that it was what Narcissa had called a 'good secret'.

In the end, it was Narcissa herself who confirmed his thoughts. She had written him an owl which had arrived on Thursday, explaining that she was intending to show him some of the pure-blood Celtic rituals around Yuletide, which would begin with a special ceremony on the twenty-first, the nominal day of the Solstice itself.

_I'm sure you will understand,_ she had written, _that I would like to keep the exact details a surprise; but I assure you that you will enjoy Monday's event immensely. There will be a role in it for you; not because of your being the Boy-Who-Lived or any such nonsense, but because of your connection to the Elder wand. I do hope you will attend, and take part, and bring the Elder wand with you._

_I know you are due to stay here for Yuletide but, as we will need to prepare for the Ceremony of the Woods, as it is known, I have asked Molly Weasley if she could accommodate you on Saturday night and she was delighted to agree. Accordingly, she will meet the Hogwarts Express on Saturday and take both of you and Ginny home to the Burrow, and we will have to look forward to Flooing there for lunch on Sunday and bringing you back home._

_All my love_

_Mother_

Harry had sat quite still for a long time; so long, in fact, that Draco, sitting beside him, had asked what was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong," he replied, finding that he had to force the words out through a choked throat. "It's just … she signed herself as mother!"

It took Draco a moment to catch on, but as Harry's face broke into a wide smile, he realised that, truly, nothing was wrong.

The rest of Narcissa's letter had made it very clear that they were most welcome to stay at the Manor for the rest of the holiday, though she quite understood that they might wish to spend some time at the Lodge, and would probably wish to visit the Weasleys as well. Draco explained to Harry that what that meant was "Molly and I are both fighting to have you, and you might be allowed to have a day or two elsewhere, but you'd better be at the Manor for most of the time."

Harry laughed. While it would be nice to hide away at the Lodge, he felt rather special that the two women who he thought of as mothers were fighting over him. Draco, quite aware of Harry's feelings, for once made no comment about the arrangements and simply let his mother have free rein.

In this happy mood, the Malfoy-Potters boarded the Hogwarts Express to have that experience one more time.

ooOOoo

By the time they arrived at King's Cross Station, Draco was feeling rather wrung out. The trip had been notable for the vast number of people who seemed to find some reason or other to stop by their compartment. It seemed that everybody wanted to see the Destroyer of Voldemort, to wish him a Merry Christmas, to give him a gift, anything at all to interact with 'Their Hero'.

Oddly enough, Draco found an ally in Ginny Weasley. The feisty red-head had entered their compartment about an hour into the trip, pointing out that as they were going to leave the train together they might as well travel together too, and had started gently turning people away. Three hours later, the gentleness was gone; Ginny had already sent two Bat-Bogey hexes at some Hufflepuff third years who just didn't seem to have gotten the message. She was preparing to cast another one as the door opened, but put her wand down as she saw that it was Luna Lovegood.

"Hello Harry," the blond Ravenclaw said in her simple way, "may I join you?"

"Of course," Harry replied.

"Thank you," Luna said, coming in to the compartment. She sat down next to Ginny, pulled out a copy of the paper her father Xenophilias edited, the Quibbler, and began to read it. Upside down.

And because it was Luna, everyone smiled and went on with their own conversations.

ooOOoo

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed when they were about half an hour into the journey, "Daddy's printed a Celtic calendar!"

"A what?" Harry asked.

In answer, Luna simply handed him a piece of parchment that had obviously been an insert into the Quibbler. Harry frowned as he studied it closely. Two things struck him at once: firstly that it was unlike any calendar he had ever seen. In his experience, calendars were tables of numbers, one for each month, but this was arranged completely differently. From a central circle, thirteen tree-trunks radiated outwards, spreading out into leafy canopies that made a second, larger circle around the first.

The second thing he realised was that it was undeniably beautiful. The trees were drawn with exquisite precision, and the leaves, and veins on them, were clearly visible. The tree canopies were overlaid with two gold circles, in which each tree was labelled with a name and its species, from _Beith the Birch_ at the top left all the way round to _Ruis the Elder_ at the top right. Underneath these labels was the first indication that this was a calendar: dates were given. But they were not at all the dates he would have expected. Instead, _Beith_ ran from December 24 to January 21, and the other months had similar unusual numbers of days until _Ruis_ ran from November 25 through to December 21. The remaining two days, it seemed, did not belong to any month.

"This is amazing, Luna," Harry said, with feeling. "Can you explain it to me?"

"I'd be delighted, Harry," the blonde said with a big smile, and proceeded to explain the ancient history of the British Isles. She told a story of how the Bards and Druids, the educated class of the Celts, contained both Muggles and Wizards; of how they all interacted together with respect, regardless of Magical or blood status, without rancour or bias; of how Amergin, the wizard Bard of the Milesians, wrote his poem, _The Song of Amergin_ , explaining the cycle of Nature; of how the Wizards interpreted his poem, infusing it with meaning beyond its words and building an astrology and calendar based on trees; of how the different groupings and symbolisms weaved together to make a song, and a poem, and a calendar all at once; of how the year began with the birch, her silver freshness symbolizing the defeat of the old year, and ran through the cycle of trees on the parchment Harry had, through rowan, ash, and alder, through willow, hawthorn and Old Man oak, through holly, hazel and the vine, skipping through autumnal ivy and reed until the year ended, always ended, with unlucky elder, tricky to master.

And all the while she spoke, her listeners sat enraptured and amazed at the transformation that had come over the usually scatter-brained little Ravenclaw, and all of them learnt a new appreciation for the depths of learning that she hid behind an unpromising exterior. They hardly noticed time passing; all too soon, Kings Cross Station was announced, and they scrambled to get ready to get off at the platform.

ooOOoo

When they arrived at the station, Harry, Draco and Ginny were greeted, as promised, by Molly Weasley, and Flooed straight to the Burrow.

Harry emerged from the Floo with only a slight stumble.

"Watch out, Harry!" a familiar voice said, and he was grasped in strong arms and moved into the room before he knew what was going on. He turned to watch Draco coming through, chagrined that – _of course_ – the blond did not stumble at all, nor show any signs of discomfort, despite being nearly three months pregnant. Having seen that all was well with his husband, he looked to confirm who was holding him.

"Charlie!" he said delightedly, then looked around. "It seems the gang's all here!"

Standing around in the Weasleys' front room were Arthur, Fleur, Charlie, George, Fred and Angelina, Percy and Audrey – who looked very much an item, now – Ron and Hermione, and, coming through the Floo, Molly, Ginny and Robin Banks. With sixteen people, the room was rather full and quickly became very noisy as everyone talked at once; but Harry wouldn't have it any other way. Even Draco, who was quickly ushered to a chair by a very solicitous Molly Weasley, could see, and share, the joy his husband had at being surrounded by these people who clearly loved him.

Loved them both, he realised, as Fred Weasley sat next to him and started talking about their latest creations and the potions they were basing them on. Draco found himself drawn in to a very technical conversation, suggesting ways in which they could improve their products, particularly with colour-fastness, something that was proving a problem with the very bright colours they were introducing into their range.

For his part, Harry looked around the room. He couldn't help feeling that somebody was missing. He did a quick head count through the Weasley family and came up with two names.

"Where are Bill and Neville?" he asked.

"Ah," Arthur said, "they are helping Narc—"

"They're busy elsewhere," Molly said over the top of him, kicking him in the shin.

Harry stifled a giggle. Alright, so whatever Narcissa was up to involved Bill and Neville. So, an expert on rituals and a herbological genius? No surprise, really, for something called 'the Ceremony of the Woods', he supposed. He decided he really didn't need to dig further, he'd find out when he needed to, so struck up a conversation with Fleur about her cousins.

But that wasn't quite the end of it. Harry may not have felt the need to dig; Draco was a different matter entirely.

"And does that mean that the rest of you are not involved in helping Mother?" he asked, faux-innocently.

Molly went very red.

"Actually," Charlie replied, "some of us are. Neville and Bill are just needed for consulting about the Ceremony, while the rest of us will be part of it. But you'll find out all about that on Monday."

There was an awkward pause, and then Ginny piped up with a question that never seemed to be far from Weasley minds.

"Is it dinnertime yet?"

ooOOoo

_Sunday 20 December_

Sunday dawned, crisp and clear. Harry woke with the sun; not much of a hardship, as it rose just after eight o'clock in the morning. He watched his husband, who lay dead to the world; it being a Sunday, Harry was sure he wouldn't stir for a couple of hours, so got up and dressed and went in search of breakfast.

In the event, it was nearly eleven before Draco appeared.

"Morning, sleepy-head!" George greeted him with a grin.

"Fred!" his mother scolded, then looked again, "I mean, George, or whichever :- Draco's pregnant, he needs his rest. And a good feed, I should think."

"Course he does," Fred said, grinning to learn that they could still confuse their mother; it was a good thing Harry had healed George's ear all those months ago.

"And we'll keep him company –" George continued.

"—so he feels part of the family," Fred finished. "Bacon and eggs? Don't mind if we do!"

And Molly could hardly be offended by this; not with Draco nearly doubled up in laughter at the antics of her terrible twins.

ooOOoo

Draco was really only just in time. He'd managed to finish breakfast and be presentable when Narcissa and Lucius arrived at midday. Lunch was at half-past twelve, and the Malfoys found themselves seated at a table with more people than they had seen at one time for a very long time. Lucius commented on the contrast to their usual meals, spent dining with just the two of them; Arthur agreed, as he and Molly had much the same thing.

The two mothers were clearly in their element; Molly bustled around busily, handing out more food, encouraging everyone to eat – not that the Weasleys needed encouragement; even the twins, who had had three full breakfasts, had no trouble polishing off everything they were offered. Draco did not fare so well; he was not ready for a big meal after such a recent breakfast, which unfortunately made Narcissa fuss over him.

"So, Narcissa," Harry said, desperate to stop her fretting over Draco's apparent lack of appetite, "I was given a Celtic calendar on the train and I wondered if it had anything to do with tomorrow's event?"

Narcissa's eyes opened wide. "Show me," she asked, and Harry excused himself and went to fetch the parchment.

"That boy!" Lucius said with fond exasperation. "Will he never learn that he can summon things?"

"Well, he did have a childhood ignorant of magic," Arthur said, but fortunately Harry appeared again before that conversation could continue.

"Here you are," Harry said, passing the parchment to Narcissa, who surveyed it closely.

"Hmm," she said eventually. "Where did you get this from?"

"Luna said it was an insert in the Quibbler," Harry replied.

"Indeed," Lucius said, his tone making it clear that he did not have a high opinion of that particular publication.

"That's quite enough of that," Narcissa said acidly, passing him the parchment. "As you can see, it is both very well designed and extremely accurate."

"Well now," Molly said, rather too obviously rushing in to head off an argument, "it's lovely having you here but I do believe you had things to do this afternoon?"

"Yes, thank you for reminding me," Narcissa said. "Boys, are you ready to go?"

ooOOoo

After saying their farewells, the four Apparated away from the Burrow. But Narcissa had a little surprise up her sleeve. They arrived, not inside the Manor grounds, but inside a carriage which immediately started off the moment they were seated comfortably.

"What's this about, mum?" Harry asked, and Narcissa beamed at the title.

"I wanted to show you the magic of arriving at the Manor in Winter," she replied softly.

And as they rounded a corner and got a view of the Manor, Harry had to agree it was magical – the snow was pure white, and the stone of the manor had been cleaned up and glistened in the weak afternoon sunlight. It might have looked stark against the snow, except for the huge green, red and silver banners that had been placed on it. It sure beat the hell out of the crepe and tinsel that the Dursleys had decorated Privet Drive with. The effect quite took his breath away.

"Yeah," Draco said, snuggling up to his speechless husband, "it is pretty amazing, isn't it."

ooOOoo

Lucius was fretting. The dining table was set for four, but there was no sign of the boys.

When they had arrived just after lunch, Narcissa had told Harry and Draco that they must do exactly as they pleased while they were there. Draco had taken her at her word, and the two of them had gone to lie down during the afternoon. That was quite acceptable, Lucius supposed; but he was rather put out when they had not appeared at all during the early evening for the customary six o'clock cocktail.

Which he supposed he could let slide; but now, here it was, gone seven o'clock in the evening, and there was still no sign of them.

"Surely they have to eat?" he demanded, a touch querulously.

Narcissa smiled to herself. Lucius would probably never admit it, but he was genuinely fond of the two boys and was clearly missing them.

"I'm sure Dippy will look after them," she informed him.

Lucius looked shocked. True, the last few months had been tumultuous, and many of their normal traditions had been turned upside down, but the implication here was simply staggering. It was one thing to coddle the boys when they were sick, as Harry had been; but to allow them to not turn up at mealtimes otherwise, that Narcissa Malfoy, daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, would put up with such a breach of decorum, was unthinkable.

"What?" he asked. "You're letting them lounge in bed? And eat meals somewhere other than the table?"

Narcissa sighed.

"Do remember, dear, that our son is pregnant. He needs a lot of rest. And I told them to do as they pleased; you can't exactly complain that they take us at our word. However, I suppose there is one thing we can do. Dippy!" she called.

The house elf popped in, and Narcissa gave her a message for the Malfoy-Potters, who readily agreed to her request.

A few minutes later, the four of them were having dinner, not in the formal setting of the Malfoy dining room, but in what was now definitely the boys' room, rather than just Draco's; and Lucius found, much to his surprise, that sitting with his dinner on his lap was really rather more pleasant than he had anticipated and quite a welcome contrast to the cold, draughty dining-room, particularly in the company of three people who loved him, and whom he loved in return. Perhaps it was time to revise yet another tradition…

ooOOoo

_Monday 21 December_

Harry was rather surprised when he wandered through the Manor early on Monday morning. He had expected a room to be shut off, or perhaps some area outside covered and set aside; but there seemed to be nothing to indicate where a Ceremony was being performed today. In fact the only thing that seemed unusual was that Narcissa was not sitting at the table when the Malfoy-Potters made it down to breakfast.

"Morning, boys," Lucius said as they sat down. "Your mother sends her apologies, but she has things to oversee."

Draco smirked. "Nothing happens if she doesn't watch it?" he asked in fun.

Lucius looked at him sternly, but the sides of his mouth were curved ever so slightly, and it was clear that he appreciated the humour.

"Something like that," he allowed.

"So where is she doing this overseeing?" Harry asked.

"Ah," Lucius replied. "Harry, I think your friend Miss Lovegood has been exceptionally perceptive in giving you the calendar. Narcissa may have told you, but today's ceremony is called the Ceremony of the Woods; it celebrates both the solstice and the end of the Celtic year. By tradition, it is done on common land, and open to all who wish to come and participate; there is a field about a mile away that we have commandeered for the purpose."

"Okay," Harry said, pondering this. "And the Woods in question are the thirteen types of wood mentioned in the calendar?"

Lucius gave a slight smile. "Exactly so."

They sat in silence for half a minute or so, and then Harry blurted out, "so, are you going to tell us any more?"

Lucius pondered the matter for a few moments, then replied, "do you know, I don't think I will. Be ready to leave at quarter to noon." And with that, he picked up the Daily Prophet, and they got no more out of him.

ooOOoo

It was just before midday when Lucius, Draco and Harry Apparated into the field where the ceremony was to be held. An astonishing sight greeted them. In the middle of the field was a clearing, in which had been set what looked like the basic scaffolding for a huge bonfire, with poles set together and brushwood weaved between them. Surrounding and over this basic structure was another one, with poles lashed together and odd spars were poking out. Harry couldn't quite see what it was for; it looked like it was unfinished, as though someone should be adding other poles, but no-one seemed to be paying it any attention.

In a circle around this central bonfire, perhaps twenty feet away from it, was a ring of little hexagonal tents. They were each a different colour, and the colours seemed to be graded around the circle, but not according to any pattern Harry was aware of: the colours went from white, through cream, greens, golds, reds and browns before sliding back through greys into white again. Most of them were perhaps a yard square in size, though each well over six feet tall. One of them however, rather stood out: it was at least three times the width and breadth of the others, and a good nine feet tall.

The whole scene reminded Harry very strongly of some of the television programmes that Dudley used to watch which featured mediaeval jousting; not, of course, that Harry had been allowed to watch them too, but just occasionally he had managed to sneak out of the cupboard and steal a few precious minutes of doing something normal. The only thing missing, he thought, was little pennants at the top flying to indicate the knight that each tent belonged to. At least, he thought that until a light breeze picked up and he noticed that there were indeed pennants, the same colour as the tent, each with a tree on it.

Very strange. Why the trees? Why the different-sized tents? He couldn't quite work it out, and looked around to see if he could find any clues to help make sense of what was actually happening. As he looked at the little tents, he could see that by some of them there were trees in pots, with holes dug clearly to plant them in. Here and there were also a couple of limbs cut and stacked; what for, he could not begin to guess. There were people wandering around, adjusting the trees, digging the holes and generally being busy doing the thousand and one things that attend an occasion like this. Harry could see Narcissa and Neville working away in what looked like a clump of vines, and next to them two men working with holly bushes. One of these two Harry was sure he'd never seen before; but the other turned around and he grinned as he recognised him.

"Draco!" he called. "It's Theo Nott!"

"So it is!" Draco said, waving at his friend. "But he seems busy enough. Come and have lunch!"

Harry chuckled. He supposed his pregnant husband could be excused for preferring food over work. Draco grasped his arm, and Harry's attention was drawn to a huge, long marquee that had been set up along the northern edge of the field. The three men entered the marquee to find that it was obviously magical; from outside it was large, but inside it was colossal. Everywhere he looked there was bustle and activity. Everywhere there was a feast for the senses. There were house-elves busy roasting all sorts of meat on spits: he saw sheep, pigs and various birds. There were tables groaning with platters of bread and cheese, and tureens of soup, and plates piled high with baked potatoes, turnips, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and other vegetables Harry wasn't quite sure he could name. There were barrels of ale, casks of mead, pots of mulled wine and bottles of butterbeer. And dotted around the space were tables and chairs filled with people feasting. It was hot and noisy and full of the peculiar fun of people warming themselves in good company on a cold Winter's day.

Harry broke into a grin as he recognised many of the people there: all of their friends had obviously been invited. Or perhaps it was a general come-if-you-want sort of invitation; Lucius had said it was open to anyone who wanted to come, after all.

"'Arry!" a loud voice announced, and he turned to see Hagrid racing over to them. "And Draco! Glad yers could make it!"

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the ease with which Hagrid simply swept Draco up into his circle. Hagrid was a simple soul; but his openness had done much to ease the tensions that Harry knew were still there; much less than before, to be sure, but there was still prejudice and distrust from both 'pure-bloods' and 'blood-traitors'.

As he was thinking this, Hagrid leaned down to Draco and said, in what was no doubt supposed to be a conspiratorial whisper, "I got summat for you; but your mother's been on at us about eatin' healthy so yer might wanna hide it."

With this, the half-giant handed over an enormous basket. How Draco was supposed to hide it mystified Harry. Draco looked inside and gave a huge grin as he pulled out a rock cake.

"Thank you!" he said. "I have missed them!"

"Hagrid!" Harry said, waking up to himself. "It's good to see you. Er – do you know what to expect about this ceremony?"

But before Hagrid could answer, a stern voice rang out.

"We can talk about that later. Lunch first. Now just what are you supposed to be hiding – put that basket down, young man!"

There was a sudden, and unnerving, silence as every head turned to see that Narcissa had entered the marquee and obviously heard what Hagrid had whispered. "Please, Harry, sit down. The pair of you need to eat a good lunch before you even think of treats such as those!"

"Yes, mum!" Harry squeaked, and rushed to take a seat. There was a general laugh as everyone enjoyed the moment. It was entirely good-humoured, and even Narcissa grinned at Harry's antics. She turned to Hagrid.

"And, Professor Hagrid, I would like to thank you for accepting my son as readily as I hear that you have, even if you have been supplying him with sweet treats he hardly needs," she told him.

"It's just Hagrid, ma'am; and any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. As for the cakes, well, most people run a mile rather than eat one, so I guess maybe I went overboard at being appreciated…"

In reply, much to Hagrid's confusion, Narcissa broke into a laugh.

"To be honest, I'm delighted. My son has always had a sweet tooth and, while as his mother I do have to make sure he eats properly" - she said this while glaring at Draco, who returned her gaze coolly, knowing it was mostly for show – "I'm very grateful for your kindness."

"Oh," Hagrid said, blushing in embarrassment. This seemed to be the signal for everyone to get busy eating, drinking, and chatting again. Everyone greeted the Malfoy-Potters warmly as house-elves popped to them, placing huge plates of food in front of them.

"Thank you Dippy," Harry said, then turned as he felt a hand on his arm. He was both surprised and delighted to see his cousin standing there.

"Dudley!" he exclaimed. "Wonderful! Sit down and tell me what you've been up to!"

"Are you sure?" Dudley replied nervously, and Harry realised immediately that he felt like he didn't really belong.

"'Course!" the raven-haired youth replied. "We Potters have to stick together!"

ooOOoo

In a corner of the marquee was a small coterie of pure-blooded witches and wizards who did not, at all, share the general enthusiasm and happiness. Far from it; Messalina and Godfrey Nott were quite livid to see not only that the pure-blooded Draco was bonded to the upstart half-blood Harry Potter, but he was sitting at a table with a Muggle boy as well! And, as such people will, they had drawn a little faction of like-minded individuals around them. They all agreed that no good could come of this fraternization and were determined to stop it.

One might think they would have been ashamed to plot the downfall of this new accord while eating and drinking at the Malfoy's expense; but in fact they rather relished it. Godfrey could hardly stop the small smirk that kept threatening to break out at the thought that the people he thought of as enemies were hosting their little reconnaissance mission.

He just hoped that his cousin wasn't here. While blood should be thicker than water, he had not forgotten that Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were at Hogwarts together; who knew what poisonous thoughts of equality might have found their way into Theo's innocent mind? He would have to check that out.

' _We pure-bloods have to stick together_ ,' he thought.

ooOOoo

It was about one o'clock when Molly and Narcissa called for quiet.

"The participants need to come and get ready now; the rest of you, please feel free to stay in the warmth here," she said to the assembled crowd. "To finish by sunset, the ceremony will begin at twenty minutes to two o'clock."

So saying, the two mothers signaled to Harry and Draco to come with them and left the marquee, followed by a group of people who clearly had been briefed beforehand. They all went out of the marquee into a separate tent that had now been erected to one side. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that he knew, and was friends with, all of the participants; that is, if he could really class Hagrid and Kingsley, the only older adults of the group, as 'friends'. And in the tent were a few more people, obviously the ones who had been helping Narcissa: Theodore Nott was there, standing next to a man Harry didn't know but who did bear some resemblance to him. Harry wondered if perhaps Theo had an older brother, or uncle.

"Now," Narcissa began, once they were all present, "we need to make sure you all are comfortable with your positions. Most of you already know the order; Draco, you're between Ron and Hagrid, and Harry, you're at the end, after Kingsley."

Once they were in a line, Narcissa explained exactly how things were going to work. Each of them, it seemed, had been chosen to carry a particular type of wood; they would be responsible for adding a branch of the relevant tree to the bonfire. When they had all done so, the fire would be lit.

Harry was delighted to learn that, while he had to say something, it really wasn't important for him to be word-perfect; while it was an old, established ceremony, it wasn't a ritual to be performed exactly, but more something that should flow from the heart. He had just one other question.

"Why have we been chosen for these particular woods?"

"Ah!" Molly replied. "The idea is that each participant should have some strong connection with their wood. For most of you, it's the same wood as your wand; we gave you elder, of course, dear, because of the Elder wand. As it happens, both Blaise and Angelique have an ivy wand, so we chose to use Blaise to stand in for you and your holly wand, holly and ivy being strongly compatible."

"I see," Harry mused. "And you all just remember people's wand wood, then?"

Narcissa laughed. "Well, no," she confessed. "We did a lot of asking around. Yours, of course, is rather famous. But Bill and Molly were most helpful in tracking woods down. The hardest was the reed wand; fortunately, Kingsley's first wand was reed.

"Any more questions?" Molly asked. There were none. "Good! Everyone go to your little tent, then; we'll begin in about twenty minutes."

"Before we do," Robin said, "I think there's a little something needed."

"Yes?" Narcissa replied, an eyebrow arched.

"She's here," Robin said in a low voice, as he wandered over to the man standing next to Theo, and waved his wand in an intricate pattern. The man changed appearance as one of Robin's complex glamours settled over him. The change was not enormous, certainly someone who had glanced at him before would take him for the same man, but the similarities to Theo were much less marked.

ooOOoo

"Welcome all!" Lucius called out in a loud voice as the bonfire was lit. "Welcome to the Ceremony of the Woods! Here we stand at the end of our year. As the year dies, we remember that it brought us life, and a new year begins with new life even as the old passes away. We remember the year that has passed, both good things and bad, for only in accepting all that we have been given can we be whole. We remember that we are connected to this sphere, even though we are passing through; so that its connection changes us and remains with us. We remember that we have each other, families, friends, acquaintances; we belong to one another.

"We surrender all to the fire of transformation, so that the bad can be carried away and become forgotten, and the good remain and become a blessing in our lives.

"Now, as is our custom, there is a separate pavilion for each month, with the wood for the month piled there. Each wood will be brought out in turn and placed on the fire. You will then be given space to remember for yourself the good and the bad of that month; you may do so silently, or speak out, or, if you are so moved, choose a branch from the pile and place it on yourself.

"Each of you is free to do what you feel is required."

' _Poppycock_ ,' Godfrey Nott thought. ' _Still, at least the words are right according to the old sources. But how can he stand there and go through with this when there are Muggles present? Next we'll be seeing creatures come.'_

Beside him, Messalina Nott was busy with similar, and equally poisonous, thoughts of her own. ' _"Belonging" indeed. It's all very well if the ceremony was only pure-bloods like it's supposed to be! And that man who lit the fire, could that be Theo? Looked like it. I must ask Godfrey.'_

In the midst of these thoughts, Neville emerged from the first pavilion. He was wearing a hooded mantle that, like his pavilion, was coloured white with the faintest hint of spring green, and he was holding a very large birch bough.

"Beith the Birch," he intoned. "The first of the trees, the first to proceed, the stag of seven tines,"

"Beith the Birch," came a congregational response from the pure-bloods present as Neville laid his bough against the scaffolding over the bonfire and took two steps back to stand in his place, where he would remain until the conclusion of the ceremony. Harry, standing in the tent to the right of Neville's, had not been expecting the response; it rather sent a shiver up his spine. In the few minutes he had spent alone in his little tent before the ceremony started, he had worried the whole thing would be a bit theatrical. That people wouldn't join in and it would all seem false.

Now, though, it had become clear that this was not going to be a problem. There was a simple authenticity to the whole thing that touched him at a deep level. When you thought about it, it was a very simple ceremony: just a fire, and tree branches being added to it, and people saying things as they felt moved. He had not expected that it would have the power that it clearly did.

A couple of people mentioned things that had happened in January, and one brave soul even walked over and took a birch branch and added it to the fire as she spoke of escaping the Snatchers, something that rather shocked Harry into remembrance that yes, they were talking about **those** times.

The ceremony proceeded apace, the participants emerging at ten minute intervals. Luna came out next, her robe greener and less white, placing a bough of Rowan.

"Luis the Rowan," she announced in a steady voice far-removed from her usual dreamy self. "The stag is chased by a flood on the plain."

"Luis the Rowan," came the reply.

Charlie brought Ash, and Robin brought Alder. Harry rather choked up as he remembered that in late March, Alder's month, they had been caught and imprisoned at Malfoy Manor. And that Dobby had died. He found himself shedding a tear; and then there must have been some special magic in the ceremony after all, for he felt the awful feeling of the loss of his house-elf friend lift off him. It seemed like a tiny bubble of grief went out of him, and flew into the fire and was transformed. He still missed Dobby; it still hurt; but it no longer ached.

He remembered also Remus coming to Shell Cottage to announce the birth of Teddy. And that thought was like a bubble of joy, floating away and then again flying into the fire; but this one was returned, and filled his heart with a great peace. It was as if Remus had come and put his hand on him and said, "you're doing so well", and he felt greatly encouraged.

Then came the first change of protocol. Ron came out of his pavilion in a beautiful greeny-yellow robe, and laid his Willow bough.

"Saille the Willow," he said. "The hawk on the cliff remembers the downfall of Voldemort."

The response was polarized. Many of those present responded with great gusto, "Saille the Willow!". But it was obvious to Harry that some, pure-blooded no doubt, did not approve of a participant deviating from the wording.

_Screw them_ , he thought. Ron was just as entitled as anyone else to have his say. He found himself being caught up in the emotion of the sentiment, and almost went to add his own Willow branch; but a participant coming out early to add a branch would probably cause conniptions for the diehard pure-bloods, he decided. Not that he cared particularly for such people, but Narcissa probably would, so he stayed where he was out of respect for her.

Draco laid his Hawthorn bough without any more drama. At least, no-one seemed to notice any. But Harry knew better: he could see there was a great tension in his husband. When he returned to his pavilion, Draco found to his surprise that the terrible feelings of loss he had from the trials seemed to have stayed at the fire. He turned just in time to see a ghostly golden bubble float into the flames and on up. And as it went, he knew that the pain then only made the joy with Harry now all the sweeter.

Draco smiled.

Hagrid, with oak, did not escape drama. Indeed, there was a palpable tension as he emerged from his very large pavilion, and Harry realised at once why one tent had to be so much larger than the rest. Hagrid looked around uneasily, but laid his bough and felt a sudden rush of acceptance as the years of being treated as an outcast seemed to flow off him.

But there were those who still did not accept him.

_A half-giant!_ Godfrey Nott thought. _This is too much! We have half-bloods and Muggles, and even squibs, I'll be bound, but creatures! That's too far!_

He turned to Messalina.

"We're leaving," he said.

She concurred, as did a group of pure-bloods, evidently, for a small knot of people suddenly vanished, quite noticeably, as they all left at once. But it didn't really matter; the ceremony was still very well attended. Blaise made his way out without missing a beat and laid Holly, with Ginny's Hazel, Hermione's Vine and Angelique's Ivy completing the red and brown coloured robes.

Kingsley emerged in grey robes, holding a bundle of Reeds.

"Ngetal the Reed!" he cried out aloud, "The noise of the sea!"

Harry smirked at the booming and intimidating voice the Minister could use when he wanted to. And finally, as the sun was now on the horizon, it was his turn.

"Ruis the Elder!" he called out, and found words coming to him unexpectedly. "The wave of the sea washes away, the fire burns, and all is cleansed and changed. New life in wholeness connects we who belong."

"Ruis the Elder," came the solemn response as Harry placed the last bough.

It was probably a good thing that so many of the po-faced purebloods had left earlier, given what happened next. For, as the structure took the weight of the Elder bough, it sagged and collapsed onto the fire. But instead of collapsing inwards on top of the fire, it seemed to twist around so that the boughs made a sort of teepee. To cries of surprise and delight, bright sparks came up in many different colours. It took a moment for everyone to realise that the colours they saw were the colours of the robes and pavilions.

And then the whole thing really took off.

Really, Draco thought later as he joined Harry and stood leaning into his side, they should have thought that the twins would have to get involved somehow. It was just impossible to leave them out of things. And his mother hadn't, not at all; for the coloured sparks coming out of the fire suddenly became fireworks booming into the night, and the boughs were reflected in the image of a grove of trees that the fireworks made.

The display was stunning. Even though the sky wasn't fully dark, it still made for a magnificent conclusion to a truly memorable ceremony, he thought. An opinion that seemed to be generally shared, if the loud 'oohs' and 'aahs' where anything to go by.

"Remind me to thank your mother for this tomorrow," Harry said in an awed whisper to his husband, as they watched the display together, their friends and family all around them.

"Of course," Draco told him earnestly. "Now though, my fingers and toes are getting cold and the warmth of some hot chocolate sounds preferable to a warming charm."

Harry chuckled softly at that, as they headed back to the marquee, thinking he might just treat himself to another goblet of mulled wine.

In fact, there would be no need for the reminder. Though they didn't know it, Narcissa had been standing close by them, and heard everything. She smiled. Her two boys were so sweet together and her heart swelled with love for them. She thought back on her own year. It had been scarier than a ride in a goblin cart: the horrors of the Dark Lord in the ascendancy; the terror she had felt for Draco during the war; the despair as she sat beside Lucius and Draco in the Great Hall, both of them having lost their magic, which she well knew would soon cost their lives; the joy of Harry's victory over the Dark Lord; the astonishment of his breaking of the magic-binding curse on her husband and son; the lows and highs of the trials; and since then of course they had had so much: Harry's healing, and the various attacks, had been horrid, of course; but nothing compared to Draco and Harry getting together, and married, and pregnant.

And as all these thoughts and memories flooded through her, the Ceremony continued to do its magic and pull them into the fire, into the sparks, taking the bad and returning strength instead, taking the sweet and returning purified joy. She stood, now, at the end of the year, at the moment when they would take a breath and head into a new year, exhilarated in the knowledge that the ancient pure-blood rite had done its work, and given them a chance to go into a New Year with hope that the bitterness of the past could be laid aside and the sweetness treasured.

As she made her way back to the marquee, many people came up to thank her for a wonderful afternoon and evening, and lots of them wanted to share special stories of how they too had felt a release because it. She smiled and nodded and played the gracious pure-blood hostess; internally, though her breeding would not let it show, she was ecstatic. This response, this unity of a group of such disparate Magicals and Muggles gave her great hope. Of course, she knew perfectly well that there were plenty who would not see it that way. She had not missed the pure-bloods who had left during the ceremony; she was well aware that Godfrey and Messalina Nott were at the centre of that group. But in the end, that was their loss. And these people, their smiles and freedom, they were her gain.

She went to bed that night proud, happy, and more hopeful for the New Year than she had been for many a year.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> **Other locations:** See my profile for details about facebook and FF.net. The story is also available on AFF (adult-fanfiction dot org, since someone asked) should anyone prefer that site.
> 
> **Thanks:** To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and hot chocolate and cakes for those who commented on chapter 93.
> 
> Please review and let me know what you thought of the Ceremony of the Woods. Did it live up to your expectations?


	95. Travelers Return

_But … death,_

_The undiscovered country from whose bourn_

_No traveler returns …_

**\- Hamlet, Act III Scene i**

_Sunday December 20_

Igor Karkaroff had almost forgotten how much he hated Cairo. But it all came swirling back to him the moment he arrived in the dingy street known only to the Wizarding world. After the dark and cold of Scandinavia, the heat and light hit him like a slap in the face. Not to mention the teeming throngs of people! At Durmstrang, there were many places nearby to go and escape and be alone, and he knew more of them than anyone else. Here, though, there were people invading his physical space, jabbering at him, offering him all manner of goods, from shoes to wives. He physically recoiled. It was most annoying that, thanks to the demands on his time at Durmstrang, he only had a couple of days to re-acclimatise to Egypt before the Ritual; he would, he was quite sure, need all of that time, he decided.

But, while he wanted to get used to Egypt, there was nothing that said he had to stay in Cairo. After a few discreet enquiries, he managed to acquire the necessities – a portkey and a contact – and an hour later he appeared in the lobby of a hotel in Aswan. He took a critical look around. He could see at once that it wasn't really the sort of place he would choose – but then, a year ago he had been in a crofter's hut in Scotland, so, he thought with a rather rueful smile, he was quite well off, all things considered.

He hardly noticed all the Egyptians edging away from the foreigner with the mad grin on his face; he wouldn't have cared, anyway. They took his money and gave him a room; that was all he needed. Their company, and the incessant jabber in his face, he could well do without.

_Tuesday December 22, 1998_

Unlike the full Map of the Worlds Ritual that they had performed on the Summer Solstice, which was always performed at noon, the Darkness Ritual had to span the very moment of the Winter Solstice, that is to say, the exact instant that the Sun reached the Tropic of Capricorn and appeared to stand still before making its apparent journey back north. According to Bill's well-thumbed almanac, that event was due to happen at exactly 1:56am GMT on 22 December, no matter that the Solstice itself was reckoned to be on 21 December. That this was at night was a very happy coincidence – the complete absence of sunlight only helped this ritual. Even the waxing moon would be only three days old – as near to perfect darkness as they were ever likely to get in this land where cloudy skies were a rare event.

Bill arrived at Berenice just after midnight in high spirits. Since he was coming from Gringotts and Karkaroff from Durmstrang, it had made better sense for them to each make his own way to Berenice and meet up there rather than trying to synchronise calendars beforehand. As an extra bonus, it meant that Bill could take the opportunity to watch the Ceremony of the Woods. For, while he had not had any official part in the Ceremony (as a professional curse breaker and ritual expert, he was well aware that performing two separate rituals in the span of twenty-four hours was not at all a sensible thing to do), that did not mean he could not attend; he had simply taken care to be under a glamour while doing so. It had been well worth it; the sense of community that the ceremony had engendered had been palpable. He had found it incredibly moving to see Muggles, Squibs, Muggle-born and Half-bloods joining in what was traditionally a pure-blood-only event.

Travelling separately had also been useful to avoid being noticed. The Egyptian Government, including their Ministry of Magic, were rather chary of allowing foreigners anywhere near ritual sites. And, Bill had to admit to himself, given the number of relics that had been 'liberated' from the country, with good reason. Two wizards arriving together, one a known curse-breaker, would surely arouse some notice; independent travelers could hope to avoid suspicion. And avoiding suspicion was definitely something his employers were pleased about. The Goblins were always very secretive about such matters.

When he entered the chamber, Bill thought for a moment that he was first; but then a dark figure wandered over to him from the shadows. Despite himself, he was impressed. He had a wealth of experience in places where being surprised by anything could easily mean death, so not many people could sneak up on him. By the look on his face, Igor Karkaroff very much enjoyed being one of them.

"So," the older man said, "you are here at last. You have the wood?"

"Yes," Bill replied, a touch curtly, "and of course I do."

"Good," Karkaroff said, ignoring Bill's tone. He would have just nodded; but the only light in the chamber was from the two very light Lumos charms the wizards had cast, and Bill might not have seen the motion of his head. "Well, we should get started. It will be the moment of Solstice soon enough."

Bill put down the tiny backpack he had brought with him and began to unload it. Karkaroff was rather startled to see the amount of stuff he managed to pull out of it. He had heard of these bags that could contain vast amounts, of course; but ones like this that obviously went beyond the scope of normal expansion charms were something of a rarity and difficult to get hold of. He had heard that the Granger girl had had one, and had idly wondered how she came by it; but then, he mused, perhaps her predilection for research went beyond mere facts. It didn't really matter to him, after all.

Once all the gear had been removed, the two wizards began the painstaking task of assembling everything exactly as required by the ritual. First to go on the table was a piece of black vellum; Karkaroff was impressed that it seemed to be perfectly smooth and uniformly dark, both of which were notoriously difficult in the stretchy, imperfect material. Clearly the goblins took this enterprise seriously and were not afraid to put their resources behind it. Then came the glass dishes, on which they place the small heaps of – highly dangerous – chemicals: noxious yellow sulphur, poisonous red cinnabar, saltpetre, and so on until a circle of small bowls had been placed precisely around the edge of the parchment. In the middle, Bill placed a shallow silver dish, which he then filled with water.

By half-past one, everything was ready, and they spent a tense twenty minutes waiting before they were able to start the ritual. When the alarm Bill had set to warn them went off, he touched his wand to the small pile of sulphur they had placed in the middle of the ritual table and whispered the required incantation.

The result was spectacular. Unlike the Summer solstice, which had been in daylight, hot and sweaty, this time the air was freezing cold. So the column of fire that flared up out of the silver dish was most welcome, giving both light and heat in abundance. Also, unlike Summer, there was no need for them to cast anything at all once the initial spell had been set; they only really had to watch and hope they'd got everything right as the ritual unfolded before them.

 

Deep sleep did not come easily to the Malfoys that night.

Lucius tossed and turned ...

A new warmth that had come into his family from last night, and the Ceremony had only reinforced that. He too had been moved, and had remembered so many emotional moments: the horror of the Dark Lord in Malfoy Manor; the terror of the Battle of Hogwarts; the anger he had had after the battle, when his and Draco's magics were locked away; the astonishment at Potter's victory over the Dark Lord and the bind; the fear of being Potter's vessel; the hollowness of being sentenced to Azkaban and the relief at Hermione's suggestion of a suspended sentence being accepted; the horrible angst of trying to beat the Debt of Magical Emancipation; the euphoria of feeling he'd got one over Harry Potter; the lonely feeling of his family at war with him; the dismay of discovering he had not beaten the debt at all. Since then, he had discovered, to his surprise and delight, that owing a debt to Harry Potter was, as his son had assured him, completely unlike owing one to the Dark Lord; indeed, since the day Draco went with Harry to Grimmauld Place, he had found himself becoming free for the first time since the Dark Lord's return.

It was a heady feeling; and not less so because of the way the Ceremony of the Woods had taken those feelings and distilled them. Of course the challenge for them was to reconcile the events of the year with the pure-blood ways he still needed to cling to to remain a political force. As his mind ran over the Ceremony, it struck him that Narcissa, bless her, had done just that: by opening up the pure-blood ritual to all, she had also opened up a way for pure-bloods to influence the rest.

It was beautiful. It was devious. It was every inch the action of a Slytherin. And so he began to plot and plan…

Narcissa dozed fitfully …

She knew that Lucius was scheming. She had been married to him for long enough to interpret all the signs: the sighs, and quiet mutterings, and tossing-and-turning. She turned over, cast a silencing ward, and started to doze off again.

In the Malfoy-Potter bedroom, things were much calmer. Draco was snoring very lightly, dead to the world in his favourite sleep position entwined around his own personal Wizard pillow. As always when in this position, he had a slight smile on his face; not that anyone was awake to see it.

And Harry?

Harry dreamed …

A white mist swirled all around him, As it slowly began to clear, the space he was in took on shape: a large room; no, scratch that, a very large room, stone walls, high ceiling, a feeling of home …

He looked around curiously. He felt he should know where he was; but somehow it didn't seem right. It was as if one had walked into a well-known room from a different door; things were familiar but seemed to be in the wrong places, somehow.

His observations were cut short by the drawling of a rather familiar voice.

"Mr Potter."

He turned to see a hazy figure walking towards him. It was clearly that of a man, dressed all in black robes. Harry stood still, waiting patiently until it took visible shape, confirming his first impression: Severus Snape was walking towards him.

"I must be dreaming," he replied. "And it's Malfoy-Potter now."

"Ah yes," the man sneered. "Dreaming, you call it. Can't say, having watched you in class, that I can agree. You seem more awake than ever."

And then all of a sudden, there was a strange twinkle in the onyx eyes, and to Harry's very great surprise, Snape actually smiled at him. It was rather unnerving. For in Harry's experience, Snape smile was usually a smirk, just before a tricky question, or docking house points, or when he'd decided on a particularly vile detention. But that was different. There was genuine amusement in his eyes. Somewhat to Harry's surprise, Snape reached out a hand to him.

"I suppose I must congratulate you on your marriage," he continued, as Harry accepted the handshake. You certainly seem to have found a most intelligent partner. It seems, perhaps, that you are not a complete dunderhead after all."

Harry smiled. This was the closest thing that he had ever received to a compliment from Snape. Perhaps he should not have been surprised when the man went on to turn it around immediately. But really, he would have been unhappy with anything else.

"Tell me," he asked with a raised eyebrow, "have you investigated the library at Spinner's End since visiting with the other Mr Malfoy-Potter?"

Harry blushed, and Snape continued, "thought not. How did you manage to pass any of your subjects, I wonder, if you ignore such treasures… Tell me, have you decided on a new career now that you are not going to be an Auror?"

Harry was a little floored at the question, and wondered how Snape knew that; but then, the portraits seemed to know all sorts of things too.

"Er, well, as it happens, I haven't yet..." he stammered out.

"Now, now, Severus, I think that's quite enough baiting of poor Harry," another familiar voice said.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed, and turned to see that indeed they had been joined by the former headmaster.

"Harry!" he said, a huge smile on his face. "Nice place you have here."

"Me?" Harry asked, and then thought back to the time he had met the headmaster in the dream replica of King's Cross station. "But… I don't even really recognise it."

"Don't you?" Albus replied, and waved his hand to draw Harry to look closer. As he did, the mist seemed to clear further, and he realised where he was.

"It's the Great Hall!" he exclaimed. "But… it's different."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape said sarcastically, and Harry had to bite his tongue lest he exclaim at his very first ever House points from the snarky Potions professor. Not that it counted, of course; as an Eighth Year student, he no longer officially belonged to Gryffindor. He was quite sure that Snape had thought of this; and, by the twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore was well aware of what was going on.

As the mist swirled away, it became clear that they were indeed in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, or a replica of it; but it was strangely different. For one thing, there was a gallery that ran around three sides of the room

"Surely that was never there?" Harry asked as his arm indicated the gallery.

Snape followed the sweep of Harry's hand, seeming to see the gallery for the first time.

"Not in my time," he replied.

"Curious," Albus mused. "In fact, my boy, it was there – but not in your time. No, it was removed by my predecessor as headmaster, Armando Dippett. He thought it rather detracted from the grandeur of the Hall. And we certainly no longer needed it; time was when the Hall was filled to bursting, but we have improved the expansion charms since then. And I'm afraid that the Wizarding wars with Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Riddle have had a rather deleterious effect on enrolments…"

"Gellert?" Harry asked, then remembered Dumbledore's sister and the events of long ago, culminating in the death of Ariana Dumbledore, Albus and Aberforth's sister, and a broken friendship between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and the latter's incarceration in Nurmengard. "I remember you discussing him. Um, he was there that day, wasn't he? Do you now know what happened?"

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "That tale has not been vouchsafed me yet; I fear I must move beyond these spheres to find that out."

While they were talking, Snape seemed to have vanished; Harry decided he was offering them a chance to talk in private. He found it rather strange; but on the whole, it was easily the most comfortable conversation he'd ever had with the man, and somehow it cemented the fact that the hostility between them was truly at an end. As he mused, Harry looked around, admiring the structure: the balcony ran along one side of the Hall, and was supported by rather lovely fluted marble pillars.

Something jogged in Harry's memory. Fluted pillars? Where had he seen them before?

"Professor," Harry asked, "these pillars – there was one actually there when I defeated Voldemort. I hid behind it when I spoke to Draco. But how could that be?"

Albus looked thoughtful, but his eyes twinkled, and he actually rubbed his hands together. "Ah, Harry," he said, "How delightful! A mystery! I must confess I have always been rather partial to good mysteries; they make me feel young again. I'm afraid do not know how you have managed to recreate this place as it was before you were born; nor how the pillar could possibly have actually been there. There is some deep enchantment at work here."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Quite," the headmaster replied, looking carefully at an engraved image on the pillar. "Does this look familiar?" he asked.

Harry came over to see what the headmaster was studying. It was indeed a familiar shape: a triangle containing a circle overlaid with a straight line.

"The symbol of the Deathly Hallows!" Harry exclaimed.

"And also Gellert's symbol," Dumbledore said. "Now, I wonder…"

 

The ritual finally finished just after three am. The last thing to happen was a sudden eruption of yellow sulphurous smoke, which swept around the pillar of fire that was still burning on the ritual table; and then, with a huge bang, it swept into the flame and was burnt up. At this point, the pillar itself collapsed, and the room was left in pitch darkness.

"Well," Karkaroff said eventually, as he calmly cast a Lumos charm which instantly lit the whole space, "I think we can safely say that the ritual worked."

"I suppose so," Bill replied, as he walked to the table, but Karkaroff could hear the disappointment in his voice. The redhead did not elaborate; he simply moved to the table to examine the result.

All of the dishes had vanished completely. Instead, on the parchment, they saw an intricate pattern of extremely fine silver lines, etched in a glass medium that made the resulting parchment absolutely rigid.

"Wow!" Bill said as he saw it, and Karkaroff rather agreed, though not willing to express himself quite so uncouthly. Instead, he took out his wand.

"Revelio!" he cast.

Instantly, a light came up from the parchment, and the silver pattern took on three-dimensional shape. Before, Bill had thought that the map they had produced was very impressive magic; now he had no words. The map, stretched out above the table, was breathtakingly beautiful. Once again, there were concentric spheres; at least, it appeared so at first, but then he saw that the outermost figure, the Sphere of Intangible Absence, was not in fact a sphere at all. It was more like a bowl: the bottom was spherical, but then it seemed to reach outwards, not upwards. And it did so with a sense of foreboding; it got darker as it branched away from the other spheres, and there was a palpable sense of being lost as it seemed to spin away …

"Now," Karkaroff said, affecting a didactic tone, "the thing that this map will show us clearly, that the other map did not, is any horcruxes that still exist. My theory is that any horcruxes will progress through the spheres more slowly than the soul they were made from; acting as a sort of brake to them."

"Which would explain how they can anchor someone in this world," Bill mused.

"Exactly!" Karkaroff replied, his eyes lighting up with the fervour of a man expounding his pet theory. He pointed to an intricate web of silver lines that connected small misshapen objects, caught crossing into what must be the Sphere of Intangible Extension. Karkaroff studied it with keen interest. "This, I think, must be Voldemort's horcruxes, fleeing from the realms. You remember we found him last time, already in the Sphere of Intangible Absence. It is very strange, though; some of the strands seem to have snapped somehow. Perhaps they were broken when the horcruxes were destroyed?"

"I remember last time," Bill replied; but he had not heard the headmaster's theory, being distracted, already scanning the image, looking to see if there were any more of the thin silver lines.

To their very great relief, they found none.

* * *

Draco stirred in his dreams. All at once, he seemed to find himself back in a familiar classroom: there were tables and chairs, to be sure, but in addition there was a cupboard. He was, he knew at once, back in the Defense classroom as it had been set up in their third year. Which should mean that the cupboard contained a boggart; and the Defense Professor was …

"Hello Draco," Remus's dry voice said as Draco thought of him.

"Professor Lupin!" he replied, blushing with embarrassment as he thought on how he had agitated to have the werewolf removed from the castle, and yet it was his funeral that Harry had first stuck up for Draco in public.

"None of that!" the werewolf said, instantly understanding the issue. "For a start, I'm not a Professor any more. And that's why I'm here, Draco. You need to know that your part in the War is understood. And I, for one, forgive you. Harry was my cub, you're his spouse; it would be ridiculous for us to be anything but friends."

The word 'ridiculous' reminded Draco once again of the boggart and how 'riddikulus' was the curse to dispel it. He could smile at the memory now.

"I wonder what I would see now," he mused.

"Best not to see, I think," Remus replied. "But I do need to ask you a rather serious question."

"Ah," Draco said, and suddenly it camed to him. While they both loved Harry, this Remus Lupin was the same Remus Lupin who was Harry's godson Teddy's father. Complicated.

"About Teddy?" he replied.

"Yes."

"Well, let me see," Draco said slowly, choosing his words with care, "Harry's his godfather, that's not going to change. And I guess, um, how can I put this, since you're not available…"

"By being dead you mean," Remus interrupted, but the smile on his face gave Draco courage to continue.

"Yes, that. I guess that makes us his step-fathers." And, warming to the idea more that he would have thought, he continued, "so that means we're going to have three children..."

Remus smiled.

"Thank you," he said, secure in the knowledge that the two people he cared about most in all the world –Teddy and Harry – were in good hands. They chatted a little longer before a contented werewolf disappeared in a cloud of mist as Draco fell back to sleep.

* * *

The mists swirled again, and Harry found he was seated alone on a bench that had now appeared. He idly wondered of perhaps it might be transfigured into a chaise-longue as it had been before; even as he thought it, the bench shimmered slightly and changed form, just as he remembered it.

"Impressive," a voice said to him, and with a swirl of red light, a figure appeared beside him. A very familiar figure. A very welcome figure indeed.

Harry's eyes lit up.

"PADFOOT!" he yelled, all but knocking Sirius Black over in a huge hug.

"Hi kiddo," Sirius replied with a laugh as his arms automatically snaked around his godson.

They sat clasped tightly together for a long time.

"So, just you?" Harry asked eventually as they released each other. "No Moony?"

Sirius gave him a sad smile. He knew what Harry was not asking, how he was hoping that perhaps his parents would appear as well.

"No Moony," he agreed. "He has another assignment today. And don't think I don't know you'd rather see your parents."

"Er, yeah," Harry said nervously, worried that perhaps Sirius might be offended by the possible implication that by himself, he wasn't enough.

Sirius roared with laughter.

"Don't worry, Harry," he said. "No-one will take offense from you here. Now, I understand you have a dog animagus? Wanna play tag?"

And with that, Sirius changed to his own form. Harry followed suit and the grim and the labrador raced each other around the Hall. First one chasing the other and then reversing.

At last, rather tuckered out, they sat back on the chaise-longue.

"Wow," Harry said, "guess I'll be tired tomorrow!"

Sirius chuckled. "Good. Now, the visitors you have had tonight came for a reason, can you guess what it is?"

"Does it have anything to do with the mordant? I noticed there was a red light when you appeared, just like there is in the Haussmann shield."

Somehow, Harry wasn't surprised that Sirius did not seem to need any explanation for this remark.

His face became serious for once. "Yes and no. Well, a bit, I guess. You see, there was some really strange magic set loose when you set Draco and Lucius free from Voldemort's curse. And that has affected both the living world and the world of shades. I'm not the one to tell you how it happened; but we were finally allowed to come and visit to let you know that all is well."

Here Sirius gave Harry a sly dig in the ribs. "It seems the rulers of this realm understand your propensity for worrying about things that aren't your fault."

Harry snorted. "All right then. So, is this the last visit? Or will I see you again?"

"I don't think you'll see me again," Sirius replied, becoming serious again. "Or any of the others, after tonight. But you will have one other visitor. And he will tell you what it's all about. But I might have to prepare you…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.


	96. Returning Sons to their Fathers

_Tuesday December 22, 1998_

In Wools Orphanage, Tony Adams slept fitfully.

" _Adam," he heard a kind, female voice say._

_He looked around._

" _I must be dreaming," he told himself._

_For he knew perfectly well that he had gone to sleep in the ten-year-old boys' dormitory. But now, instead of the thoroughly institutional room he had gone to sleep in, with its bed-and-wardrobe capsules separated by curtains and uninspiring beige decor, he found himself in a nicely-furnished sort of small lobby painted a fresh, crisp shade of lemon yellow. There was an umbrella stand, and a coatrack. This was obviously the entrance to a nice house. A house that, somehow, seemed rather familiar._

_But more importantly, there was a person in front of him, calling him Adam. It seemed strange; that wasn't his name, after all; it was his surname with the 's' missing, as far as he knew. Yet coming from her mouth it seemed so right, somehow. And then something exploded in his head, and he knew who she must be._

" _Mum?" he said, looking up, and the woman smiled at him and extended her arms._

_Tony, or Adam as he supposed he should call himself now, did not hesitate. He might be ten years old, and act all tough when he was with the other boys, but he was not too old for a mother's hugs. She lifted him up and sat down on a bench that hadn't been there moments before, and just cuddled him for the longest time._

ooOOoo

Dudley Potter woke early that Tuesday. To his very great surprise, he had had a wonderful day at the Ceremony of the Woods. Despite what his housemate Megan had said to him about pure-bloods and their judgmental ways, he had received nothing but kindness from anyone he had spoken to. To be sure, there had been that table of people who had sat in one corner and kept themselves to themselves, and Dudley rather suspected that they would not see him in a pleasant light; but they had not said anything to him, so he could pretend they weren't there.

As Kreacher had brought him home rather late after the Ceremony, he had gone more-or-less straight to bed; so the inevitable inquisition had been postponed. But not cancelled. It began as he sat down to breakfast. In contrast to the way Petunia would have badgered him for details, Megan just sat and gave him a rather demanding stare.

"Tell me everything," she said when he wasn't immediately forthcoming with what she wanted to know.

With the look on her face, he wasn't sure which was scarier to deal with, Petunia or Megan.

Wisely, he did indeed tell all.

ooOOoo

Andreas Nott woke up with that strange feeling of dislocation that comes when waking in a strange room.

Even though he had been there for three nights, he still wasn't used to it yet, the dark and the cold. He had grown so used to the warmth and fierce light of South Africa, not to mention the space; the winter climate, gentle light of his home country were very strange. And sleeping in a room this cozy.

Not that he was at all ungrateful. In his dealings with the Malfoys, they had been the very soul of kindness, much to his surprise: he had always thought they would shun squibs as assiduously as his parents had, and it was very surreal to find two such eminent pillars of the pure-blood community going out of their way to accommodate him.

Literally: they had appreciated that Malfoy Manor would be a bit daunting, so he and Theo were staying with Harry's muggle aunt and cousin. And their very pretty lodger, who, it turned out unexpectedly, was a witch, but clearly had no problems with the muggles, nor with him as a squib.

In fact, Andreas quite liked Megan Llewellyn. Not romantically, of course; there were too many years between them, and anyway he was quite sure the witch had her sights set on the still oblivious Dudley Dursely. Or Potter, now, he remembered. He wondered idly how long it would take for the boy to open his eyes to what was in front of him. Not, of course, that a relationship would be particularly easy for Dudley with his mother around. He shuddered at the thought, as he visualized how his own mother would have tried to interfere with him if she'd ever had the slightest interest in him. But, mercifully, Petunia Dursley was not Messalina Nott.

He got out of bed, grumbling as the chill air hit him, wrapped himself in a dressing gown, and went in search of tea.

As he arrived in the kitchen, he heard Dudley telling Megan about his day yesterday. He quietly took up position leaning against the doorjamb and listened in. A smile slowly crept over his face as he heard the boy telling all about the Ceremony and getting more excited in the telling.

Petunia noticed him before the other two could, and got up from the table, handing him a cup of tea. Andreas gestured to the front room, and the two adults quietly left, taking care not to disturb Dudley and Megan. Not that they were likely to; the two youngsters were engrossed in the conversation, both with shining eyes, and Andreas suspected they could have stomped out without being noticed.

"They're so cute together," he said as he and Petunia took seats in the front room.

"You think so too?" Petunia asked with a smile.

Andreas grinned. He had been wondering for the last couple of days whether Dudley needed a push in the right direction, being your typical oblivious young male; it seemed he had found an ally.

OoOOoo

Breakfast at Malfoy Manor was practically a non-event.

Lucius was the only one up. He had tried to rouse Narcissa, but it seemed that after the resounding success Ceremony of the Woods she was completely spent and, for the first time in a very long time, had simply rolled over and gone back to sleep. Not that he blamed her; the day had been stressful enough for him, he could barely imagine how it must have been for her, feeling the whole weight of its success or failure bearing down on her.

And he was hardly surprised to find that Harry and Draco were still in bed. No doubt, if they were awake, they would have other things to do besides having breakfast, and, not wanting to think about that, he demanded tea from Mappy and picked up the Daily Prophet.

For once, the front page was benign; the headline was ' _Felicitations at the Solstice_ ', and the article was nothing more than a fluff piece. It seemed that all was going well for a change. It wasn't till he reached the social pages that he found out how wrong it was.

And here it was: an article by – who else – Rita Skeeter, discussing the Ceremony of the Woods. There was a paragraph or two gushing about Narcissa – " _how brave of Lady Malfoy to host such an enormous event given what a tumultuous year she had had"_ – a not-so-subtle dig, he felt, but at least the words 'Death Eater' had not been mentioned – and then a bit about the Ceremony, detailing the participants …

" _And just who, I ask myself, was the rather gorgeous squib seen in the company of Theodore Nott, organising the Woods and setting up the different tents? He is a new face to the Daily Prophet. Our readers will remember that Mr Nott and his charming wife Pansy, née Parkinson, have emigrated to South Africa; perhaps our tall, dark, handsome stranger is a friend from there? We certainly hope to see him again soon ..."_

Lucius gulped. It was all very subtle and harmless; but he was very concerned. If Messalina Nott read it, he was quite sure that her mind would leap by accident to the correct conclusion from sheer paranoia; and then what if she were to take it into her head to move her grandson?

He couldn't risk it. He had intended to get the boy on Christmas Day as a special celebration; but it seemed that plan needed to be moved up somewhat. But, he supposed, they could invite the Notts to the burning of the Yule log; it seemed only fair, given that Andreas had especially chosen a lovely piece of oak for them.

ooOOoo

Tony Adams was at something of a loss.

The last few weeks at the Orphanage had been rather difficult for him. Firstly, he was very embarrassed at having blubbed in front of the caretaker, and was now avoiding the man as much as he could. Which was harder than one might think; Vernon seemed to be always around. In his more paranoid moments, Tony wondered if he was being stalked. But Vernon never actually approached him or referred to the incident any way.

Of course the truth was simply that, since he was thinking of Vernon so much, he was noticing the man more; but that sort of sensible thought is slow to come to the mind of a ten-year-old.

It did not take long before the other boys sensed that something was wrong. Initially, Tony had thought the worst thing would be if they attacked him for his weakness. He was wrong. They did not attack him, even verbally; in fact, they offered sympathy and concern. That pushed him back into thinking about what had happened, and what had caused it, and that was even worse than hard words or fists would have been.

And now that it was Yule, they did not have classes for two weeks to celebrate. He should have been happy. But two weeks with no classes meant two weeks with no order and routine to keep his thoughts away from the awful events of years ago that had come crashing through his mind. The visions of the old woman killing his mother played out over and over again, until he wanted to scream with frustration.

Yes, it had been three weeks of hell. But when he woke on the solstice, something was different. A feeling in the air. Something was going to happen, he just knew it.

Something good.

He looked around. It still early; but there were no classes over this fortnight, and their chores were suspended over Yule, so there was no requirement for them to be up their usual time. He grinned a little. First good thing for today: he could go straight back to sleep.

ooOOoo

Marjorie Dursley wished she could go back to sleep. Or even better, wake up and find that it had all been a bad dream. But no such luck; as the months went by, she was getting more and more frantic. And more and more angry.

Her brother and nephew, her only family, and probably (apart from the vet who looked after her dogs and, on a good day, Vernon's wife Petunia) the only people in the world that she gave a damn about (no, scratch Petunia, she was really a horse-faced bitch and not good enough for her brother; and after all, The Freak was **her** nephew and all), had, it seemed, disappeared off the face of the earth. It didn't help that the police seemed to be doing nothing at all; yes, she knew perfectly well that they were all adults, but they wouldn't just disappear without telling her. To the police, it seemed it was just a run-of-the-mill Missing Persons case, but to her it was family.

What really galled her was that her less-than-scrupulous inside contact had told her yesterday that the police actually knew where Dudley was but hadn't told her. And so she marched into the police station at Little Whinging and demanded to speak to the superintendent.

The duty desk sergeant sighed. Marge Dursely seemed to come in at least once a month, and it was never pleasant. Everyone had got to the stage where they simply blanked her, refusing to acknowledge that they had met her before.

"Yes, madam?" he said with institutional, and entirely false, politeness. "How may I help you?"

Marge narrowed her eyes at him.

"I've already told you, Sergeant Smith, that I want to see the man in charge. And don't pretend you don't know me, you've seem me often enough! Or are our poor hard-working police having trouble with their memories?"

As she said this, her tone bitingly ironic, she looked scathingly at the man sitting on his chair with papers in front of him. Clearly, to her, sitting at a desk did not constitute 'hard-working'. He would like to see her last five minutes with the bureaucracy of the police system, he thought ruefully to himself. But he was a trained professional, and pushed down those thoughts.

"Yes madam," he said simply. "And if you would tell me what this is in regards to, I'm sure it would avoid unnecessary delay."

"WHAT IT'S IN REGARD TO!?" Marge screamed. "VERNON DURSLEY AND HIS FAMILY GOING MISSING! WHAT ELSE WOULD IT BE IN REGARDS TO!"

"Yes, thank you, madam," Smith said. "Please take a seat in the waiting room and I will advise the relevant officer."

Marge, slightly mollified by the appearance of some civility and deference, huffed a little but did indeed go and sit in the waiting room. For most of the morning. For, while Sergeant Smith was a conscientious man who always kept his promises, he didn't say anything about _when_ he would pass on the message…

ooOOoo

Andreas was very nervous.

Lucius had arrived quite unexpectedly half an hour ago to find him and Petunia still chatting together while Dudley and Megan were in the kitchen. That in itself was enough to cause anxiety – Lucius was a wizard to be reckoned with, and his British client's husband, and he wanted to keep on the right side of him; he had no idea how Lucius felt about Petunia but all his experience of pure-bloods screamed at him that he man was likely to fly off the handle at anything that might be considered Unbecoming Behaviour.

These worries disappeared once Lucius sat down and explained why he was there, only to be replaced with new ones.

"You really think this Prophet article is going to cause issues?" Andreas asked.

"See for yourself," Lucius answered, handing him the paper, folded so Rita's article was on top.

" _And just who, I ask myself, was the rather gorgeous squib seen in the company of Theodore Nott,"_ he read out loud, blushing at the description before the colour drained from his face. Here it was, laid out, the South African connection, his connection with Nott being raised; it was Very Not Good.

"If mother sees this..." he said in horror.

"No," Lucius replied, "not 'if', 'when'. Even if she doesn't read the rag herself, someone's bound to ask her what Theo's playing at."

"Merlin!" Andreas replied, terror starting to creep into his eyes. "We have to get Adam! Now!"

Lucius quite agreed. Perhaps he was being infected with Harry's Gryffindor sentimentality but he was determined that that bitch was not going to rip a family apart for the second time.

ooOOoo

When Tony woke up again, it was the middle of the morning. He got up, feeling rather groggy after more sleep than he was used to, pulled on some clothes, and made his way to the boy's washroom to get ready for the day. It wasn't until he standing at the mirror washing his face that he remembered about the dream. He was so stunned as he relived it that he might have stood there all day; but Philip Johnson, one of his least-favourite dorm-mates came into the washroom and saw him, apparently gazing at his reflection in the mirror.

"Hey, Tony!" he said. "Stop loving yourself, mate!"

"Adam", he replied softly, turning to his fellow.

"What?" came the reply.

"Adam. My name is Adam."

"You all right, Tony? Blow to the head or something?"

But, much to Philip's surprise, the barb got no reaction. Normally, he could count on Tony Adams to get riled up and come at him; as he was a year older, larger, stronger, and fitter, this invariably led to pain for Tony and some rather sadistic pleasure for Philip.

Before he could say anything else, a voice called out.

"Hey, Tony! Old man Ries wants you in his office! You've got a visitor!"

Adam, as he would now call himself, smiled as he made his way to the head's office. This, he was sure, was the good thing.

ooOOoo

"I rather thought I might see you today," Johan Ries said as he greeted his visitors at the front door.

"You've seen The Prophet, then?" Lucius asked.

Ries nodded.

"Where is he?" Andreas asked, skipping all small-talk.

Ries smiled. "I sent a boy to fetch Tony when the wards alerted me to your arrival," he replied gently. "By now, he should be in my office."

And, indeed, as they entered the Director's office, they found a rather anxious-looking ten-year-old boy turned to greet them.

It took Adam Nott less than a second to work out which one was his …

"Father?" he asked cautiously.

Andreas looked at him, the pain of years of separation in his eyes as he opened his arms in reply.

For a moment, there was a tangible tension in the room.

For a moment, things hung in the balance.

Andreas's head began to fill with doubts as the moment dragged on. Would his Adam accept him?Why was the boy hanging back? Perhaps it had been a mistake come at all, to imagine that he could just waltz in and reclaim the son that had been stolen from him?

And then …

And then Andreas Nott was nearly bowled over as the blur of a boy running at full pelt hit him, and he felt Adam's arms encircle him. They didn't go all the way round but that didn't matter a bit as he, in turn, held his son to him in a desperate embrace, his doubts fading to nothing now that he held his child again for the first time in so many years.

ooOOoo

They had gone up to Adam's room to fetch his few belongings and were wandering down the corridor back to Reis's office and drew level with a door on which was printed 'Janitor' in neat letters when it happened.

As Andreas walked past the small store room, he felt like some strange, oily substance was being poured over him. Fired with curiosity, feeling helpless to resist, he found himself opening the door and wandering into the room. At first, he saw nothing but the mops, buckets and brooms that one always finds in such rooms, together with that particular stale smell of dirty water and disinfectant; but then, to his very great surprise, the room seemed to change before his eyes. Instead of cleaning equipment and damp, dingy smells, the room was set up as a bedroom, with a bed running alongside the wall and a large wardrobe at one end, dark and dominating. The window, which moments before had been dirty, dusty, and letting in a bare minimum of light, was now quite clean, and the room was a lot brighter and airier because of it.

But most surprising of all was the small boy sitting on the bed. One look convinced Andreas of two things: he had never seen this boy before in his life, he was sure of that; but also, the boy was clearly an orphan. He had the haunted look that all the boys he had just met shared.

And yet, it wasn't quite the same. There was something different about this boy. Something more self-assured. He struck Andreas as someone who would go far.

The boy turned to him but seemed quite oblivious to his presence, his gaze continuing around the room. It was obviously his room; as well as self-assuredness, he had that air of possession that comes only to people in their own space. But the way he was sizing it up was intriguing; it was as though he were working out what he needed to defend. But from what?

"Look at me!" he heard a male voice say, and the boy snapped back his attention to Andreas's right. The squib turned to see a man standing there.

Man? Not just a man. A wizard, that was clear. And more than that. For the oily feeling Andreas had felt was definitely coming from this man. It was intoxicating. It was alluring.

It was dark.

This was definitely a Dark Lord, and he reeled at the thought that this might be Voldemort himself. For, he realised with a sudden crystal clarity, this was not the present, nor any dream or premonition. No, he was seeing an event from long ago. He found himself powerless to intervene as the wizard stood there, eyeing the child like a predator its prey.

"What do you want?" the boy asked, his voice curious but not fearful. Andreas shuddered. If the boy had any sense, he'd run a mile rather than talk to this man. But perhaps he didn't have any choice; the man was blocking the door, the only feasible exit, after all. No wonder the boy had been looking around, then.

The man smiled. It was not a nice smile. The oily magic – for Andreas was now convinced that that was what it was – suddenly became visible as all-but transparent tentacles reaching out towards the boy. When they touched him, something rather strange happened. Andreas had been horrified that they would engulf him, but instead they seemed to meet some sort of resistance.

"Intriguing," the man said, slowly. Andreas was rather surprised by his tone; there was no anger, nor disappointment, but an almost detached academic interest.

Almost. For mixed in it, he realised, was … _pride_.

"You are very powerful, young man," he said, confirming Andreas's thoughts. "I think you will make a worthy successor …"

And then, something must have gone wrong. The man stopped abruptly, and looked to the ceiling in contemplation.

"Will the fool never leave me alone?" he said, anger creeping into his voice for the first time. "I'm afraid we shall have to postpone this meeting until a more propitious moment…"

With that, the wizard abruptly vanished.

"Andreas!" he heard a voice call. "Mr Ad.. Nott!"

He started to turn slowly. He thought he should know those voices …

"Dad!"

Ah, he knew that voice. That voice brought him hurling back to the present. A present with Adam. A present that, for the first time in a long time, promised some hope …

ooOOoo

Marge Dursley had all but given up hope when she was finally called into the office of Senior Detective Ian Barnes.

"Now, Miss Dursley," the detective began. "How can I help you?"

Marge eyed him coldly.

"For a start," she said tartly, "perhaps you can explain to me why it's taken nearly all day to get to see you? Where is this much-vaulted efficiency I've been reading about?"

Barnes grimaced inwardly to himself. It would never occur to the Marge Dursleys of this world that the biggest cause of inefficiency in his job was people coming and ranting at him and stopping him from doing what he was paid for. Still, at least you knew where you were with them, he supposed.

"Miss Dursley," he said crisply, "do sit down. I'm afraid our duty sergeant has only just now informed you that you were here; no doubt the two armed robberies and various motor vehicle accidents he has had to attend to during the day caused your case to slip his mind a little. No matter, here you are. I take it you have communicated with your nephew?"

Marge puffed up; had she but known it, she began to look strikingly similar to her appearance when Harry had accidentally blown her up like a balloon. Not, of course, that she had any memory of the event; the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad from the Ministry of Magic had made sure of that.

Fixing the man with a fierce glare, she all but bellowed, "how can I possibly have 'communicated' with him, as you put it, when I have no idea where he is?"

Senior Detective Barnes looked puzzled.

"You don't know where he is?" he asked. "But we sent you letters!"

Marge's eyes narrowed. This man was not going to fob her off with the old 'letters lost in the post line', she could tell him that for nothing.

"And just what did these letters say?" she asked coldly.

"They advised you that your nephew was now resident in Swansea, and, while we are not at liberty to give out his address, he can be contacted through the Police Department there. Here", he continued, reaching for a file, "here are the file copies, duly receipted by Royal Mail."

Marge accepted the file and saw that, indeed, there were letters addressed to her, with proof of posting attached. It seemed, then, that she should direct her fiercest ire at Royal Mail, rather than the Police. The thought didn't really assuage her temper any. Especially when she read about Dudley's new name.

"DUDLEY POTTER!?" she yelled. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'POTTER'? HOW COULD SUCH A TRAVESTY HAPPEN? HE TOOK THE FREAK'S NAME? HOW COULD YOU ALLOW SUCH A SMEAR ON THE DURSLEY FAMILY NAME!"

"MISS DURSELY!" Barnes said crisply, matching his visitor for volume, and momentarily stunning her into silence. "Mr Dudley Potter is of age, and free to do what he likes in regard to such matters. I can assure you that the name-change was entirely above-board and done of Mr Potter's free will. Please feel free to pursue any issues you may have with him; it is not, in any way, a police matter."

"All right," she said, somewhat begrudgingly, "but what of Vernon?" And then, as an afterthought, "and Petunia?"

"As you can see from the next letter, they are still missing."

"Still missing?" she shrieked. "After what, nearly six months? How can this be possible? I love my brother dearly, but even I can admit that he is on the large size. He's not exactly easy to miss."

Barnes wished that he could allow himself to chuckle at this. From the photographs they had of Vernon Dursley, this description was, if anything, an understatement.

"All right," Marge continued, heaving herself to her feet, "I suppose I shall have to go to Swansea get the run-around there. I do hope you will look into these disappearing letters as well. What is this country coming to when loyal citizens don't receive their mail? No, don't get up, I'm sure you're a busy man."

And with that very pointed, spite filled comment, Marge Dursley swept out of the Little Whinging Police Station. And every officer offered a – more-or-less devout – prayer that she would never darken their doorstep again.

Well, all except one. Sergeant Smith had rather enjoyed the misery that they had managed to inflict on this disgusting Muggle. He alone knew what had happened to the missing letters – in fact they were languishing in a cupboard in the Dead Letter Office, where no-one would ever find them – for the simple and excellent reason that he was the one who had confunded the mailman.

For Sergeant Smith was, in fact, a pure-blood wizard. And it seemed that taunting Marge was no longer on the menu. On the bright side, that meant he could leave this boring job behind. One last report to the witch who had asked him to check up on the woman as a 'special favour' and he could be shot of the Muggle world again. Though it would be an interesting report – he was sure that Messalina Nott would be most interested to learn of Dudley Dursley's whereabouts.

Swansea, eh? Who would have guessed. Perhaps he should have read the letters before losing them, after all. No matter. They knew now. And if Dudley had taken Potter's name, that might mean they could use him as leverage somehow. Apparently, despite all the mass of evidence he had uncovered about the way the Muggles viewed Harry Potter, the latter had a soft spot for this one, at least.

And such a thing could easily prove to be an exploitable weakness...

ooOOoo

Vernon Dursley collapsed onto his bed as the sun began to set at four o'clock. For once, it seemed, there were no chores to do: no children to marshal to classes; nothing to clean; no-one yelling at him. And after the stress of visitors, and seeing Lucius Malfoy again, and making sure the wizard didn't see him, and the relief that Tony – or Adam, he supposed he must call him now – was now with his family, with a father that loved him; after all this in one day, after so many weeks of tedious drudgery, one can perhaps forgive Vernon for being exhausted.

So he lay down to rest for five minutes.

Johan Ries looked in on his caretaker at five o'clock. He was a little concerned about how the man might feel; for Johan had come, not exactly to like, but at least to accept, the Muggle. And he knew that Dursley had a soft spot for Adam Nott, so perhaps it was not surprising that he wondered if Dursley might be feeling a little down.

What was surprising was the sight that greeted him as he gently entered the room.

There on his cot, sleeping soundly, lay Vernon Dursley. And, for the first time ever that Ries could remember, he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Real life got very hairy.
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.


	97. A Shadow Returns

  1. **A Shadow Returns**



_Wednesday December 23, 1998_

Draco Malfoy-Potter was worried.

If asked, he would have vociferously denied it, of course. He was, after all, a Malfoy. Well alright, a Malfoy-Potter, now. But that just strengthened the point: here he was in his bed, in his home, the son of loving parents, the husband of an amazing man. Why should he worry?

But said amazing man who currently was not in the bed, and given how cold it was, hadn’t been for a while. He thought back through the events of yesterday, the Winter Solstice, so much more important to Purebloods than those Muggle notions of  ‘the holidays’ or ‘Winterval’ or whatever it was fashionable to call it nowadays. At least this time had been called ‘Christmas’ for hundreds of years. Whatever, yesterday had been the Solstice. And of course there had been the burning of the Yule log, as always. He was a bit surprised that Theo Nott, his cousin Andreas, and a new boy called Adam had been there; Yule had always been a family-only occasion. Still, things were changing, and the Notts had been delightful and fitted in well.

By contrast, he was worried about his Harry, who had seemed strangely out of it all day. Oh, his husband had been pleasant enough, and engaging, and sweet. But there was something going on. Something Harry wasn’t telling. Now, Harry had had plenty of secrets when they got married; but that had been fine, and they had worked through them. But new secrets? Draco was finding that hard to take. Especially given all the angst Harry had shown before about secrets. No, it wasn’t good. And anyway, whatever Harry was going through, Draco wanted to be there for him. Not pushed to the side, like he felt now.

Casting a _Tempus_ , Draco was shocked to find that it was already close to lunch-time. His mother was not one to let people lie long abed, he should have been called before now. This was two days in a row where he had been allowed to lie in bed undisturbed. Even more unusual, Harry had not woken him when he got up, nor was there anything to acknowledge him: Harry usually left a rose on the bedside, when he was feeling sweet, or a cup of tea, when he was feeling practical.

But today there was nothing. What was going on?

_Well_ , he told himself _, you’re not going to get anywhere by fretting._

“Dippy!” he called as he started to get ready for the day. “Tea please!”

 

ooOOoo

Godfrey Nott was rather the worse for wear.

It had been quite a couple of days. To start with, the pure-blood faction had been horrified at the goings-on at the Ceremony of the Woods. What the hell was Narcissa Malfoy thinking? Mud-bloods! A half-giant! Squibs! And not only those, but actual Muggles! At a pureblood ceremony! He was sure that many dead ancestors, quite a few of them Blacks and Malfoys, would be turning in their graves. His group had all agreed that it was a travesty; they had repaired to the Nott’s mansion after the event, and drunk rather a lot of rather nice wine, followed by altogether too much firewhisky.

They had all stayed for the Solstice celebration; Godfrey was actually rather glad of the company. The two Notts generally celebrated alone, and this was the only time of the year he ever thought about his son Andreas. With company, swelled now to nearly thirty strong, he had managed to put maudlin thoughts about what might have been, had Andreas not been a squib, aside in order to play the perfect host, one more wining and dining his guests before they all went their separate ways a long time after midnight.

Something Must Definitely Be Done, he thought now, as he sat at what, given the lateness of the hour, must be regarded as the luncheon, rather than breakfast, table. He picked up what was now yesterday’s Daily Prophet – he had been too busy with his guests to consider it before now - and leafed through it idly. The usual rubbish… and then a collection of photographs of the Ceremony. He scanned them closely, to make sure he was not in them. He didn’t want anyone to imagine he approved of the travesty.

That face … he was sure … but it couldn’t be …

But it was. His son Andreas’s photograph was there in the Daily Prophet for all to see.

A cold feeling gripped him in the pit of his stomach as he read Rita Skeeter’s breezy prose underneath the picture.

 

> _“And just who, I ask myself, was the rather gorgeous squib seen in the company of Theodore Nott, organizing the Woods and setting up the different tents? He is a new face to the Daily Prophet. Our readers will remember that Mr Nott and his charming wife Pansy, née Parkinson, have emigrated to South Africa; perhaps our tall, dark, handsome stranger is a friend from there? We certainly hope to see him again soon ...”_

Rita might well wish to see him again soon, but Godfrey never wanted to see that face again. And then a thought struck him.

What if he found Adam?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Messalina!” he called.

ooOOoo

Harry Malfoy-Potter was on edge.

He was still coming to terms with the very strange conversations he had had on the Solstice. A lot of things had fallen into place. Despite Sirius’s dire statements, he had found his last chat quite … well, not _pleasant_ , not really, but not disagreeable, either. For most of his life, people had left him out of things he really should have known about; now, for once, he seemed to have been filled in on just about everything. He now knew just exactly what the mordant was; and how the enchantment worked that had made the last few months much smoother than they might have been; and even, rather to his chagrin, just how it was that he had done so well on his NEWT exams. That one, at least, he did not intend to discuss with … well, anyone, really, though he didn’t like keeping secrets. He’d have to tell Draco, of course. He supposed he could tell Minerva; it wasn’t exactly _cheating_ , as such, after all. But at the same time, there was no way on Earth he was going to tell Hermione. He may be a Gryffindor, but he did have some sense of self-preservation.

But he had also become very aware of the remaining hurdles to overcome. The Death-Eaters were now a spent force, he knew that; but their main original power base, the pure-bloods themselves, were still there. They still needed to work on getting, and keeping, true justice; for, now that the enchantment had all but lifted, a strong, charismatic leader could easily galvanize them into action.

Knowing this fact had made him very agitated during the Solstice. While neither Messalina nor Godfrey Nott really fitted that description, he had seen them at the Ceremony of the Woods, surrounded by like-minded purebloods. Tinder waiting for a spark.

Moreover, he had heard the story of how she had treated her son from someone who seemed to know far more than anyone living; and so he was very glad that Lucius and Andreas had removed Adam from the Orphanage. He had not been able to fully relax on that front until they had got the two safely out of the country. They were now safely back in their little enclave in South Africa, and he was pretty sure they would be well protected.

He knew well enough, though, that that wasn’t the end of it. Trouble was coming, that was clear. Part of him knew it still had to come, and wanted to meet it head-on; part of him wanted to hunker down, take his family away from it all, and let it blow over.

But that really wasn’t an option. He had never run from a fight; and anyway, once they started doing so, they’d never stop. No, he had to let things play out. And somehow, he had to keep those he loved safe.

It was a sharp edge he found himself on.

ooOOoo

Petunia Evans was agitated.

Her mother had a saying: “by the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes”.

Petunia Dursley, not being prone to flights of fancy, had regarded this as a primitive sort of superstition. It was just like her sister having magic: even if there was any truth in it, it was definitely not the sort of thing that _normal_ people had anything to do with.

Petunia **Evans** , on the other hand, was finding it hard to ignore. Her thumbs were indeed pricking, quite painfully. She spent the afternoon in a state of agitation, flinching whenever there was any unexplained noise. She had been on edge ever since Lucius Malfoy had arrived two days ago in a state of excitement and drawn her lovely temporary lodger Andreas Adams aside. The man had then rushed off and packed, and the two had left all in a rush, much to Petunia’s dismay. She very much liked the man; she had hoped that perhaps they could grow to be something more than mere lodger and landlady. But from the rather garbled phone call she had just received, it seemed that he had been reunited with a long-lost son that day and, having spent yesterday at Malfoy Manor, the two had rushed back to South Africa today.

Petunia was no fool. If Lucius Malfoy was involved, something big was going on. And her little family – she definitely included Megan Llewellyn in that now – was involved, that could well mean that trouble might come calling here. The thought fairly terrified her.

She had thought that she was hiding her concern well, but it became clear at tea-time that this was not the case.

“Are you expecting someone?” Megan asked as she watched Petunia anxiously scanning the front door and beyond every few minutes, her casual tone belying the serious look in her eye.

“No,” Petunia replied, looking around. “Why, is someone …”

But before she could finish the sentence there came a rap at the door. Though the word ‘rap’ hardly did the noise in question justice; it was more on the scale of a small-scale artillery barrage. A rather alarming noise. And one that, much to her chagrin, Petunia recognised instantly. There could, surely, only be one person who could make a door vibrate like that. Her hands flung up to her face.

“Marge!” she whispered in shock.

“Come on, open up, I know you’re in there!” came a stentorian bellow from the front door, and Megan Llewellyn, acting on auto-pilot, got out of her seat and was at the door before Petunia or Dudley could react.

ooOOoo

Marge Dursley was becoming increasingly frustrated.

After wasting the whole of yesterday morning at Little Whinging Police Station, she now had her first concrete lead; she had at once rushed to Smeltings, where, despite the bloody-mindedness of the staff, and the nonsense they sprouted about ‘privacy acts’ and the like – Marge couldn’t care less, after all everyone knew where she lived, so it was only fair for her to know where they did -- the sheer force of her personality had resulted in an address for her nephew.

In Swansea.

In Wales.

Marge Dursley **hated** Wales. It was full of all these strange people who couldn’t speak English properly. And it was a long way away. Still, she knew her duty as an aunt.

On leaving Smeltings she decided it was too late to go down that day, so had returned home. Now, Wednesday morning, she rose early, jumped into her car and drove down to Swansea straight away. As she drove, as was her wont, she spoke her thoughts out loud to her beloved bull-dog, Ripper, who sat in his own special harness at her side.

“Dudley Potter indeed!” she fumed, remembering what the policemen had told her. From the sound of it, these freaks had corrupted her dear nephew.

“Ruff!” Ripper answered, sensing her outrage and feeling the need to share it.

“Petunia was always hinting about there being more to the story than met the eye,” Marge continued. “St Brutus’s obviously did no good to that Potter brat. Can’t have used the cane enough, that’s all I can think. Those fools at Smeltings say she’s living with Dudley in Swansea, Ripper. Can’t imagine why they’d want to go to such a god-forsaken place, away from decent folk.”

Continuing on in this vein, Marge did not detour on her journey, travelling straight down the M4 motorway into West Wales. But what with traffic, and the inevitable roadworks, and the even more inevitable snow, and it being Winter and all, it was well and truly dark by the time she arrived.

The house she wound up at did not meet her expectations at all. Oh, it was nice enough; but not really the sort of place that was good enough for her dear Dudley. Or Vernon. Come to think of it, no-one had mentioned Vernon at all today; as that thought crossed her mind, she became even more concerned, and more livid, than before. Something was going on. Something had been kept from her; and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

She got out of her car and stormed up the path, coming to a stop only because the front door barred her passage.

“Come on, open up, I know you’re in there!” she bellowed. A few seconds later, the door was opened by a young lady she did not know, and Marge had a momentary twinge of shock: she couldn’t have the wrong house, surely?

“Petunia?” she bellowed.

“Hello,” the unknown girl said, apparently not intimidated in the least by the large woman in front of her. “I’m Megan Llewellyn. And who might you be?”

Marge’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at what she immediately dubbed ‘the unmitigated effrontery of this slip of a girl’ in her head. Fortunately for both Marge’s temper and Megan’s health, they were interrupted by Dudley, who had heard the single word that Marge had uttered.

“Aunt Marge!” he called, racing to the front door. He wasn’t about to leave his girl – hopefully soon, his girlfriend – unchaperoned with his scary aunt. “Do come in. Let me introduce the delightful Megan Llewellyn, my housemate.”

“Hmm,” Marge hummed, just a little mollified as she was lead into the front room. But only a very little, after all.

“Now, what’s this I hear about you being a Potter?”

ooOOoo

Messalina Nott was beside herself with rage.

Skeeter’s article had just about given her an aneurysm. She had visited the Orphanage at once to make sure of her grandson and had come away grinding her teeth. She had found Johan Ries quite unpleasant to deal with. Indeed, as she thought about it, she decided that he was, perhaps, no more pleasant to deal with than he had been all those years ago. It appeared that he had not mellowed with age.

It did not occur to her that the first time she had met him, she had rather unceremoniously dumped her grandson on him, demanding that he be brought up as a proper pureblood, and that this may well have been the cause of his obvious antipathy. This was altogether too much self-awareness for her very opinionated mind. No, she had left little “Tony Adams” there and, as far as she was concerned, that was where he should be, or adopted by a good pureblood family as she had stipulated in the Conditions of Adoption memorandum that she had written. Not taken by Lucius Malfoy and her blasted squib of a son. She had shouted and shrieked that this Andreas Adams was a fraud and an impostor; but she knew it was a lie, and Ries knew it was a lie, and all she had got for her troubles was being thrown out of the orphanage bodily and being told not to return. Ever.

She had, of course, vented her rage at her husband as soon as she returned home. Godfrey, knowing that the best way forward was to distract his wife, handed her a letter that had just arrived while she was so unsuccessfully visiting the Orphanage.

“Ah!” she said, her eyes lighting up as she opened the envelope and skimmed the signature at the bottom, “Zebulon Smith! I wonder what he has for us.”

Godfrey watched as an evil smirk broke out on his wife’s face. Smith, he knew, was one of her favourite informants; rather odd, really, as he worked in the Muggle world, in something called a Pleece station (or something like that). A strange place for a pureblood; but he seemed to gather quite a lot of interesting information. Lucius Malfoy, it turned out, had several rather interesting Muggle business ventures; and lately, they seemed to have dovetailed with the people they now knew were Harry Potter’s (he refused to say ‘Malfoy-Potter’; to join the Malfoy name with that of a half-blood was simply scandalous) Muggle relatives. Muggle relatives who had seemingly disappeared of the face of the Earth some months ago, a fact that their little pureblood circle found most intriguing. Finding them, they were certain, would lead to useful dirt on Potter, something that was in very short supply at the moment.

And they needed dirt. Potter had played the Magical Establishment brilliantly, he had to admit. Begrudgingly. He longed to take Potter, and the Malfoys, down a peg or too. It was quite clear that violence was no longer a useful avenue, a fact that rather agreed with his own prejudices; Godfrey was what he would call ‘a man of peace’, and hated the thought of vulgar fisticuffs. Yes, ‘peace-loving’, he called it. Other people called it ‘cowardice’, though not to his face.

“Any good?” he asked, seeing that Messalina had finished reading.

“Very good,” she replied. “Zebulon has found Potter’s cousin. It seems that his aunt was looking for him.”

Godfrey looked confused. His aunt? Surely Potter’s aunt would know where his cousin, her son, was?

 “Um,” he asked, “whose aunt?”

“Dudbey, or whatever his name is,” she replied, consulting the letter. “Ah, here it is. Dudley. Harry’s cousin. He has an aunt, his father’s sister. Name of Marge Dursley. Zebulon says she’s simply frightful. But she also dotes on Dudley, and has unearthed his address. It was, it turned out, in the records where Zebulon works; though he didn’t let her know that. Wanted to see how far she’d go. Apparently, she went off to the school Dumpy used to go to. Zeb says they’ll probably tell her. She’s on her way now.”

“And Zebulon has told us?” Godfrey asked, his tone deceptively cool.

“Indeed,” his wife said, her eyes twinkling. “What do you think, dear? Shall we pay them a call?”

ooOOoo

Harry Malfoy-Potter was suddenly overcome with anxiety.

The Malfoys and Malfoy-Potters, still at Malfoy Manor, had just finished dinner and were now lounging in the drawing room when Harry emitted a muffled cry as he felt a wave of emotion go through him.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Draco asked as three rather fearful pairs of eyes turned to him.

But Harry did not answer him; instead, he looked at Lucius.

“Dudley and Petunia,” he said through gritted teeth.

All the colour drained from Lucius’s face.

“I’ll go at once,” he said, and suited action to word as he leapt up at once and apparated away.

For a second, no-one reacted. This was so unusual, so unheard of, that Lucius Malfoy would just leave without explanation, that the composure of both Narcissa and Draco simply cracked, and they sat in their seats, visibly stunned.

Any other time, Harry would have been beside himself with laughter at the sight. But Harry did not see it. Draco was the first to notice that his husband had gone into some sort of trance.

 “Dippy!” he called, and the small house-elf appeared at once.

“How can Dippy be helping Master Draco?” she asked.

He considered this briefly. What was going on? Had Harry had some sort of vision? Premonition? Was it something to do with whatever had happened on the night between the Ceremony of the Woods and the Solstice? And just what was that, anyway? Harry had not said a thing about it, but he was sure _something_ had happened. Something big, apparently. And it seemed that he was being left out.

He wanted answers. But right now, he wasn’t going to get any. There was really only one thing to do.

“Help me get Harry to bed,” he replied.

ooOOoo

Zebulon Smith was watchful.

He was pleased as punch that the Notts had taken up his information, and were planning to storm the little house in Swansea; but he had urged caution. He did not believe that they were unprotected, so had demanded that they survey the area first.

And so it was that he, together with Messalina Nott and Jack Corner, hidden under strong concealment charms, were sitting on a bench opposite the house that Potter’s cousin and aunt lived in. They watched as that horrible Marge Dursley entered. They listened as they heard her screeching, hardly even needing the listening charms that they had placed discreetly on the front door.

And then, all of a sudden, the noise stopped. A moment later, the front door opened, and Marge Dursley walked out, got into her car, and sped off. At the front door, two people stood.

“Thank you for your help tonight, Miss Llewellyn” Lucius Malfoy said.

“No problem,” Megan replied. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could have handled her,” Lucius replied gallantly.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to,” Megan replied sincerely. “And thank you for strengthening our wards. Would you care to stay for a coffee or something?”

“No thank you,” the patrician replied. “I think I’m a bit ramped up after that shouting match. I might go and do some work at the office.”

With that, they made their farewells and Lucius, after checking for any Muggles, apparated away.

Jack Corner snorted.

“Anybody want to guess what alcohol Lucius will be working on?” he asked derisively.

“Yes, but hang on,” Zebulon pointed out. “He’ll be all alone. And after that little excitement, no doubt not expecting anything. Do we know where his office is?”

Messalina Nott’s nasty grin was all the answer he needed.

ooOOoo

Lucius Malfoy was rather pleased with himself.

It had been a busy couple of days, he thought to himself happily as he swirled the brandy in his glass.

Home had been frantic: the Ceremony of the Woods and the burning of the Yule log had occupied Narcissa’s mind excessively, and an obsessed Narcissa was a dangerous person to be near. He had, as always, borne the brunt of her mania; not that he minded. His wife may be a Black at heart, but she was unquestionably **his** Black. He loved her Black heart with all his heart, and really, all he had had to do was step out of the way and pay the bills.

He had had rather more to do with the difficult game being played with the Notts. It had taken rather a lot of fancy footwork: unregistered international port-keys were hard to come by. But Lucius Malfoy was a past master of obtaining such things, and Andreas and Adam were now safely out of the country and well away from the Purebloods who had spurned them in the first place.

Which thought naturally brought his thoughts to the sour bunch he had observed at the Ceremony of the Woods. Top of that list, of course, was Andreas’s mother, Messalina Nott, one of his least-favourite people in the world. Her sister Dolores Umbridge had been marginally worse, but only because Umbridge had gone into the Ministry while Messalina had got married to Godfrey Nott. Nott was a bit spineless, in Lucius’s not particularly humble opinion; but he had managed to curb the wilder excesses of his wife. The only person who had had any such effect on Dolores was Fudge, simply because the woman practically worshipped him. Not that he had really dampened her at all, of course; merely spurred her to greater acts of cruelty.

He was well aware that it was only a matter of time before that lot tried something. He wondered just how long it would be, and who would strike the first blow. Jack Corner, perhaps, he had not been pleased at his son being practically sent down from Hogwarts. To be sure, Michael had got over it, from what he had heard from Harry and Draco. Though he suspected the boy may well be using his brains and making a virtue of necessity. But the father was far too vindictive and spiteful to learn such diplomacy from his son.

Or perhaps the Smiths. There were all sorts of ne’er-do-wells in that family, for all their claim to be descended from Helga Hufflepuff. Thanks to Robin Banks’ work, one of the Smiths, he knew, was at work in the Muggle police department. A pureblood in a Muggle job. Very suspicious.

Or perhaps …

But here, Lucius’s ruminations were cut short. The glass in his hand suddenly shattered, bathing him with brandy and shards of glass as he turned to see a most unwelcome visitor step out of the shadows.

“Good evening, Lucius,” a voice said, dripping in malice, and then his world faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
> Sorry for the long delay. Real life got very hairy. Again.
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and commenting!   
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	98. Light Returns

**98\. Light Returns**

A white mist swirled all around him. As it slowly began to clear, the space he was in took on shape: a large room; no, scratch that, a very large room, with stone walls, a high ceiling, and a strange feeling of home …

Home?

What?

Why on earth had he thought that?

He was sure he had never been here before. His life had been lived out in wide open spaces, not large … he looked around, trying to describe the space he was in to himself. It reminded him of nothing so much as the pictures of stone castles he had seen. Was that where he was? Was that what he was dreaming of?

A dream? No, more than a dream, somehow. Something like this had happened before, Andreas Nott realised, back when he had been in the orphanage, rescuing his beloved Adam, now sleeping soundly in the room next door to his own. He smiled at the thought; it was good to have his son back after so long. It was even better that they had seemed to click together immediately. His son had hardly spent an hour away from him. Even when Andreas went to work, Adam had to come too. Andreas had worried this might cause problems; after all, children weren't exactly common at the nursery. What if Adam got bored, or wasn't wanted?

But his fears had proved groundless. The other men had instantly taken the young lad to heart; and the most smitten seemed to be Old Man Coetzee, the owner of the South African Magical Horticultural Supplies, who was forever making sure the boy was alright, finding him odd jobs to do and telling him how well he did them. Of course he also grumbled about having the youngster underfoot all the time, but that didn't fool anyone.

Smiling at the memory, he looked around curiously. He was still quite certain he had never been here before. And yet the place seemed to hold echoes of familiarity. Something stirred in his mind; not a memory, or rather, not **his** memory: he felt like this was a place that he knew, not from being here himself, but from someone in his past being here. Someone who had passed the memory on, somehow.

Someone like his parents, perhaps, he thought, and he knew exactly where he must be now.

"Hogwarts," he said softly. But saying it only deepened the mystery: what was a squib doing in a school for wizards and witches?

"Well yes," a voice replied. "Hogwarts as it used to be, anyway."

He turned to see the speaker.

"You!" he sputtered out, momentarily unable to say any more as the blood drained from his face as he stood paralysed in shock. Though in truth, he didn't know the man at all…

"Me," the newcomer said, smiling. And somehow the smile changed everything, releasing Andreas from the spell he seemed to have fallen under.

"You were at the orphanage…" he began. And then his senses seemed to reach out from him, looking for that dark, oily feeling he remembered having felt coming from the man at the orphanage. But it was completely missing. This man felt, by contrast, quite clean.

It couldn't be the man he had seen in that vision.

"Wait, you were the boy, right?" he asked, once the realisation had filtered through.

The other just nodded.

"So, what was that all about? And how come you're here? And who was the wizard – was that Voldemort?"

"So many questions!" was the bemused reply as the other waved the wand that suddenly appeared in his hand, and conjured two rather comfortable armchairs.

"We might as well get comfortable, I suppose."

ooOOoo

Lucius recognised the room as soon as he came back to consciousness. Which was odd really, as he had only been in it once before, perhaps twenty years ago. But there was no way he could forget those dreary tapestries! He stood up and examined them close-up. They had struck him as ghastly the last time he was here, and it appeared that they had not aged well.

This was Godfrey Nott's country house. The room was alright, he supposed. He might even have thought it comfortable, if he had been there of his own free will. There was a pleasant view from large windows out onto a somewhat unkempt garden, and the furniture, while not to his taste, was no doubt comfortable enough.

But 'comfortable enough' hardly made up for having been kidnapped at wand-point and then stupefied. His eyes narrowed. Just exactly what was Messalina Nott playing at? He sighed as he sat on the edge of the sofa. Not for comfort but because it was the most obnoxious chair to look at, so he reasoned that by sitting on it he wouldn't have to look at the damn thing. He still couldn't really imagine any sane scenario that her actions would fit; and worse, he now owed Robin Banks ten galleons.

He didn't have long to ponder; not five minutes after he reawaken there was a sound just outside the door. He rose to his feet as the woman in question walked in.

"My dear Lucius!" she exclaimed, in an oh-so-obviously falsely bright voice, a rather feral grin on her face. "How kind of you to come!"

"Your invitation was very … convincing," Lucius replied drily, with a grimace of his own. "How can I be of service to you?"

"Darling, how delightfully accommodating of you," the witch said as she took a seat and waved him to sit down. "I wanted to talk to you about matters of blood."

Lucius went cold at this. He knew, who better, what 'matters of blood' Messalina must mean. For this was a pureblood code phrase alluding directly to their assumed superiority as pureblooded witches and wizards. A phrase that their set had happily bandied about before the Dark Lord had risen to be so powerful that he would quite naturally see such talk as being rebellious. At that point, such assumptions became openly dangerous and, cowards to a man and woman, they had at once stopped using the phrase.

But here it was, being openly discussed again. No, there was no doubt now. The intelligence that the Aurors had gathered, and Toby Proudfoot and Robin Banks had shared with him, was confirmed. Lucius was quite convinced:

Messalina Nott was the leader of a pureblood rearguard action.

She fully expected his co-operation.

And there were probably very few atrocities she would not commit to get it.

ooOOoo

Harry slowly came to himself. It was the same dreamscape as before. _Great,_ he thought. _Hogwarts again._ Still, it was at least a known quantity. And, given what he had learnt last time about this place, he wasn't likely to have got here without some reason.

And of course, the last time he had been here had been most enlightening. Meeting Sirius had been a joy; meeting the Mordant had been something else, and had really opened Harry's eyes to forces working very deep indeed.

When Harry had been hit by the killing curse and wound up in the strange replica of King's Cross station, Albus Dumbledore had said that it had been 'Harry's party'. But Dumbledore, he had since learnt, had not known everything. Not, of course, he thought ruefully, that the man had pretended otherwise. But perhaps he could have been a bit more open about the fact. A lot of pain could have been saved if he'd only shared his thoughts earlier.

Still. Here Harry was again. In this realm between life and death. For it turned out that the Resurrection Stone had powers well beyond simply 'bringing back the dead'. The piece of Dementor heart retained their real power: Dementors were not alive or dead in any recognisable sense, but a terrible force at the boundary of life and death, and the Stone also bound together the two realms. Even though Harry had not been holding it when Voldemort's curse hit, the simple fact that it had been given to him freely had transferred its powers to him. It was this that meant he was able to come here again.

Here. The place that the Mordant had explained was what the Egyptian mages called an 'Interspherical Nexus': a place between Spheres, a joining of the Spheres of Tangible and Intangible Presence. As Master of Death, he was able to access the nexus and meet people from the other Spheres. He could, it turned out, even share that privilege. If he wanted; but he did not want to. Really, it was bad enough that he came here, never mind bringing anyone else. The Egyptians, he thought, had it right. Fiddling with the natural progression through the spheres was a very bad thing, in general.

Still, he was here now, and there must be a reason.

Maybe.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Over here!" a familiar voice called out. The Mordant. It figured.

He wandered over, musing on what to call the other. Hang it all, he needed a new name. He had refused the old one, and Harry didn't feel he could go on calling him 'Mordant'. That was a description of the role he played with Harry and Draco, not a name. Though Harry had to admit, the man did look different each time he saw him. He had told Harry that all three of them would be changed by the blending of the Haussmann shield. Harry and Draco had benefitted from the incredible store of knowledge that the Mordant seemed to have, which had made their school-work very easy for eighth year; but the Mordant, too, was getting something out of the – relationship? Is that what it was? Anyway, he seemed to become … lighter, somehow, each time Harry saw him.

Harry was rather shocked out of the small reverie he had fallen into when he realised that the Mordant was not alone. He recognised the other person at once, but then Andreas Nott and his son had only just left Britain, after all, so he was hardly likely that he would have forgotten the likeable man yet.

But that raised more questions than it answered.

"Andreas?" he asked, and Nott smiled in reply. "What – how are you here?"

Andreas's smile broadened. "It's nice to see you, too, Harry," he replied, his tone rather sarcastically pointing out Harry's lack of the usual courteous words. Though the twinkle in his eye said that he wasn't at all bothered by it. In fact, Andreas was not at all surprised: after all, it wasn't every day you came across people you knew in a place you had never been to and had no idea how you got there.

Harry blushed.

The Mordant snickered.

"That's quite a question, Harry," he replied for Nott. "We've just been chatting about it. I'm sure you were introduced to Mr Nott here as a squib; it turns out that that description really doesn't fit any more."

Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow, which simply made the man chuckle.

"Did you hear about the incident at the orphanage?" Nott asked Harry, who nodded in reply. "Well, it seems that I have more magic than my family believes. Our friend here tells me that I'm sort of a Seer-in-training."

"Not 'sort of'," the other man contradicted. "Exactly a Seer-in-training. It's a rare phenomenon, but not unheard of. Severe emotional upheaval can open a rare and wonderful gift. In Andreas's case, the trauma of losing and then being reunited with his son has worked a powerful change."

Harry thought for a moment.

"I see," he said eventually. He looked to the Mordant. "And of course, you had nothing to do with it?"

The Mordant looked at him pointedly.

"As I thought," Harry continued, and turned back to face Andreas. "Well, er, congratulations, I guess!"

"Thank you," Nott replied.

"And..." the Mordant said, with a hesitation in his voice, and Harry knew he was expected to work something further out.

"And this is about... 'Connection', I guess," Harry said.

"And 'Belonging'," the Mordant said, with a note of pride in his voice. "Yes, the raw magic spell you let loose upon us all still has some power, it would seem."

Andreas looked lost. "What spell?" he enquired.

"Ah," the Mordant said, "we were just getting to that when Harry turned up. But perhaps we can take advantage of him being here, and he can tell you the story."

"All right," Harry said. "After the War, I found that Draco and Lucius had lost their magic due to a curse from Vol..."

Here the Mordant looked at him meaningfully, and Harry continued, "... the Dark Lord. Then something in me ... Hang on," he paused, realising his narrative wasn't very coherent. "You know about the three Hallows?"

Andreas nodded. His mother had read him the story of the three Peverell brothers and their special gifts from Death before he had been found out as a squib and disowned.

"Right. Well, I owned all of them. At the time, I was holding the Elder Wand and wearing the Invisibility Cloak; that just left the Resurrection Stone, which I had dropped earlier in the Forbidden Forest. So, there I was with Wand and Cloak, and Draco had had his magic stolen from him. Somehow something in me just reacted to that. I didn't really know what to do, but the Wand obviously did: it Summoned the Stone, and I couldn't think of a spell, so I just said four words, and then, I don't know, it all went white..."

Here Harry's story petered out and the Mordant took it up.

"Harry unleashed all the raw magic that had been stored up in the Elder Wand over time. It wasn't a spell at all, but pure, wild magic. As a result, his words have coloured all the events since."

"How is that possible?" Andreas asked.

"Ah, that has to do with something rather special about Mr Potter," the Mordant replied.

Harry looked at the other quizzically. He hadn't heard about this before.

"Not the 'Boy-Who-Lived' rubbish?" he asked, his voice scathing on the label he hated.

"Well, sort of," the Mordant continued apologetically. "Not that your survival was the thing, but the magic Lily Potter cast."

It was obvious that Harry had no clue what was meant, so the Mordant expanded, "Your mother cast very powerful and ancient magics over you. Somehow, she tapped into some ancestral power of her own that turned her desire to protect you into a potent force all of its own. And you have that power too."

"So what you're saying is that I inherited some different magic? Some sort of Protection magic?"

"Yes, that's it," the Mordant agreed. "And," he mused, "it probably explains your drive to save people. After all, it's hardly surprising that the magic has an effect on you, as well as everyone else."

"Ah," Harry exclaimed, a thought coming to it. "And that would be the power that the Prophesy talked about when it said that I would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?"

"Rather than love, like you said Albus Dumbledore said?" the Mordant replied. "Possibly. It does make more sense."

"I see," said Andreas, coming to terms with what was obviously a unique set of circumstances. "And what were the four words?"

"Ah, sorry!" said Harry. "Er... 'Life'... 'Wholeness'... 'Connection'... and 'Belonging'."

"So," Andreas said, turning to the Mordant, "you're saying that I've been connected back to magic? Because of what Harry said months ago?"

The Mordant nodded.

"And 'Belonging'?" Andreas asked.

"You have your family back," the Mordant said succinctly.

Andreas did not say anything in reply, but merely made an 'O' with his mouth.

"So," Harry said, deciding to get back to the previous conversation, "you're a Seer? How does that work in Wizarding circles? Does it mean you're no longer viewed as a Squib, then?"

"Got it in one," Andreas answered. "Squibs are nobody, but Seers are very special."

"... and Messalina Nott is going to be beside herself with anger!" finished the Mordant.

ooOOoo

"And just where do you think you're off to on Christmas Eve, Mister?" Ginny demanded.

Robin gulped. He really, really needed to get going.

Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"Don't give me any of that crap about 'can't tell you', either," she said. "Am I your girlfriend or not? Can't you trust me?"

Robin knew now he had stretched things too far.

"Okay," he said. "Here's the thing. The Aurors have been worried for some time that Dolores Umbridge wasn't just a lone player. She's part of a group of Magicals who have become disenchanted with the whole rebuilding process we've had after the War. They're all Purebloods who still believe that they have a Merlin-given right to rule. So we've been keeping an eye on them as they've been making moves."

Ginny was somewhat happier now: she was getting answers. This was how relationships were supposed to work!

"So what's happening now?"

"Um, well, Lucius Malfoy has sort of set things in motion to antagonise them a bit, and they, um, kidnapped him last night..."

"What!" Ginny exclaimed. "And just exactly why did he let that happen?"

"Um, yeah," Robin floundered. "Well, you know he owes Harry a debt, right?"

"That 'Debt of Magical Emancipation'?" Ginny replied, frowning. "Yeah, I've heard about that; but what does it have to do with Umbridge?"

"Well, we knew that if we told Harry what was going on, he would jump in and try and fix it. And these are not nice people, Ginny. Messalina Nott, the leader of the group which took Lucius, is Umbridge's sister..."

Ginny drew in a sharp breath.

"Quite," Robin said drily. "Dangerous. I'm told she and Umbridge are like peas in a pod."

"So, she's a right bitch, then?"

"So I'm told," Robin agreed. "There's no way Lucius wanted Harry to get wind of it; he would jump in and try to fix it, and put himself in danger..."

"...And the Debt means Lucius has to protect him," Ginny continued as understanding dawned. "So, why do you have to go?"

"Toby and I are going to rescue him," Robin said with a half-smirk.

"Well, get on with it then!" Ginny riposted in mock-exasperation.

Robin didn't need telling twice.

ooOOoo

The conversation had been going on for too long, Lucius felt; Messalina had not become any less loquacious over time. But things did seem to be drawing to a close. Now the fun would really start.

"So that, my dear Lucius, is why the pure-bloods need to rise up and take our place in charge again," Messalina finished.

"No," Lucius said.

"What?" Messalina replied, dumb-founded.

"No," Lucius repeated. "No, we don't have any right to take over. No, we don't need to take charge. Nor do we deserve it. As I see it, the magical world is coming into a much more equable time. The attitudes you espouse are exactly those that lead to the Dark Lord being able to take over."

"Well I suppose I should have expected that reply," Messalina responded venomously. "Since you have welcomed that half-blood" - she spat the word - "into your family. We'll just have to look elsewhere. But don't expect that you'll have any role to play in the new order."

"And if I press charges?" Lucius said softly.

"Try it!" Messalina ground out. "Oh yes, I'd love that. It would force the Wizengamot to have a really good look at just what is going on. It's all about Potter, isn't it? He's taking over! You spout this nonsense about the Dark Lord but he's just as bad!"

"We'll have to see about that," a new voice opined, and the witch turned to see two Aurors walking in on her. "In the meantime, Lord Malfoy, will you be pressing charges?"

"Oh, I think so," Lucius replied.

"Ha! You don't have the guts," Messalina riposted. "And nothing will happen for weeks, anyway, it being Yuletime."

But it turned out she was quite wrong.

ooOOoo

Draco Malfoy was getting rather pissed off.

It was Christmas Eve, a day for being at home with family. A day he usually thoroughly enjoyed. While Christmas Day was wonderful in its own way, involving presents, and visitors and, of course, presents from said visitors, it was always very busy. In contrast, his parents took care to avoid having anything planned for Christmas Eve, and they lounged around together.

But this year, his husband had gone into some sort of trance at dinner last night, and was still out of it. And his father had gone missing last night. It was clear that his mother knew more about that than she was telling, but even though she tried to reassure him that Lucius was quite safe, Draco could tell she was not entirely convinced.

And he was pregnant. Only three months, but it was getting downright uncomfortable. He just wanted his family around him. And back-rubs from Harry. Oh, and sex, of course. And chocolate. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Well, he decided, there was one thing he could do from his list. And that is why, when Hermione Weasley Floo-called Malfoy Manor, she found Draco in the main parlor, consuming chocolate from a large, nearly empty bowl that she rather suspected had been full very recently.

"Hello Hermione," he said rather sulkily. "What can I do for you?"

She looked at him carefully.

"Feeling a bit rough?" she asked, her voice a little teasing, but not unkind.

Draco looked daggers at her. "What do you think?" he replied.

"All right," she said, raising her hands in surrender. "Where's Harry?"

"Out of it," Draco replied, and went on to describe what had happened over the last twelve hours or so, finishing up with asking, "so why are you here today? Apart from catching up, I mean..."

"I've been thinking about your pregnancy," Hermione replied, and then, noticing the stunned expression on Draco's face, "I mean, how it could happen and all."

"And what have you decided?" Draco responded.

"Well, not **decided** ," Hermione admitted, "but I do have a theory."

"Of course you do," another voice said behind her.

"HARRY!" Draco yelled. "Are you okay? What happened? How long have you been awake?"

"Ten minutes, perhaps," Harry replied. "Still a bit woozy. Hermione, what's your theory?"

At this, Draco looked daggers at him. The blond clearly wanted to know all about Harry, and was not in the least bit happy about the blatant change of subject. He said nothing; but his expression made it clear that they would be having a long talk in the near future.

"It's your 'Life, Wholeness, Connection, Belonging' thing," Hermione responded. "You wanted to belong to a family."

"But I do belong to a family," Harry replied, sounding puzzled that Hermione would say something so obvious. "More than one, really. I'm part of the Malfoy and Weasley families."

"And," Hermione continued in that voice that means 'I know you said something but I'm ignoring you', "you wanted a family that descended from you to give wholeness. So your magic made it possible for Draco to be pregnant."

"Wild magic, actually," Harry replied.

"Wild magic?" Draco asked. "But that's … How do you know?"

"A story which will need to wait for another time," came another voice, as Lucius Malfoy stepped through the Floo.

"Father!" Draco exclaimed, but he was interrupted before he could continue.

"Yes, my son. But we have no time to discuss now: Harry, Elphias has called an urgent immediate meeting of the Wizengamot, and you and I are required right now."

And with that, much to Draco's consternation, the two other men vanished back into the Floo network.

"Humpf," Draco said to Hermione. "It's almost like they're deliberately keeping secrets."

"Can't be," Hermione replied. "Harry, at least, is far too honest. When he deliberately tries to keep a secret, his face tells you he's doing it, and a tiny bit of wheedling will bring it out. At least, it works for me!"

And Draco had to agree. Clearly, whatever was going on, Harry was not to blame. Or at least, not entirely to blame. And that wouldn't save him from Draco's wrath when he got back...

If he got back...

And wasn't that a terrifying thought...

ooOOoo

Much to Harry's surprise, the emergency Wizengamot meeting was very well attended. Had people been expecting this to happen? He turned to Lucius.

"How come there are so many people here?" he asked.

"Good question," Lucius replied. "Certainly, the defense seemed to be well mobilised."

Harry looked at him questioningly, and Lucius pointed out a block of people.

"They're the Corners, Jack and Penelope. She's Gawain Robarts' sister. And next to them are the Boots. I think they also have a son in your year?"

"Yeah, must be Terry," Harry replied.

"And..."

But Lucius could not continue, as the trial was brought to order.

ooOOoo

The trial went on for some time, with the usual legal rigmarole that Harry simply tuned out. Lucius explained the circumstances of visiting Dudley and seeing both Aunt Marge and Messalina Nott there, then returning to his office and being kidnapped.

In response, the defence explained that they had been keeping an eye on the woman as she had connections to the magical world, through Harry, 'a circumstance that is surely cause for concern', one witness, identified as Zebulon Smith, opined. Harry suspected he must be related to his former class-mate Zacharias Smith; the two were certainly cut from the same obnoxious cloth.

As for the kidnapping, Messalina didn't seem to defend the charge at all, but rather played it down as simply 'an invitation to discuss Matters of Blood', a phrase that seemed to cause the Wizengamot to draw a sharp collective breath. And it got worse.

"And of course you will all agree that we must ensure that our society is ruled well, as it has been historically, by those who are born to rule: the pure-bloods," Messalina finished.

The Court was in uproar.

It was obvious that Lucius was going to win. What on Earth was Messalina Nott playing at?

All at once, it became clear to Harry, as though a mist parted and a beam of sunlight shone down on the events, placing them in an entirely new light.

He saw it all, in an instant: Messalina Nott did not want to win. She wanted to go to Azkaban as a martyr for the cause. The whole thing was a last-ditch effort from a terrified, marginalized group of pure-blood magicals who would make her a rallying point for their cause. And she was using Lucius and Harry to do so.

"Does anyone else have anything to add?" Elphias Doge said, in a dry voice that clearly expected no reply.

Lucius looked around smugly, as though daring anyone to speak, and then was rather shocked when Harry stood up.

"Er, yeah, actually," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Real life got very hairy. Again.
> 
> Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
> 
> Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook. 
> 
> Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and cake and butterbeer for those who reviewed. Please forgive me if I failed to reply to you.
> 
> Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!


	99. Returning Good For Evil

**99\. Returning Good for Evil**

_BELINDA: Ay, but you know we must return good for evil  
LADY BRUTE: That may be a mistake in the translation._

_Sir John Vanbrugh, The Provok'd Wife_

**Last time:**

_What on Earth was Messalina Nott playing at?_

_All at once, it became clear to Harry, as though a mist parted and a beam of sunlight shone down on the events, placing them in an entirely new light._

_He saw it all, in an instant: Messalina Nott did not want to win. She wanted to go to Azkaban as a martyr for the cause. The whole thing was a last-ditch effort from a terrified, marginalized group of pure-blood magicals who would make her a rallying point for their cause. And she was using Lucius and Harry to do so._

" _Does anyone else have anything to add?" Elphias Doge said, in a dry voice that clearly expected no reply._

_Lucius looked around smugly, as though daring anyone to speak, and then was rather shocked when Harry stood up._

" _Er, yeah, actually," he said._

Doge looked at him, rather surprised. At first, there was a murmur of astonishment from his fellow Wizengamot members. Doge, who in the course of his long life had become quite sensitive to such things, knew that there was an underlying current of thought that, if articulated, would sound like 'just who does he think he is, young whippersnapper!'.

But Harry, as the newly instated Lord Potter-Black, was perfectly entitled to speak. And so Elphias smiled at him encouragingly and by gesture invited him to take the floor.

Harry stood, a little nervous in front of this august body, but reassured by Doge and by Lucius' assurances when they had arrived that he had as much right to be there as anyone else.

"I believe," he said slowly, as though choosing every word with great care, "that, while the way Mrs Nott has acted is … unfortunate," – here several members snorted, but Harry ignored this as best he could – "she does raise an important point, one that we need to hear, and hear fully, not sweep away and ignore.

"Mrs Nott," – and, as she had the first time, Messalina flinched at the coldness that Harry managed to put into the title – "is a pure-blood witch, and a member of a group of pure-blood magicals, who have a concern for the Magical world. We have heard, under the Expositor Falsitas potion, so we can be sure she is telling the truth, that she believes that pure-bloods should rule.

"We may disagree with her..." and here Harry had to wait for his fellow wizards, who erupted into calls of agreement, or, in a very few cases, dissent. When Doge had called for quiet, he continued.

"... and we may deplore her methods. But she has a point. And let us consider that, as I understand it, invoking 'matters of blood' demands a response?"

Harry looked around, and people nodded their agreement with this. He continued.

"And, in the end, Mr, excuse me, _Lord_ Malfoy emerged unharmed. We could, of course, call this a kidnapping and brush it aside, throwing the perpetrators into Azkaban. Well, that might be how _pure-bloods_ would do things..." – here the whole defense team blanched at the venom Harry infused into the word 'pure-bloods', while Harry himself turned to Lucius – "... but I don't believe it is the right way forward. Lord Malfoy, would you be happy with an apology and a promise of discussion?"

Lucius smirked. At this point, he could see that Harry had the Wizengamot eating out of his hand. They could all see that this approach meant they could distance themselves from all the acrimony of the past, and get a real shot at doing things properly. He too had begun to see, as Harry was talking, that throwing Messalina into Azkaban might well throw a lot of their agenda into question.

Lucius stood to his feet. "I concur with my fellow member's suggestion," he replied. "I do think that perhaps I was a little hasty before, in thinking that we should incarcerate Mrs Nott. That, I can see, might not serve any constructive purpose."

Lucius sat down, while the most of the Wizengamot seemed a little stunned. Libatious Borage turned to the Chief Warlock and gave him a knowing smirk; Doge, readily gathering his meaning, nodded in reply. For it was obvious to both of them that Lucius had probably skated as close to the edge of falsehood as he could. For double reason: firstly, that the Debt he owed Harry would not allow for lying, and secondly, that Lucius, along with everyone else in the room, had taken the Expositor Falsitas potion that would stop him from an outright lie.

But it was no surprise to Borage or Doge that Lord Malfoy, a master of dissimulation, could work his way around such inconveniences. But it was becoming clear to Doge what Harry was up to: Messalina was obviously counting on getting public opinion on her side. By freeing her, she would be robbed of that.

"Indeed," he said in his deceptively mild voice, instantly drawing all eyes to him. "Well, for the moment, I think we can simply release Mrs Nott on her own recognisance, and continue the discussion in the New Year, do we think?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

But Harry was not quite finished. As he had been talking, he had also been aware of that magical signature he recognised as that of the Mordant. And with him was someone else.

Someone else he had seen in his visit to the Interspherical Nexus.

"Just one more thing," he said, as Robin Banks entered the room, followed by a familiar figure. "I ask that the Wizengamot recognised Auror Robin Banks and guest?"

Oh, this was going to be fun.

ooOOoo

Messalina Nott descended into tears.

It had all been going so well.

They had calculated, rightly in her view, that they were in a win-win situation. Had she gone to Azkaban for her pure-blood beliefs, it would have been painted as a huge injustice. Had she been free, they would have continued the 'naturally there was no sentence, after all, we are superior and should rule' line.

But neither of these outcomes had happened.

She screwed her eyes up and thought back to the moment when **he** walked in.

" _There is another matter we must consider,"_ Potter had said. " _This is Andreas Nott, the squib son of Godfrey and Messalina Nott. I'd like you to hear what he has to say."_

And then that no-account squib had explained all about the murder of his wife. Yes, they had had the temerity to call it that! Messalina regarded it as putting a dumb animal out of its misery. And, in the heat of the moment, she had said so. Which, with a cooler head, she could see was probably the beginning of the end.

And then he turned out to have Seer gifts! Godfrey had, to give him his due, tried to use that to argue that they had done the right thing in the end; that by killing her, they had rescued him from the ignominy of being a squib. But the Wizengamot would have none of it.

Which is how she now found herself in Azkaban. And, heartless bastards that they were, they had put her in the cell next to her sister and allowed Dolores to spend time with her daily, to "re-establish familiar ties". Umbridge just used it to berate her endlessly.

And if the present was awful, the future looked even worse. Her political faction was in ruins. As she surveyed Daily Prophet, lauding the decisions as "fair and just and exactly what is required to get the Wizarding World back on its feet and away from the mistakes of the past", she knew she had to face facts. The pure-blood cause was doomed, at least for a generation.

But perhaps Godfrey could …. no.

Or perhaps Zebulon …. no.

They had been completely stitched up. Even having that Banks character bring her dratted son into the courtroom had sent a message – here was a perfectly acceptable pure-blood, son of a Ministry Department head, respected Auror, and Durmstrang graduate, siding with Potter-Black and his ilk. She knew well that those sort of messages had to be countered with some skill. And, of their side, no-one but her really had the skill to do it.

If she were free, it would be a battle. With her here, it was not going to happen.

A whole new world was opening up in front of her. And the scary thing was that she could see that, just perhaps, it might be a better world than the one she knew, and she was not going to get to be a part of it.

ooOOoo

"All right, Potter, you've got some explaining to do," Draco said.

Harry looked at his husband, grateful that the blond had waited to have this show-down until they were alone together in their private rooms. His heart melted at the sight of the man in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know I haven't explained anything recently, but it all happened so fast ..."

"Really." Draco replied with a snort. "So my father's kidnapping wasn't planned or anything?"

Harry looked at him blankly.

"Well, not by me," he replied. "Um, I knew he was going to go and see what was happening with Dudley and Petunia." And then, dropping his eyes, he continued in a small voice, "I wanted to, but he said he wouldn't let me. Said the bond wouldn't have it..."

Draco's face softened just a tiny bit. He found himself feeling very conflicted; he wanted to tear strips off Harry for keeping him out of the loop, but at the same time, he knew his husband, he had a fairly good idea what was going on.

"And you didn't tell me because I would say the same thing," he said.

Harry looked up at him, a hope in his eyes as he realised that Draco had got it.

"Yeah, I mean, you're you, and you're pregnant, and …"

"I don't want you giving your life away just to look after me!" Draco shouted. "That's not real life!"

Harry, not knowing what to say, sat silently for a minute, gazing around the room, trying to distract himself. Draco, half-furious and half-amused at this, followed his gaze, looking at the furniture, the carpet, Harry's trunk in the corner, the drapes ...

"Potter," Draco said after a longish silence, "that trunk looks ridiculously old and ill-used. How long have you had it?"

"Since I started at Hogwarts," Harry replied.

"Really?" Draco said, looking at him oddly. "You've used the same trunk the whole time?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It fits all I need it in; and I never really got to go out shopping much when I lived at the Dursleys', and it wasn't like they'd ever buy me one. I guess your parents bought you a new one every year, did they?"

"Hardly," Draco replied haughtily. "After all, I take good care of my possessions." And then he cracked, and gave Harry a small grin. "Only every second year."

Harry blew him a raspberry; but he too was grinning, happy that they seemed to have overcome their little spat.

"Now, I'm sure there's some calming draughtin here …" Harry said, pulling odd things out of his trunk and setting them aside on the floor.

Draco watched him, astonished. "Merlin, Harry, do you never throw anything away? It looks like you've got everything you've ever owned in there!"

"Pretty much," Harry replied,

"Even a piece of rock?" Draco asked, spying a stone hidden in a corner.

Harry picked up the familiar piece of rock. He had not held the Resurrection Stone since he had hidden it in the bottom of his trunk at The Burrow all those weeks ago. He pulled it out and held it up. It seemed to be giving off a faint red glow as he clasped it in his hand. There was a sense of presence in the room, and Draco must have felt it too, going by the sharp intake of breath.

A figure started to form. A figure that, before now, Harry had known as the Mordant, for the other man had refused to give any other name, and, so far, Harry hadn't quite recognised him.

But before the form had fully coalesced, Harry recognised the wizard standing before him. It wasn't someone he was likely to forget anytime soon, after all.

It was a wizard he'd seen before, in the Chamber of Secrets.

He was gazing into the face of Tom Riddle.

ooOOoo

As he gazed at the figure in front of him, something stirred in Draco's memory. There was something familiar about him … something from the war … And then the red glow brightened, and his mind turned back on all that Harry had shared about his nightmares, and the silver and red lights, and what he had dreamt about the Chamber of Secrets, how the boy from the diary had changed into ribbons of red light …

When the sickle dropped, he was beside himself. "Is that Vol-"

"I beg you, do not say that name!" the boy in front of them said urgently. "If you must give me a name, call me Tom Riddle, for that is the only name I have now. He, the madman, he is dead, really dead; no longer here, not gone on anywhere else. But before he died, he became like the skin of a snake, and I sloughed him off. And it was thanks to Harry that I could do this."

Harry was flummoxed. Yet again, someone was thanking him for saving them. Was it ever going to stop? Draco smiled at the look of dismay on his lover's face. Evidently, Tom did not miss it either, for a smirk came over his face too.

"Harry, when you held both wands against him, even then you did not succumb to malice. Even then, you had only sought to disarm; it was his own killing spell that killed him. But it was your forbearance that gave me life - such as I have.

"You see, Death gave me the same choice you had - I could have gone on; but I owed you too much. I could not come back physically – the madness of Lord Voldemort killed the real Tom Riddle so long ago – but as that husk of a being was lost to the Sphere of Intangible Absence, I was allowed to stay as a spectre; and I chose to willingly. You returned me back to sanity and gave me the only thing I ever really wanted - now I can leave here, and live on, in another place, a better place, and there is no need to fear. So when I had to choose, how could I not give you the only thing you've ever really wanted - a loving family. You now have Draco and your children and the Malfoys and the Weasleys - I'm so sorry, but even with the Resurrection Stone I couldn't bring back Sirius, Snape, Remus or your parents ..."

Here Tom broke off, and Harry finally found his voice.

"You did this? But how?"

"Think about the Haussmann Shield. Green was your magic, silver was Draco's ..."

"... And red was yours!" Draco completed. "You were our mordant!"

"So ... The bond is fixed then? But what about the hallows?" Harry asked.

"You already know that the Elder wand has lost its power when our magics joined; when I leave now, the power of the Resurrection Stone will fail too. The cloak will not fail; it remains as an heirloom of your house. And the bond is set permanently. You're stuck with each other for life."

Draco and Harry clasped hands.

"I guess we can live with that," Harry said.

"We'll force ourselves," Draco agreed. They looked at each other, and the glance said more than words ever could told them that neither of them found this any kind of hardship.

"And now I shall bid you farewell."

With that, Tom Riddle faded away.

And with him faded away all their uncertainties, all their hesitations. They belonged to each other now, truly, wholly, completely. The love between them was a tangible connection, a bond that joined them together as a whole that was so much more wonderful even than each of them.

Now they were truly alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story comes to a close. Just the Epilogue to go now.
> 
> Many many thanks to all of you for reading and commenting, and especially for Bicky Monster who has been a wonderful help as a beta.


	100. Returning to Sanity

_2014_

Harry wakes from his slumber to hear his husband keening. He knows that sound, though he hasn't heard it for a long while and had hoped never to hear it again.

He leaps into action; almost before thinking, a Silencing Charm surrounds them, a Calming spell is weaved around his beloved and his Patronus springs to life. The stag needs no instruction; it leaps away to fetch their mothers.

Harry turns to Draco. The blond has not woken yet, and Harry cradles him in his arms. The nightmares started ten years ago, as Harry's finally tapered off. Sometimes, Draco dreams that he loses his family; but he can cope with that, just. But this dream is different, Harry knows. In this dream, Draco is imagining that he refused his wand when Harry offered it. In this dream, they never became friends, or lovers, or parents.

There is nothing he can do to help Draco come out of the dream, he knows; Draco will come out of it on his own. His job is to keep the family safe. So he holds his husband close to his heart, and rocks him, speaking gentle words of love and compassion. Before long, he hears the Floo in the drawing room below, and Narcissa's voice, greeting her grandson.

She comes up, after a few minutes, to check on them. Harry tells her to come in as soon as she reaches the landing; her head pops round the door and her gaze sweeps over them. It is full of kindness and concern, and Harry knows by now that she is worried for both of her sons.

"It's the dream again," he says, apologetically; "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she replies, her voice filled with love. "You stay there, spend the day together and don't worry about a thing." She leaves to go and look after the two younger children, as the Floo springs to life again in the room below. This time Molly's voice greets her adopted grandchildren; Narcissa goes down to greet her.

Harry is glad to have heard that Lily is now awake. Teddy, Scorpius, James and Albus, home from Hogwarts for Christmas, are staying with Andromeda this week, and Lily and Remus are going to be spoilt rotten today by their grandmothers, so he does not worry about his children. He turns his full attention back to his husband, who is starting to come back to consciousness.

"H- H- Harry…" Draco mouths.

"Shh, love," Harry insists, quietly, and kisses the blond slowly, oh so slowly and gently.

"Mmmm…" Draco says appreciatively, and Harry watches the grey eyes open and stare at him. He can see that there had been fear there; but it is going now, replaced by … love? No, Harry looks again. It isn't just love. There is something else.

Relief?

No.

Devotion.

"I love you, Harry," Draco says, gripping his husband tight, nuzzling his chest. "So much …"

"I know, love, I know" Harry replies, kissing him, stroking him, feeling all the tension ease away from him as he relaxes into the arms now surrounding him. "Just rest now."

Harry waits until his husband is fully calm before he speaks again.

"I love you," he says, simply, kissing the forehead.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco says. Then suddenly, a mother's instinct comes up, and he asks, "what about the children?"

Harry stifles the chuckle that rises. He knows Draco doesn't appreciate even the suggestion of a joke about the children's safety. "Andy has the older four, and Molly and Narcissa are here," he says. There is no quibble about the number 'four'; they've both thought of Teddy Lupin-Black as their son for years now. "Lily and Remus will be fine."

"And what about the Ministry?"

"Oh, the Minister will understand if I'm not there, and no-one else will mind, I'm sure. You just rest, we'll stay here together today, all right?"

Draco's eyes sparkle. "I would love that, Harry," he says.

They hadn't quite expected Albus Severus Malfoy-Potter to come along. The healers had thought it very unlikely that Draco could ever be pregnant again. But Draco felt him the moment he was conceived, and they had both loved him from then. Now the quiet, gentle boy, who had Harry's eyes and (poor child) untameable hair, was thirteen. His older brothers had been ecstatic to learn about him, and had always looked out for him. Harry was glad, in a way, that he was brighter than either of them, and as good as wizard already as half the graduates of Hogwarts; he had been worried that Albus would always be in his brothers' shadows, but now **he** is tutoring **them** in charms, and finally growing in confidence.

If Albus was unlikely, Lily was supposed to be impossible. But she had come, nonetheless, six years later, and Remus two years after that. Everyone adores Lily; there is something about her that even has Lucius Malfoy going all gooey. Remus is a rambunctious boy and, at four, often has his grandfather playing rough-and-tumble on the lawn at Malfoy Manor. Lucius pretends to dislike the game and to do it as a special favour for the boy; but no-one watching the adoring grandfather, relaxed and laughing his head off at his grandson's antics, is fooled for a moment.

When Elphias Doge had retired eight years ago, there was really no question who should replace him as Chief Wizard. Kingsley had insisted Harry take the job; but Harry had found he couldn't be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well. There was simply too much work now that the Potter Code was in place. So he had resigned the job he had loved for three years, and took on one that he hadn't been sure about. He knows now it was one of the best decisions of his life.

Kingsley's replacement three years later was much more controversial. There had been a huge cry against it; and some in the Wizengamot had insisted that surely the Potter Code meant they should have a half-blood for Minister?

But Harry had smiled.

"No," he explained patiently, "it means we should pick the best witch or wizard for the job. Can you name me a better one?"

And they could not. So, Lucius Malfoy was duly sworn in as Minister for Magic.

To begin with, the _Daily Prophet_ posted a slew of articles attacking the decision. It doesn't post them any more. No-one would read them. No-one can deny that Lucius has done an amazing job reforming the new, much smaller Ministry, and witches and wizards find themselves living freer and happier lives than they had ever dreamt possible.

On his induction, Arthur had offered Lucius his resignation; but Lucius insisted that he stay.

"Let's show the world that the days of 'pure-blood v. blood-traitor' are well and truly dead and buried," he told his new Deputy.

So Arthur had stayed; and now the two men are close friends as well as colleagues.

Horace Slughorn is enjoying his retirement immensely this time round. He had waited until Borage declared that his replacement was ready; and now for four years Professor Draco Malfoy-Potter has held sway in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

"What do you want, love?" Harry asks.

Draco knows what he wants, and turns to his husband. "I want you, Harry, I want to feel you inside me. I want to be one with you. Take the pain away, Harry, please …"

Sometimes their love-making is wild, even brutal. But not when Draco has nightmares. This time, it's slow and tender. Harry takes his time massaging his husband, smoothing away the knots and tension, gently preparing him. It takes an hour before he decides Draco is ready. Even then, he takes great care.

Draco loves it. He loves that Harry seems to always know just what he needs, just how to take away the fear and pain. Just how to make it clear to him that he is loved and cherished.

It's possible that whatever Harry does would be wonderful, because of the Debt and the bond. But Draco doesn't think so. It's been years since he's felt at all that how he feels and what he does are in any way dictated by such things.

As he lies in his husband's arms, Draco finally feels all the darkness of the dream slipping away completely. He is so thankful. Harry loves him, and he feels that love all the time now. That's why the dream terrifies him so: he might have missed out on the thing that is worth most to him in his whole life. He knows that in real life, because of Voldemort's curse, he would have quickly died without magic, but in the dream, somehow he survives, growing old and bitter and twisted, and dies, childless, unloved, alone.

But here he is, step-father of one amazing young boy and the mother of five beautiful children, all six of whom he loves with all his heart, who love him and bring such joy into his life. Here he is, husband to the most amazing, kind man he had ever met, whom he adores with all his heart, and who loves him back in return.

They had all been taken to the brink of madness. Their world had had to deal with Death Eaters, and nasty pieces of work like Dolores Umbridge and Messalina Nott, and the sheer incompetents such as Fudge and Bagman; all being used by Voldemort to foment discord, to try to enforce his rule, his control, his evil will.

But now Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are no longer a power, Umbridge and Nott are in Azkaban and will die there, Fudge is heavily supervised and the Ministry reorganized to find and reward the competent and stop the incompetent from creating havoc.

Now, together, they are walking back from the edge.

Now, at last, they are returning to sanity.


End file.
